The Forty Five Guardsmen written by Alexandre Dumas

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THE WORKS OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN
A SEQUEL TO "CHICOT, THE JESTER"

_Copiously Illustrated with elegant Pen and Ink and Wood Engravings,
specially drawn for this edition by eminent French and American Artists_

NEW YORK
PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER
1893

[Illustration: Briquet at the window.]

CONTENTS

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN

CHAPTER

1. The Porte St. Antoine
2. What passed outside the Porte St. Antoine
3. The Examination
4. His Majesty Henri the Third
5. The Execution
6. The Brothers
7. "The Sword of the Brave Chevalier"
8. The Gascon
9. M. de Loignac
10. The Purchase of Cuirasses
11. Still the League
12. The Chamber of his Majesty Henri III.
13. The Dormitory
14. The Shade of Chicot
15. The Difficulty of finding a good Ambassador
16. The Serenade
17. Chicot's Purse
18. The Priory of the Jacobins
19. The two Friends
20. The Breakfast
21. Brother Borromee
22. The Lesson
23. The Penitent
24. The Ambush
25. The Guises
26. The Louvre
27. The Revelation
28. Two Friends
29. St. Maline
30. De Loignac's Interview with the Forty-Five
31. The Bourgeois of Paris
32. Brother Borromee
33. Chicot, Latinist
34. The four Winds
35. How Chicot continued his Journey, and what happened to him
36. The third Day of the Journey
37. Ernanton de Carmainges
38. The Stable-Yard
39. The Seven Sins of Magdalen
40. Bel-Esbat
41. The Letter of M. de Mayenne
42. How Dom Gorenflot blessed the King as he passed before the Priory of
the Jacobins
43. How Chicot blessed King Louis II. for having invented Posting, and
resolved to profit by it
44. How the King of Navarre guesses that "Turennius" means Turenne, and
"Margota" Margot
45. The Avenue three thousand Feet long
46. Marguerite's Room
47. The Explanation
48. The Spanish Ambassador
49. The Poor of Henri of Navarre
50. The true Mistress of the King of Navarre
51. Chicot's Astonishment at finding himself so popular in Nerac
52. How they hunted the Wolf in Navarre
53. How Henri of Navarre behaved in Battle
54. What was passing at the Louvre about the Time Chicot entered Nerac
55. Red Plume and White Plume
56. The Door opens
57. How a great Lady loved in the Year 1586
58. How St. Maline entered into the Turret and what followed
59. What was passing in the mysterious House
60. The Laboratory
61. What Monsieur Francois, Duc d'Anjou, Duc de Brabant and Comte de
Flanders, was doing in Flanders
62. Preparations for Battle
63. Monseigneur
64. Monseigneur
65. French and Flemings
66. The Travelers
67. Explanation
68. The Water
69. Flight
70. Transfiguration
71. The two Brothers
72. The Expedition
73. Paul-Emile
74. One of the Souvenirs of the Duc d'Anjou
75. How Aurilly executed the Commission of the Duc d'Anjou
76. The Journey
77. How King Henri III. did not invite Grillon to Breakfast, and how
Chicot invited himself
78. How, after receiving News from the South, Henri received News from
the North
79. The two Companions
80. The Corne d'Abondance
81. What happened in the little Room
82. The Husband and the Lover
83. Showing how Chicot began to understand the Purport of Monsieur de
Guise's Letter
84. Le Cardinal de Joyeuse
85. News from Aurilly
86. Doubt
87. Certainty
88. Fatality
89. Les Hospitalieres
90. His Highness Monseigneur le Duc de Guise

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

1.--_Frontispiece_.--Briquet at the window.
2.--"His face pleases me, and he has white hands and a well-kept beard."
3.--Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier.
4.--"An ax!" cried Henri, and with a vigorous arm he struck down wood
and iron.
5.--"I said you were a traitor, and as a traitor you shall die."
6.--The prince was cold, stiff, and perfectly inanimate.

