THE TWO DIANAS.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
BOSTON, LITTLE, BROWN, & CO.
1894.
ILLUSTRATIONS
ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS
DRAWN AND ETCHED BY E. VAN MUYDEN.
The Fatal Joust
A Criminal's Speech against himself
The Forest of Château-Regnault
[Illustration: The Fatal Joust.]
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. Wherein It Seems As If The Misunderstandings
Were About To Begin Again
II. A Criminal's Speech against Himself
III. Justice
IV. Two Letters
V. A Protestant Conventicle
VI. Another Trial
VII. A Perilous Step
VIII. The Imprudence of Precaution
IX. Opportunity
X. Between two Duties
XI. Omens
XII. The Fatal Joust
XIII. A New Order of Affairs
XIV. Results of Gabriel's Vengeance
XV. Change of Temperature
XVI. Guise and Coligny
XVII. Reports and Denunciations
XVIII. A Spy
XIX. An Informer
XX. A Child King and Queen
XXI. End of the Italian Journey
XXII. Two Appeals
XXIII. A Perilous Confidence
XXIV. The Disloyalty of Loyalty
XXV. The Beginning of the End
XXVI. The Forest of Château-Begnault
XXVII. A Glimpse at the Politics of the
Sixteenth Century
XXVIII. The Tumult of Amboise
XXIX. An Act of Faith
XXX. Another Specimen of Politics
XXXI. A Ray of Hope
XXXII. Well-Guarded Slumber
XXXIII. A King's Death-Bed
XXXIV. Adieu, France!
Conclusion
THE TWO DIANAS
CHAPTER I
WHEREIN IT SEEMS AS IF THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS WERE
ABOUT TO BEGIN AGAIN
Arnauld du Thill was not at once taken back to the dungeon which he
occupied in the conciergerie of Rieux. He was taken to a room adjoining
that where the court was sitting, and was left alone for a few moments.
It might be, they told him, that after questioning his adversary, the
judges would desire to hear him further. Left to his own reflections,
the crafty scamp began by congratulating himself upon the effect he had
evidently produced by his clever and bold speech. Brave Martin-Guerre,
notwithstanding the righteousness of his cause, would surely find it
hard to be so persuasive.
At all events Arnauld had gained time. But on thinking matters over more
carefully he could not conceal from himself that he had gained nothing
else. The truth which he had so audaciously distorted would finally
overwhelm him on all sides. Could he hope that Monsieur de Montmorency
himself, whose testimony he had dared to invoke, would take the risk of
using his position to shield the avowed misdeeds of his spy? It was
doubtful, to say the least.
The result of Arnauld's cogitations was that he gradually relapsed from
hope to anxiety, and all things considered, said to himself that his
position was not the most encouraging in the world.
He lowered his head under these discouraging thoughts, when some one
came to take him back to prison.
So the tribunal had not thought best to question him further after
Martin-Guerre's explanations! Another cause for anxiety.
All this, nevertheless, did not prevent Arnauld du Thill, who noticed
everything, from observing that it was not his ordinary jailer who had
come to take him, and was with him at that moment.
Why the change? Were they redoubling their precautions against his
escape? Did they hope to make him confess? Arnauld determined to be on
his guard, and said not a word during the whole walk.
But behold! another cause of amazement. The room to which this new
custodian conducted Arnauld was not the one he ordinarily occupied.
The latter had a barred window and a high chimneypiece, which were
lacking in the other.
However, everything bore witness to the recent presence of a
prisoner,--crumbs of bread still fresh, a half-emptied cup of water, a
straw pallet, and a half-opened chest within which could be seen a man's
clothes.
Arnauld du Thill, who was well used to restraining his emotions, made no
sign of surprise, but as soon as he found himself alone, he hastened to
overhaul the chest.
He found nothing but clothes in it; nothing else to indicate its owner.
But the clothes were of a color and cut which Arnauld seemed to
remember. Especially two jerkins of brown cloth, and yellow tricot
breeches, which were neither of a common shade nor shape.
