Important Announcement!
This week’s post is the final chapter of Devil’s Dance, Book 7 of the Musketeers Cycle. But never fear, because next week we continue by rolling right into Episode 1 of Book 8, Shadow of the Bastille, in which all the bubbling intrigue of the last three volumes finally comes to a boil! It’s good stuff, and I think you’re going to enjoy it.
Meanwhile, I’m packaging up Devil’s Dance for book-volume publication, and in two weeks you should be able to order it either as a complete ebook or as a trade paperback in matching format to previous books in the series. As soon as it’s ready to go, I’ll announce it here.
— Lawrence Ellsworth
Devil’s Dance
~ or ~
Louise de La Vallière
By Alexandre Dumas
Edited and Translated by Lawrence Ellsworth
In Last Week’s Episode
In Fontainebleau, d’Artagnan fulfilled Porthos’ fondest dream by presenting him to His Majesty Louis XIV at a royal dinner, where Porthos’ simple manners and robust appetite pleased the young king. However, Porthos’ presence didn’t please Aramis, also there, because it revealed that d’Artagnan had been investigating his affairs, which Aramis preferred to keep secret. Among these affairs was Aramis’ own presentation to the king by his patron Monsieur Fouquet, but the finance minister overreached when he asked His Majesty to solicit the Vatican for a cardinal’s hat for the Bishop of Vannes.
Chapter LIV
Explanations
Aramis was still nimble enough to catch up with d’Artagnan and Porthos before they left the grand salon. As they passed behind a column, he clapped Porthos on the shoulder and said, “So, you escaped from my prison?”
“Don’t scold him,” said d’Artagnan. “It was I, dear Aramis, who sprung open the gates.”
“Ah, mon ami,” replied Aramis, looking at Porthos, “couldn’t you have waited with a little more patience?”
D’Artagnan came to the rescue of Porthos, who was already gasping for air. “You men of the Church are great politicians,” he said to Aramis. “We men of the sword get straight to the point. Here’s how it happened: I had gone to visit dear old Baisemeaux.”
Aramis pricked up his ears.
“That reminds me!” said Porthos. “I have a letter for you from Baisemeaux, Aramis.” And Porthos handed the bishop the letter we’re already familiar with.
Aramis asked for a moment to read it, and he read it without d’Artagnan looking the least bit embarrassed about having read it first. As for Aramis, he read the letter with such a serene expression that d’Artagnan admired him more than ever.
The letter finished, Aramis put it in his pocket with perfect calm. “You were saying, cher Captain?” he prompted.
“I was saying,” continued the musketeer, “that I’d gone to visit Baisemeaux on the king’s service.”
“The king’s service?” said Aramis.
“Yes,” said d’Artagnan. “And of course, we talked about you and our friends. I must say that Baisemeaux received me rather coldly. I took my leave, and on my way out a soldier approached me—he probably recognized me though I was out of uniform, for he said, ‘Captain, would you do me the favor to read me the name and address written on this envelope?’ And I read: To Monsieur du Vallon, care of Monsieur Fouquet at Saint-Mandé. ‘Well!’ I said to myself, ‘Porthos hasn’t returned to Pierrefonds or even Belle-Île, as I thought, Porthos is at Saint-Mandé with Monsieur Fouquet. But Monsieur Fouquet is at Fontainebleau so Porthos must be by himself, or perhaps with Aramis. Let’s go see Porthos!’ And I went to see Porthos.”
“Fair enough,” said Aramis thoughtfully.
“You didn’t tell me that,” said Porthos.
“I didn’t have time, my friend.”
“And you brought Porthos to Fontainebleau?”
“To Planchet’s house.”
“Planchet has a house in Fontainebleau?” asked Aramis.
“Yes, near the cemetery!” Porthos blurted out.
“What? Near the cemetery?” said Aramis suspiciously.
Fine, thought the musketeer, if there’s going to be a squabble, let’s see what we can learn from it.
“Yes, the cemetery,” said Porthos. “Planchet is a good lad who makes excellent preserves, so it’s too bad that his windows overlook a cemetery. It’s sad, even! Why, this morning….”
“This morning?” said Aramis, eyes widening.
D’Artagnan turned away and looked out a window, drumming a little tattoo on the pane.
“This morning, we saw some poor Christian soul get buried,” said Porthos.
“Oh?”
“It was depressing! I wouldn’t want to live in a house where you look at dead people all the time. But d’Artagnan seemed to like it.”
“Ah! D’Artagnan watched the funeral?”
“Every second. Couldn’t tear his eyes away.”
Aramis started and turned toward the musketeer, but d’Artagnan was now deep in conversation with Saint-Aignan. So, Aramis continued to interrogate Porthos, and when he’d squeezed all the juice he could from that enormous lemon, he threw away the peel.