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN

CHAPTER I.

THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE.

On the 26th of October, 1585, the barriers of the Porte St. Antoine
were, contrary to custom, still closed at half-past ten in the morning.
A quarter of an hour after, a guard of twenty Swiss, the favorite troops
of Henri III., then king, passed through these barriers, which were
again closed behind them. Once through, they arranged themselves along
the hedges, which, outside the barrier, bordered each side of the road.

There was a great crowd collected there, for numbers of peasants and
other people had been stopped at the gates on their way into Paris. They
were arriving by three different roads--from Montreuil, from Vincennes,
and from St. Maur; and the crowd was growing more dense every moment.
Monks from the convent in the neighborhood, women seated on
pack-saddles, and peasants in their carts, and all, by their questions
more or less pressing, formed a continual murmur, while some voices were
raised above the others in shriller tones of anger or complaint.

There were, besides this mass of arrivals, some groups who seemed to
have come from the city. These, instead of looking at the gate, fastened
their gaze on the horizon, bounded by the Convent of the Jacobins, the
Priory of Vincennes, and the Croix Faubin, as though they were expecting
to see some one arrive. These groups consisted chiefly of bourgeois,
warmly wrapped up, for the weather was cold, and the piercing northeast
wind seemed trying to tear from the trees all the few remaining leaves
which clung sadly to them.

Three of these bourgeois were talking together--that is to say, two
talked and one listened, or rather seemed to listen, so occupied was he
in looking toward Vincennes. Let us turn our attention to this last. He
was a man who must be tall when he stood upright, but at this moment his
long legs were bent under him, and his arms, not less long in
proportion, were crossed over his breast. He was leaning against the
hedge, which almost hid his face, before which he also held up his hand
as if for further concealment. By his side a little man, mounted on a
hillock, was talking to another tall man who was constantly slipping off
the summit of the same hillock, and at each slip catching at the button
of his neighbor's doublet.

"Yes, Maitre Miton," said the little man to the tall one, "yes, I tell
you that there will be 100,000 people around the scaffold of
Salcede--100,000 at least. See, without counting those already on the
Place de Greve, or who came there from different parts of Paris, the
number of people here; and this is but one gate out of sixteen."

"One hundred thousand! that is much, Friard," replied M. Miton. "Be sure
many people will follow my example, and not go to see this unlucky man
quartered, for fear of an uproar."

"M. Miton, there will be none, I answer for it. Do you not think so,
monsieur?" continued he, turning to the long-armed man.--"What?" said
the other, as though he had not heard.

"They say there will be nothing on the Place de Greve to-day."

"I think you are wrong, and that there will be the execution of
Salcede."

"Yes, doubtless: but I mean that there will be no noise about it."

"There will be the noise of the blows of the whip, which they will give
to the horses."

"You do not understand: by noise I mean tumult. If there were likely to
be any, the king would not have had a stand prepared for him and the two
queens at the Hotel de Ville."

"Do kings ever know when a tumult will take place?" replied the other,
shrugging his shoulders with an air of pity.

"Oh, oh!" said M. Miton; "this man talks in a singular way. Do you know
who he is, compere?"

"No."

"Then why do you speak to him? You are wrong. I do not think he likes to
talk."

"And yet it seems to me," replied Friard, loud enough to be heard by the
stranger, "that one of the greatest pleasures in life is to exchange
thoughts."

"Yes, with those whom we know well," answered M. Miton.

"Are not all men brothers, as the priests say?"

"They were primitively; but in times like ours the relationship is
singularly loosened. Talk low, if you must talk, and leave the stranger
alone."

"But I know you so well, I know what you will reply, while the stranger
may have something new to tell me."

"Hush! he is listening."

"So much the better; perhaps he will answer. Then you think, monsieur,"
continued he, turning again toward him, "that there will be a tumult?"

"I did not say so."

"No; but I believe you think so."

"And on what do you found your surmise, M. Friard?"

"Why, he knows me!"

