Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 190 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE THREE GUARDSMEN. The officers who-had arrested him, conducted him at once to, the Bastile, where he had to pass, all trembling as he was, before a company of soldiers, who were charging t)eir muskets. Taken from there into a partly subterraneous gal- lery, he had to endure the most brutal insults and iil treatment. The attendants saw that he was not a Gevemnen, and they treated him, therefore, like a gar. - about half an hour a registrar came to put an end to his tortures, but not to his anxiety, by order- ing that he should be conducted to the question chamber. The prisoners were generally questioned in their cells, bat they did not observe so much cere- mony with M. Bonancieux, Two guards laid hold of the merver, and made him cross a court, and then, entering a corridor where there were three sentinels, they opened the door and pushed him into alow room, of which the only fur- niture was a table, achair, anda commissary. The commissary was seated on a chair, and was engaged in writing at the table, The two guards led the prisoner to the table, and, ata eignat from the commissary, went out of hear- ing. ‘The commissary, who had till then kept his head down over his papers, raised it up to see who he had before him, This commissary was a man witha very crabbed lock: asharp nose; cheeks yellow and puffed out; small, but searching sharp eyes; and with a countenance reminding one at the same time of a polecat and a fox. His head,. supported by a long and flexible neck, was thrust out of his full black robe, and balanced itself with a motion very mush like that of a turtle putting its head out of its - enell. He began by asking M. Bonancieux his christian and suruame, his age, profession, and place of abode. The accused replied that his name was Jacques Bonancieux, that hisage was 51 years, that he wasa oe mercer, and lved in the rue es Fossoyeurs, vo. 11. Instead of continuing his questions, the commissary then made him a long speech on the dangers of an obscure citizen interfering in public affairs. With this exordium he combined an exposition of the power and actions of the cardinal—that incomparable minister, the conqueror of all preceding ministers, the example for allfuture ministers—whom no one could oppose or thwart with OPAnIES. After this second part of his discourse, he fixed his hawk's eye on poor Bonancieux, and exhorted him to upon the seriousness of his situation, The reflections of the mercer were already made; he wished M. de Ja Porte at the devil for having put it into his head to marry his god-daughter, and cursed the hour when that god-daughter had been received into the queen's service. The foundation of M. Bonancieux’s character was rofound selfishness, mingled with sordid avarice, he whole being seasoned with excessive cowardice. The love which he entertained towards his young wife was quite a secondary sentiment, which could not stand against those primary feelings we have just enumerated. Bonancieux, in fact, reflected on what had been said to hitn. “But, Mr. Commissary,’’ he timidly observed, ** believe me, that | well know and appreciate the in- comparant merit of his eminence, by whom we have the honor to be governed.” ‘Really?’ said the commissary, with a doubtful look: “but if this be true, how came you to be in the Bastile?”’ ‘* How I am there, or, rather, why I am there,”’ re- plied Bonancieux, “is what is utterly impossible for for me to tell you, seeing that I do not know myself; but most certainly it is not for having offended, con- ‘sciously, at least, the cardinal!” “Tt certain, nevertheless, that committed some crime, as you are nigh srepso =u’ high treason!’’ cried Bonancieux, confounded; ‘of high treason! And how can you believe that a poor mercer, who hates the Huguenots, and abhors the Spaniards, can be accused of high treason? Re- flect, sir; the thing is morally impossible.’ **M. Bonancieux,”’ said the cemmissary, regard- ing the accused with his little eyes, as though he had the power of looking into the very depths of his heart, M. Bonancieux, you have a wife?” * Yes, sir,’ replied the trembling mercer, perceiv- ing that it was on her account that he was now about to be embroil ‘* that is to say, I had one.”’ “What? you had one! And what have you done with her, if you have one no longer?” ‘**Some one has carried her off, sir!" ‘Some 7: 4 taken her from you?” said the com- Bonancieux perceived by this ah! that matters were getting worse and worse. ‘*Some one has taken her from you?” resumed the comm . “And do you know who has been guilty of abduction?” TT think I know.’ **Who is it?” : “Remember that I affirm nothing, Mr. Commissary, only suspect.” es Whom do you suspect? Come, speak frankly.”’ M. Bonancieux was in the greatest perplexity. Ought he to deny sg age or to confess? From total denial it might be inferred that he knew too , admit; and, by a general confession, he i give evidence of his good intentions. , therefore, to have no conceal- | _ “T suspect,” said he, ‘a tall, dark man, of lofty air, who bas the appearance of a man of rank. He followed 4 T think. m fetch my wife ou must have ere accused of m the gate of the Louvre.”’ any times, when I went to The commissary appeared somewhat disturbed. ‘‘And his name?” said he. ’ “Oh! as to his name, I donot know it; but if I should meet him, I could recognize him among a thousand persons.”’ The brow of the commissary grew dark. * You could recognize him among a thousand, you say?’’ continued he. * That is to say,’’ replied Bonancieux, who saw that he had made a false step, ‘that is to say——”’ “You have said that you could recognize him,"’ said the commissary; “‘ very well, that is enough for to- day; it is necessary, before we p any further, that some one should be informed that you know the person who has carried off your wife.”’ ‘** But I did not tell you that 1 knew him!"’ cried M. Bonancieux, in despair. “I told you, on the con- trary——"’ ? Take away the prisoner!'’ exclaimed the c>»mmis- sary, to the two guards. ‘* And where must we conduct him?’ asked the re- gistrar, To a dungeon.”’ “To whieh?” “Oh! to the first that offers, provided it be secure,” answered the commissary, with an indifference which filled the breast of poor Bonancieux with horror and dismay. | ** Alas—alas!’’ said he, “ misfortune overwhelms me. My wife must have committed some frightful crime, and lam supposed to be an accomplice, and shall be punished with her. She must have said some- thing—have confessed that she told me all. A wo- man is such a weak creature! A dungeon! The first that offers! that’s it. A night is soon passed; and then, to-morrow, to the wheel, to the gibbet! Oh! my God—my God, have pity on me!”’ Without inthe least attending to the lamentations of Master Bonancieux, which were of a kind that they were tolerably well accustomed to, the two guards took him by the arms, and led him away, while the gomeranaery hastily wrote a letter, for which his of- ficer waited, . Bonancieux did not close an eye; not because his dungeon was very Siaagneseanes but because his anx- iety was very great. He sat upon his stool the whole night, trembling at every noise; and when the first rays of light penetrated his chamber, Aurora herself appeared to him to be dressed in funeral array. Suddenly he heard the bolts withdrawn, and gave a terrible start. He believed that they were coming to conduct him to the seaffold; and therefore, when he saw that it was only the commissary and his at- tendant, he was almost ready to jump into their arms. “Your affair has become sadly complicated since last evening, my fine fellow,”’ said the commissary ; ‘IL advise you to tell the whole truth, for your re- pentance alone can mitigate the anger of the cardin- ‘*But Iam ready to tell everything,’ said Bonan- cieux; “everything, at least, that 1 know; question me, I h you!” * Where is yor wife, in the first place?” ‘* But I told you that some one has carried her “Yes, but since five o’clock yesterday evening, thanks to you, she has escaped.”’ ‘*My wife escaped!’’ cried Bonancieux; ‘‘ oh, the wretch! Sir, if she has escaped, | assure you itis not my fault.”’ ‘What were yy doing, then, in the apartment of our neighbor, M. d'Artagnan, with whom you hada ong conference during the day?" ‘**Ah, yes, Mr. Commissary, that is true, and I confess | was wrong in that; yes, | was in M. d’Ar- tagnan’s apartments.” And what was the object. of that visit?” “To entreat him to help me in finding my wife. I thought I had aright to claim her. I was mistaken, it appears, and I me Y 8 beg your pardon.” “And what answer did d’Artagnan give?” “M. d’Artagnan promised me assistance; but I soon perceived that he had betrayed me.” ‘You would mislead justice! M. d’Artagnan made an agreement with er in virtue of that agree- ment, he put to flight the officers who had arrested your a and has now secreted her from all our re- searc , “M. d’Artagnan has taken away my wife? Alas! wiFortunately, Md? Artagnan is and ortunately, M. n is in our power, an you shall be confronted with him.” “Ah, faith! Idesire nothing better!’ exclaimed M. Bonancieux; “I shall not be sorry to see the face of an acquaintance.”’ “ Bring in M. d'Artagnan,’’ said the commissary, to the two guards. The guards brought in Athos. “M. d’Artagnan.” said the commissary, addressing Athos, ‘declare what passed between you and that other gentleman.,”’ ; “But,” a ge M. meg Be “that is not M. d’Ar- tagnan that you show me there.” “What! Not M.d’Artagnan?’”’ cried the commis- “By no means,”’ cried Bonancieux. is the gentleman’s name? demanded the commissary. “T cannot tell you; I don’t know him!” replied Bonancieux. re ‘What! you do not know him? “ No.”’ “You never saw him.before?”’ ‘Yes; but I do not know his name.” ‘Your name?” demanded the commissary. “Athos,’’ answered the musketeer. “ But that is not the name of a man; it is the name of a mountain,” cried the poor commissary, who be- gan to get confused. ‘It is my name,’’ calmly replied Athos. * me you said your name was d'Artagnan.” “Yes, your’ “ The fact is, that they said tome—you are M. d’- Artagnan. Ireplied—do you think so? My guards said they were sure of it. I did not wish to contra- dict them; besides, I might be mistaken." “Sir, you insult the majesty of justice.”’ ** Not at all.”’ calmly rented Athos. * You are M. d’Artagnan?” ** You see that you still tell me so.” “But,” cried M. Bonancieux, “I tell you, Mr. Com- missary, that there isnot the smallest doubt. M. d’- Artagnan is my lodger, and, consequently, as he does not pay his rent, I have reason to know hitna. M. d’Artagnan is a young man of nineteen or twenty years of age, at most, and this gentleman is at least thirty. M. d’Artagnan isin the guard of M.des Essarts, and this gentleman isin the company of M. de Tre- ville’s musketeers: observe the uniform.”’ * By Heaven, it is true!’ muttered the commis- sary —*'it is true, by God!" At this instant the door was quickly opened, and a messenger, shownin by one of the turnkeys of the Bastile, handed the commissary a letter. ** Oh, the wretch!"’ exclaimed the Commissary. * What—of whom do you speak? It is not of my wife, [hope.” “On the contrary, it is of her. a nice state.’’ ‘*“Do me the pleasure,” said the enraged mercer, ‘to tell me, sir, how my affairs can be made worse by what my wife Coes while I am in prison?’ * Because what she does is the consequence of an infernal plan arranged between you!”’ ‘IT swear to you, Mr. Commissary, that you are in the most profound error; that I know nothing in the world of what my wife is ae that I am complete- ly ignorant of what she has done; and that, if she has committed follies, 1 renounce her, 1 give her the lie, and | curse her.”’ “And now,”’’said Athos, “if you have no further business with me, dismiss me. Your M. Bonancieux is very tiresome." “Take the prisoners back to their dungeons,” said the commissary, pointing to Athos and Bonancieux, “and guard them more strictly than ever.”’ ** Nevertheless,”’ said Athos, with his usual tran- quility, ** your business is with M. d’Artagnan; I do not well see how I can sup ly his place.”’ ‘Do what I have decade ‘cried the commissary ; ‘and the strictest solitude—do you hear!"’ Athos followed the guards, shrugging bis shoui- ders; and M. Bonancieux, uttering lamentations which might have softened the heart of a tiger. hey took the mercer into the same dungeon where he had passed the night, and left him there through- out the whole day. our after hour did poor Bonan- cieux weep like a very mercer; he was not atalla man of warlike soul, as he himself told us. After nine o’clock in the evening, just as he had made up his mind to go to bed, he heard steps in his corridor. These steps approached his dungeon, the door sea and the guards appeared. 6 . ow me,”’ said an usher, who was behind the guards. ‘** Follow you!” said Bonancieux, ‘follow you as this time of night! And where’ my God!” ‘* Where we have orders to conduct you.” ** But that is no answer.”’ “It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give you,”’ **Oh Lord—oh Lord!’’ muttered the poor mercer, **now Lam lost!” He followed, mechanically, and without resist- ance. He went down the same corridor he had gone through before, crossed a first court, then a second floor, and then, at the entrance gate, he found a car- riage surrounded by four horse-gu ey made him enter this ca ; the sergeant laced himself at his side; the door locked, and they th found themselves in a moving prison. The carriage p ed ew like a funeral coach. Through the padlocked bars the prisoner could only see the horses and the pavement. But, like a true Parisian as he was, Bonancieux recognized each street by its corners, its lamps, and its signs. At the moment they reached Sc. Paul, where the criminals of the Bastile were executed, he nearly fainted, and crossed himself twice. He thought the carriage would have stopped there, but it went on, nevertheless. Further on he was seized with great fear: it was in skirting the cemetery of St. Jean, where the State criminals were buried. One thing alone encouraged him, which was, that before burying them, their heads were generally cut off; and ile head was yet upon his shoulders. But when the carriage took the road to La Greve, and he perceived the painted roof of the Hotel de Ville, and saw that the car went under its col- onnade, he thought it was over with him, and wished to confess himself to the sergeant, and, on his refusal, uttered such piteous cries that the ser- eant a that if we continued to deafen him soe e would put a gag on oe i This threat reassured him a little; if they meant to execute him at the Greve, it was scarcely worth while to gag him, as oy had nearly reached the place of execution. In fact, the carriage crossed this fatal place without stop ing. There was only the Croix du Trahoir, then, to fear, and the carriage took exactly the road to it. . This time there was no further room for doubt. It was at the Croix du Trahoir that inferior criminals were executed. Bonancieux had flattered himself, by considering that he was worthy of St. Paul, or the Place de Greve. It was at the Croix du Trahoir thas his journey and his destiny would end. 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