"Oho," said Arnauld, "that would be strange!"
Just as night began to fall, the unknown jailer entered.
"Hallo, Master Martin-Guerre!" said he, laying his hand familiarly upon
the pensive Arnauld's shoulder in a way to signify that the jailer knew
his prisoner very well, even if the prisoner did not know his jailer.
"What is the matter, pray?" Arnauld asked this very friendly official.
"Well, it's just this, my dear fellow," the man replied; "your affair
seems to be looking brighter and brighter. Who do you suppose has
obtained leave from the judges, and now asks of yourself the favor of a
few moments' conversation?"
"My faith, I can't imagine!" said Arnauld. "How should I know? Who can
it be?"
"Your wife, my friend; even Bertrande de Rolles herself, who is
beginning to see, doubtless, which one of you has the right on his side.
But if I were in your place, I would refuse to receive her,--that I
would."
"Why so?" asked Arnauld du Thill.
"Why?" repeated the jailer. "Why, because she has denied you for so
long, of course! It is quite time for her to come over to the side of
justice and truth, just when to-morrow at the latest the decree of the
court will proclaim it publicly and officially! You agree with me, do
you not? and I will send your ungrateful spouse about her business
without ceremony."
The jailer took a step toward the door, but Arnauld stopped him with a
gesture.
"No, no!" said he, "don't send her away. On the other hand, I want to
see her. In short, since she has obtained leave from the judges, show
Bertrande de Rolles in, my dear friend."
"Hum! Always the same," said the jailer. "Always easy-going and
good-natured. If you allow your wife to reassert her former ascendency
so quickly, you take a great risk. However, that's your business."
The jailer withdrew, shrugging his shoulders compassionately.
Two minutes later he returned with Bertrande de Rolles. It was growing
darker every instant.
"I will leave you alone," said the jailer, "but I shall come to take
Bertrande away before it is quite dark: those are the orders. So you
have hardly a quarter of an hour; use it to quarrel or to make up, as
you choose."
And he left the cell again.
Bertrande de Rolles came forward, shame-faced and with bent head, toward
the pretended Martin-Guerre, who remained seated and silent, leaving it
for her to begin the conversation.
"Oh, Martin!" said she at last, in a weak and hesitating voice, when she
was at his side; "Martin, can you ever forgive me?"
Her eyes were wet with tears, and she was literally trembling in every
limb.
"Forgive you for what?" replied Arnauld, who did not propose to commit
himself.
"Why, for my stupid mistake," said Bertrande. "Of course I did very
wrong not to recognize you. But was there not some excuse for my
mistake, since it seems that at times you were deceived yourself? So it
was necessary, I confess, to make me believe in my error, that the whole
province, Monsieur le Comte de Montgommery, and justice, which knows
everything, should prove to me that you are my true husband, and that
the other is only a fraud and an impostor."
"But let us see," said Arnauld; "which is the acknowledged
impostor,--the one whom Monsieur de Montgommery brought hither, or the
one whom they found in possession of Martin-Guerre's goods and name?"
"Why, the other!" replied Bertrande; "the one who deceived me so, and
whom during the last week I have still called my husband, stupid, blind
fool that I was!"
"Aha, so the thing seems to be pretty well established now, does it?"
asked Arnauld, with emotion.
"_Mon Dieu_! yes, Martin," Bertrande replied in some confusion. "The
gentlemen of the court and your master, the worthy nobleman, told me
just now that they had no longer any doubt, and that you were surely the
true Martin-Guerre, my dear, good husband."
"Ah, indeed," said Arnauld, whose cheek paled in spite of himself.
"Thereupon," continued Bertrande, "they gave me to understand that I
would do well to ask your forgiveness, and to become reconciled to you
before they pronounce judgment; so I asked and obtained leave to see
you."