"Have I not named you two or three times?" said Miton.

"Ah! true. Well, since he knows me, perhaps he will answer. Now,
monsieur, I believe you agree with me, or else would be there, while,
on the contrary, you are here."

"But you, M. Friard, since you think the contrary of what you think I
think, why are you not at the Place de Greve? I thought the spectacle
would have been a joyful one to all friends of the king. Perhaps you
will reply that you are not friends of the king; but of MM. de Guise,
and that you are waiting here for the Lorraines, who they say are about
to enter Paris in order to deliver M. de Salcede."

"No, monsieur," replied the little man, visibly frightened at this
suggestion; "I wait for my wife, Nicole Friard, who has gone to take
twenty-four tablecloths to the priory of the Jacobins, having the honor
to be washerwoman to Dom. Modeste Gorenflot, the abbe."

"Look, compere," cried Miton, "at what is passing."

M. Friard, following the direction of his friend's finger, saw them
closing yet another door, while a party of Swiss placed themselves
before it. "How! more barriers!" cried he.

"What did I tell you?" said Miton.

At the sight of this new precaution, a long murmur of astonishment and
some cries of discontent proceeded from the crowd.

"Clear the road! Back!" cried an officer.

This maneuver was not executed without difficulty; the people in carts
and on horseback tried to go back, and nearly crushed the crowd behind
them. Women cried and men swore, while those who could escape, did,
overturning the others.

"The Lorraines! the Lorraines!" cried a voice in the midst of this
tumult.

"Oh!" cried Miton, trembling, "let us fly."

"Fly! and where?" said Friard.

"Into this inclosure," answered Miton tearing his hands by seizing the
thorns of the hedge.

"Into that inclosure, it is not so easy. I see no opening, and you
cannot climb a hedge that is higher than I am."

"I will try," returned Miton, making new efforts.

"Oh! take care, my good woman," cried Friard, in a tone of distress;
"your ass is on my feet. Oh, monsieur, take care, your horse is going to
kick."

While M. Miton was vainly trying to climb the hedge, and M. Friard to
find an opening through which to push himself, their neighbor quietly
opened his long legs and strode over the hedge with as much ease as one
might have leaped it on horseback. M. Miton imitated him at last after
much detriment to his hands and clothes; but poor Friard could not
succeed, in spite of all his efforts, till the stranger, stretching out
his long arms, and seizing him by the collar of his doublet, lifted him
over.

"Ah! monsieur," said he, when he felt himself on the ground, "on the
word of Jean Friard, you are a real Hercules; your name, monsieur? the
name of my deliverer?"

"I am called Briquet--Robert Briquet, monsieur."

"You have saved me, M. Briquet--my wife will bless you. But apropos; mon
Dieu! she will be stifled in this crowd. Ah! cursed Swiss, only good to
crush people!"

As he spoke, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and, looking round
and seeing that it was a Swiss, he took to flight, followed by Miton.
The other man laughed quietly, then turning to the Swiss, said:

"Are the Lorraines coming?"

"No."

"Then why do they close the door. I do not understand it."

"There is no need that you should," replied the Swiss, laughing at his
own wit.

CHAPTER II.

WHAT PASSED OUTSIDE THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE.

One of the groups was formed of a considerable number of citizens. They
surrounded four or five of a martial appearance, whom the closing of the
doors annoyed very much, as it seemed, for they cried with all their
might, "The door! the door!"

Robert Briquet advanced toward this group, and began to cry also, "The
door! the door!"

One of the cavaliers, charmed at this, turned toward him and said, "Is
it not shameful, monsieur, that they should close the gates in open day,
as though the Spaniards or the English were besieging Paris?"

Robert Briquet looked attentively at the speaker, who seemed to be about
forty-five years of age, and the principal personage in the group. "Yes,
monsieur," replied he, "you are right: but may I venture to ask what you
think their motive is for these precautions?"

"Pardieu! the fear they have lest some one should eat their Salcede."

"Diable!" said a voice, "a sad meal."

Robert Briquet turned toward the speaker, whose voice had a strong
Gascon accent, and saw a young man from twenty to twenty-five, resting
his hand on the crupper of the horse of the first speaker. His head was
bare; he had probably lost his hat in the melee.

"But as they say," replied Briquet, "that this Salcede belongs to M. de
Guise--"

"Bah! they say that!"

"Then you do not believe it, monsieur?"

"Certainly not," replied the cavalier, "doubtless, if he had, the duke
would not have let him be taken, or at all events would not have allowed
him to have been carried from Brussels to Paris bound hand and foot,
without even trying to rescue him."

"An attempt to rescue him," replied Briquet, "would have been very
dangerous, because, whether it failed or succeeded, it would have been
an avowal, on the duke's part, that he had conspired against the Duc
d'Anjou."

"M. de Guise would not, I am sure, have been restrained by such
considerations; therefore, as he has not defended Salcede, it is certain
that he is not one of his men."

"Excuse me, monsieur, if I insist, but it is not I who invent, for it
appears that Salcede has confessed."

"Where? before the judges?"

"No, monsieur; at the torture."

"They asserted that he did, but they do not repeat what he said."

"Excuse me again, monsieur, but they do."

"And what did he say?" cried the cavalier impatiently. "As you seem so
well informed, what were his words?"

"I cannot certify that they were his words," replied Briquet, who seemed
to take a pleasure in teazing the cavalier.

"Well, then, those they attribute to him."

"They assert that he has confessed that he conspired for M. de Guise."

"Against the king, of course?"

"No; against the Duc d'Anjou."

"If he confessed that--"

"Well?"

"Well, he is a poltroon!" said the cavalier, frowning.

"Ah! monsieur, the boot and the thumb-screw make a man confess many
things."

"Alas! that is true, monsieur."

"Bah!" interrupted the Gascon, "the boot and the thumb-screw, nonsense:
if Salcede confessed that, he was a knave, and his patron another."

"You speak loudly, monsieur," said the cavalier.

"I speak as I please; so much the worse for those who dislike it."

"More calmly," said a voice at once soft and imperative, of which
Briquet vainly sought the owner.

The cavalier seemed to make an effort over himself, and then said
quietly to the Gascon, "Do you know him of whom you speak?"

"Salcede?"--"Yes."

"Not in the least."

"And the Duc de Guise?"

"Still less."

"Well, then, Salcede is a brave man."

"So much the better: he will die bravely."

"And know that, when the Duc de Guise wishes to conspire, he conspires
for himself."

"What do I care?"

"What!"

"Mayneville! Mayneville!" murmured the same voice.

"Yes, mordieu! what do I care?" continued the Gascon, "I came to Paris
on business, and find the gates closed on account of this
execution--that is all I care for."

At this moment there was a sound of trumpets. The Swiss had cleared the
middle of the road, along which a crier proceeded, dressed in a flowered
tunic, and bearing on his breast a scutcheon on which was embroidered
the arms of Paris. He read from a paper in his hand the following
proclamation:

"This is to make known to our good people of Paris and its environs,
that its gates will be closed for one hour, and that none can enter
during that time; and this by the will of the king and the mayor of
Paris."

The crowd gave vent to their discontent in a long hoot, to which,
however, the crier seemed indifferent. The officer commanded silence,
and when it was obtained, the crier continued:

"All who are the bearers of a sign of recognition, or are summoned by
letter or mandate, are exempt from this rule. Given at the hotel of the
provost of Paris, 26th of October, 1585."

Scarcely had the crier ceased to speak, when the crowd began to undulate
like a serpent behind the line of soldiers.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried all.

"Oh! it is to keep us out of Paris," said the cavalier, who had been
speaking in a low voice to his companions. "These guards, this crier,
these bars, and these trumpets are all for us; we ought to be proud of
them."

"Room!" cried the officer in command; "make room for those who have the
right to pass!"