She stopped a moment, but seeing that her pretended husband gave no sign
of replying, she went on,--
"It is only too certain, good Martin-Guerre, that I have been very
guilty toward you. But I implore you to reflect that it has been
entirely involuntary on my part, as I call the Holy Virgin and the child
Jesus to witness! My first mistake was the not having unmasked and
discovered the fraud of this Arnauld du Thill. But could I imagine that
there could be such a perfect resemblance in the world, and that the
good God would amuse Himself by making two of His creatures so exactly
alike? Alike in feature and in form, but not, it is true, in character
and heart; and it was that difference which should have opened my eyes,
I confess. But why? Nothing warned me to be on my guard. Arnauld du
Thill talked to me of the past just as you yourself would have done. He
had your ring and your papers, and not a single one of his friends or
relatives suspected him. I acted in good faith. I attributed the change
in your disposition to the experience you had gained in your extensive
travels. Consider, my dear husband, that under the name of that stranger
it was you whom I always loved, you to whom I submitted joyfully.
Consider that, and you will forgive me for the first mistake, which led
me--without intending it or knowing it, so help me God!--to commit the
sin for which I shall pass the remainder of my days asking pardon from
Heaven and from you."
Bertrande de Rolles again paused in her justification to see if
Martin-Guerre would not speak to her and encourage her a little. But he
remained persistently silent, and poor Bertrande, with sinking heart,
continued,--
"Even if it be impossible, Martin, for you to bear ill-will toward me
for this first involuntary wrong, the second, unfortunately, deserves
beyond question all your reproaches and all your anger. When you were
not at hand, I might mistake another for you; but when you had presented
yourself, and I had leisure to compare you with the other, I should have
recognized you at once. But consider whether even in that matter my
conduct does not admit of some excuse. In the first place, Arnauld du
Thill was, as you say, in possession of the title and name which belong
to you, and it was extremely repugnant to my feelings to admit a
supposition which would make me guilty. In the second place, I was
hardly allowed to see you and speak with you. When I was confronted with
you, you were not dressed in your ordinary dress, but were wrapped in a
long coat which hid your form and your gait from me. Then, too, I was
kept secluded almost as closely as Arnauld du Thill and yourself, and I
hardly saw either of you except before the court, always separately and
at a considerable distance. In the face of that terrifying resemblance,
what means had I of determining the truth? I made up my mind, almost
haphazard, in favor of him whom I had called my husband just before. I
implore you not to be angry with me for it. The judges to-day assure me
that I was mistaken, and that they have abundant proofs of it. Thereupon
I come to you, penitent and abashed, trusting only in your kind heart
and the love of former days. Was I wrong to rely thus on your
indulgence?"
After this direct question, Bertrande made another pause; but the false
Martin still remained dumb.
Surely, in thus renouncing Arnauld du Thill Bertrande was adopting a
curious method of softening his heart toward her; but she was acting in
perfect good faith, and committed herself more and more irrevocably to
that view which she believed to be the true one, in order to touch the
heart of him whose forgiveness she supposed herself to be imploring.
"As for myself," she resumed humbly, "you will find my disposition much
altered. I am no longer the scornful, capricious, ill-tempered virago
who made life such a burden to you. The cruel treatment which I have
undergone at the hands of that wretched Arnauld, and which ought to have
condemned him in my eyes, has had one good result, at least,--in bending
and taming my spirit; and you may expect to find me in future as easily
managed and obliging as you yourself are gentle and kind-hearted. For
you will be gentle and kind with me as you used to be, will you not? You
are going to prove that now by forgiving me; and then I shall know you
by your good heart, as I know you already by your features."
"So you do recognize me now, do you?" said Arnauld du Thill, at last.
"Oh, yes! indeed, I do," replied Bertrande; "but I blame myself for
having waited for the judgment and decree of the court."
"So you do recognize me?" said Arnauld, persisting in his question. "You
do realize now that I am not that intriguing scoundrel who had the
assurance to call himself your husband no longer ago than last week, but
that I am the real, legitimate Martin-Guerre, whom you have not seen
before for many years? Look at me. Do you recognize me now, and
acknowledge me as your first and only husband?"
"To be sure I do," said Bertrande.
"By what marks do you recognize me?" asked Arnauld.
"Alas!" said Bertrande, frankly, "only by the outward appearance of your
person, I confess. Were you beside Arnauld du Thill and dressed like
him, the resemblance is so exact that very likely I could not tell you
apart even now. I know you for my true husband because I was told that I
was to be taken to him, because you occupy this cell, and not Arnauld's,
and because you receive me with the calm severity which I deserve; while
Arnauld would be trying still to abuse me and deceive me--"
"Wretched Arnauld!" cried Arnauld himself, harshly. "And you, weak and
credulous woman--"
"Don't spare me!" was Bertrande's rejoinder. "I much prefer your
reproaches to your silence. When you have said to me all that you have
at heart--for I know how kind and indulgent you are--you will soften
toward me and forgive me!"
"Very well!" said Arnauld, in a somewhat milder tone. "Don't be
downhearted, Bertrande; we will see."
"Ah!" exclaimed Bertrande, "what did I say? Yes, you are, indeed, my own
dear Martin-Guerre!"
She threw herself at his feet, and bathed his hands with her honest
tears,--for she really believed she was talking with her husband; and
Arnauld du Thill, who was observing her distrustfully, could find no
excuse for the least suspicion. Her expressions of joy and penitence
were not ambiguous.
"Very good!" Arnauld muttered to himself; "you shall pay for all this
some day, ingrate!"
Meanwhile he seemed to give way to an irresistible impulse of affection.
"I am weak, and I feel that I am yielding," said he, pretending to wipe
away a tear which was not there; and, as if in spite of himself, he
breathed a kiss upon the lowly head of the fair penitent.
"What ecstasy!" cried Bertrande; "he has almost forgiven me!"
At this moment the door opened, and the jailer reappeared.
"Humph! Made it up, have you?" said he, testily, as his eye fell upon
the sentimental tableau presented by the happy pair. "I was sure of
it,--you're such a milksop, Martin!"
"What's that? Do you blame him for his kind heart?" said Bertrande.
"Ha, ha! Come, come!" said Arnauld, laughing in the most fatherly way.
"Well, as I said before, it's his business," replied the unmoved jailer;
"and it's my business now to carry out my orders. The time has expired,
and you cannot stay a minute longer, my weeping beauty."
"What! must I leave him already?" asked Bertrande.
"Yes. You will have time enough to see him to-morrow and all the rest of
your days," was the reply.
"True, he will be free to-morrow!" rejoined Bertrande. "To-morrow, dear,
we will begin again our peaceful life of former days."
"Postpone your caresses till to-morrow, too," observed the fierce
jailer, "for now you must leave."
Bertrande kissed once more the hand which Arnauld du Thill held out to
her royally, waved a last adieu to him, and preceded the jailer from the
cell.
As the latter was closing the door, Arnauld called him back.
"May I not have a light, a lamp?" he asked.
"Yes, to be sure, just as you have every evening," said the jailer;
"that is, until curfew,--nine o'clock. By our Lady! we don't treat you
as harshly as Arnauld du Thill; and then, too, your master, the Comte de
Montgommery, is so generous! You are well taken care of to oblige him.
In five minutes I will bring your candle, friend Martin."
The light was brought to him very shortly by a turnkey, who withdrew at
once, wishing the prisoner good-night, and reminding him anew to
extinguish it at curfew.
Arnauld du Thill, when he found himself alone, quickly removed the linen
suit that he wore, and clothed himself no less speedily in one of the
famous suits, composed of a brown jerkin and yellow tricot
small-clothes, which he had discovered in Martin-Guerre's chest.
Then he burned his former costume piece by piece in the flame of his
candle, and mingled the ashes with those which were lying on the hearth.
It was all done in less than an hour; and he was enabled to extinguish
his light and go virtuously to bed even before the curfew tolled.
"Now, we will see!" said he. "I seem to have been beaten before the
court; but it will be very pleasant to succeed in deriving the means of
victory from my defeat."