"Cap de Bious! I know who will pass, whoever is kept out!" said the
Gascon, leaping into the cleared space. He walked straight up to the
officer who had spoken, and who looked at him for some moments in
silence, and then said:

"You have lost your hat, it appears, monsieur?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Is it in the crowd?"

"No. I had just received a letter from my sweetheart, and was reading
it, cap de Bious! near the river, about a mile from here, when a gust of
wind carried away both my letter and my hat. I ran after the letter,
although the button of my hat was a single diamond; I caught my letter,
but my hat was carried by the wind into the middle of the river. It will
make the fortune of the poor devil who finds it."--"So that you have
none?"

"Oh, there are plenty in Paris, cap de Bious! I will buy a more
magnificent one, and put in it a still larger diamond."

The officer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said, "Have you a
card?"

"Certainly I have one--or rather two."

"One is enough, if it be the right one."

"But it cannot be wrong--oh, no, cap de Bious! Is it to M. de Loignac
that I have the honor of speaking?"

"It is possible," said the officer coldly, and evidently not much
charmed at the recognition.

"M. de Loignac, my compatriot?"

"I do not say no."

"My cousin!"

"Good! Your card?"

"Here it is;" and the Gascon drew out the half of a card, carefully cut.

"Follow me," said De Loignac, without looking at it, "and your
companions, if you have any. We will verify the admissions."

The Gascon obeyed, and five other gentlemen followed him. The first was
adorned with a magnificent cuirass, so marvelous in its work that it
seemed as if it had come out of the hands of Benvenuto Cellini. However,
as the make of this cuirass was somewhat old-fashioned, its magnificence
attracted more laughter than admiration; and it is true that no other
part of the costume of the individual in question corresponded with this
magnificence. The second, who was lame, was followed by a gray-headed
lackey, who looked like the precursor of Sancho Panza, as his master did
of Don Quixote. The third carried a child of ten months old in his arms,
and was followed by a woman, who kept a tight grasp of his leathern
belt, while two other children, one four and the other five years old,
held by her dress.

The fourth was attached to an enormous sword, and the fifth, who closed
the troop, was a handsome young man, mounted on a black horse. He looked
like a king by the side of the others. Forced to regulate his pace by
those who preceded him, he was advancing slowly, when he felt a sudden
pull at the scabbard of his sword; he turned round, and saw that it had
been done by a slight and graceful young man with black hair and
sparkling eyes.

"What do you desire, monsieur?" said the cavalier.

"A favor, monsieur."

"Speak; but quickly, I pray you, for I am waited for."

"I desire to enter into the city, monsieur; an imperious necessity
demands my presence there. You, on your part, are alone, and want a page
to do justice to your appearance."

"Well?"

"Take me in, and I will be your page."

"Thank you; but I do not wish to be served by any one."

"Not even by me," said the young man, with such a strange glance, that
the cavalier felt the icy reserve in which he had tried to close his
heart melting away.

"I meant to say that I could be served by no one," said he.

"Yes, I know you are not rich, M. Ernanton de Carmainges," said the
young page. The cavalier started, but the lad went on, "therefore I do
not speak of wages; it is you, on the contrary, who, if you grant what I
ask, shall be paid a hundred-fold for the service you will render me;
let me enter with you, then, I beg, remembering that he who now begs,
has often commanded." Then, turning to the group of which we have
already spoken, the lad said, "I shall pass; that is the most important
thing; but you, Mayneville, try to do so also if possible."

"It is not everything that you should pass," replied Mayneville; "it is
necessary that he should see you."

"Make yourself easy; once I am through, he shall see me."

"Do not forget the sign agreed upon."

"Two fingers on the mouth, is it not?"

"Yes; success attend you."

"Well, monsieur page," said the man on the black horse, "are you ready?"

"Here I am," replied he, jumping lightly on the horse, behind the
cavalier, who immediately joined his friends who were occupied in
exhibiting their cards and proving their right to enter.

"Ventre de Biche!" said Robert Briquet; "what an arrival of Gascons!"

CHAPTER III.

THE EXAMINATION.

The process of examination consisted in comparing the half card with
another half in the possession of the officer.

The Gascon with the bare head advanced first.

"Your name?" said De Loignac.

"It is on the card."

"Never mind; tell it to me."

"Well, I am called Perducas de Pincornay."

Then, throwing his eyes on the card. M. de Loignac read. "Perducas de
Pincornay, 26 October, 1585, at noon precisely. Porte St. Antoine."

"Very good; it is all right," said he, "enter. Now for you," said he to
the second.

The man with the cuirass advanced.

"Your card?" said De Loignac.

"What! M. de Loignac, do you not know the son of your old friend, whom
you have danced twenty times on your knee?"--"No."

"I am Pertinax de Montcrabeau," replied the young man, with
astonishment. "Do you not know me now?"

"When I am on service, I know no one. Your card, monsieur?"

He held it out. "All right! pass," said De Loignac.

The third now approached, whose card was demanded in the same terms. The
man plunged his hand into a little goatskin pouch which he wore, but in
vain; he was so embarrassed by the child in his arms, that he could not
find it.

"What the devil are you doing with that child?" asked De Loignac.

"He is my son, monsieur."

"Well; put your son down. You are married, then?"---"Yes, monsieur."

"At twenty?"

"They marry young among us; you ought to know that, M. de Loignac, who
were married at eighteen."

"Oh!" thought De Loignac, "here is another who knows me."

"And why should he not be married?" cried the woman advancing. "Yes,
monsieur, he is married, and here are two other children who call him
father, besides this great lad behind. Advance, Militor, and bow to M.
de Loignac."

A lad of sixteen, vigorous and agile, with an incipient mustache,
stepped forward.

"They are my wife's sons, monsieur."

"In Heaven's name, your card!" cried De Loignac.

"Lardille!" cried the Gascon to his wife, "come and help me."

Lardille searched the pouch and pockets of her husband, but uselessly.
"We must have lost it!" she cried.

"Then I arrest you."

The man turned pale, but said, "I am Eustache de Miradoux, and M. de St.
Maline is my patron."

"Oh!" said De Loignac, a little mollified at this name, "well, search
again."

They turned to their pockets again, and began to re-examine them.

"Why, what do I see there, on the sleeve of that blockhead?" said De
Loignac.

"Yes, yes!" cried the father. "I remember, now, Lardille sewed it on."

"That you might carry something, I suppose, you great lazy fellow."

The card was looked at and found all right, and the family passed on in
the same order as before.

The fourth man advanced and gave his name as Chalabre. It was found
correct, and he also entered.

Then came M. de Carmainges. He got off his horse and presented his card,
while the page hid his face by pretending to adjust the saddle.

"The page belongs to you?" asked De Loignac.

"You see, he is attending to my horse."

"Pass, then."

"Quick, my master," said the page.

Behind these men the door was closed, much to the discontent of the
crowd. Robert Briquet, meanwhile, had drawn near to the porter's lodge,
which had two windows, one looking toward Paris and the other into the
country. From this post he saw a man, who, coming from Paris at full
gallop, entered the lodge and said, "Here I am, M. de Loignac."

"Good. Where do you come from?"

"From the Porte St. Victor."

"Your number?"--"Five."

"The cards?"

"Here they are."

De Loignac took them, examined them, and wrote on a slate the number
five. The messenger left, and two others appeared, almost immediately.
One came from the Porte Bourdelle, and brought the number four, the
other from the Porte du Temple, and announced six. Then came four
others. The first from the Porte St. Denis, with the number five; the
next from the Porte St. Jacques, with the number three; the third from
the Porte St. Honore, with the number eight; and the fourth from the
Porte Montmartre, with the number four. Lastly came a messenger, from
the Porte Bussy, who announced four. De Loignac wrote all these down,
added them to those who had entered the Porte St. Antoine, and found the
total number to be forty-five.

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