Aramis turned back to his old friend d’Artagnan, took him by the arm and said, “Mon ami.” Saint-Aignan was just leaving, as the king’s supper had been announced.
“My friend,” replied d’Artagnan.
“I’m not dining with the king tonight.”
“No, but we are.”
“Can you spare ten minutes for a talk with me?”
“Twenty, even. It takes that long for His Majesty to proceed to the table.”
“Where shall we chat?”
“Here, on this window bench. The king has gone and the Court with him; the salon is quite empty.”
“Let’s sit here, then.”
They sat down. Aramis took one of d’Artagnan’s hands. “Confess, cher ami,” he said, “that you led Porthos to distrust me a little.”
“I admit it, but it wasn’t the way you think. I found Porthos bored almost to death, and I wanted, in presenting him to the king, to do for him—and for you—what you two will never do for yourselves.”
“What’s that?”
“Speak in your own praise.”
“You did it nobly! Merci.”
“And I got that cardinal’s hat closer to your head.”
“I admit it!” said Aramis with a strange smile. “In truth, there’s no one like you for making your friend’s fortunes.”
“So you see, I was just working for Porthos.”
“As was I, but you have a longer arm at Court.”
It was d’Artagnan’s turn to smile.
“Come,” said Aramis, “we owe each other the truth. Do you still love me, d’Artagnan?”
“No less than ever,” said d’Artagnan, an answer that didn’t compromise him too badly.
“Thank you for that,” said Aramis. “Now tell me candidly: had you come to Belle-Île for the king?”
“Pardieu!”
“You wanted to cheat me of the pleasure of offering Belle-Île fully fortified to the king?”
“Well, in order to cheat you of that pleasure, I would first have had to know that you meant to do it.”
“You came to Belle-Île knowing nothing?”
“Nothing from you, certainly! How the devil was I supposed to know that Aramis had become a strategic engineer who could design fortifications like a new Polybius or Archimedes?”115
“That’s true. But you guessed it was me?”
“Oh! Yes.”
“And Porthos too?”
“I might have guessed that Aramis would become an engineer, but never Porthos. Some Roman said, ‘One can become an orator but must be born a poet,’ but no one ever said, ‘One can be born Porthos and become an engineer.’”
“You’re still so charmingly witty,” said Aramis coldly. “But I continue.”
“Go on.”
“When you could have kept our secret, why did you hasten to inform the king?”
“I hastened all the more, dear friend, when I saw you were hastier still. When a man who weighs three hundred pounds like Porthos rides post horses to death, and when a gouty prelate, begging your pardon, burns up the road, I have to imagine that these two friends kept me in the dark because they have something to hide. And then, ma foi! I hasten! I ride just as fast as my lack of weight and lack of gout allows.”
“Cher ami, didn’t you consider that you might be doing me and Porthos a sad disservice?”
“I thought I might be—but you’d played me for a fool at Belle-Île.”
“Forgive me,” said Aramis.
“And pardon me,” said d’Artagnan.
“So, now,” continued Aramis, “you know everything?”
“Faith, no.”
“Did you know that I had to have Monsieur Fouquet warned immediately so that he could speak to the king before you did?”
“No. Tell me why.”
“Monsieur Fouquet has enemies—you know that, don’t you?”
“Oh! Yes.”
“One in particular.”
“Dangerous?”
“Mortal! Well, to counter the influence of this enemy, Monsieur Fouquet had to show the king both devotion and sacrifice. He surprised His Majesty by offering him Belle-Île. If you had gotten to Paris ahead of us, that surprise would have been ruined, the gift forestalled. We acted out of fear.”
“I understand.”
“So there, that’s the whole mystery solved,” said Aramis, pleased to have convinced the musketeer.
“Sure,” said the latter, “only it would have been simpler at Vannes to take my arm and say, ‘Cher ami, we’re fortifying Belle-Île so we can present it to the king. Do us the favor of telling us on whose behalf you’re acting. Are you the friend of Monsieur Colbert or of Monsieur Fouquet?’ I might not have answered that, but if you’d gone on to ask, ‘Are you my friend?’ I’d have said ‘Yes.’”
Aramis hung his head.
“That way, you could have neutralized me,” continued d’Artagnan. “When I got to the king I would have said, ‘Sire, Monsieur Fouquet is fortifying Belle-Île, and magnificently, too, but here’s a letter that the Governor of Belle-Île gave me for Your Majesty.’ Or even, ‘Monsieur Fouquet is on his way to Your Majesty to explain his intentions.’ Then I wouldn’t have been played for a fool, and you would have had your surprise, and we wouldn’t have to look askance at each other when we meet.”
“And instead,” replied Aramis, “you’ve done the work of Monsieur Colbert. Are you his friend?”
“Faith, no!” cried the captain. “Monsieur Colbert is a penny-pinching drudge, and I hate him as I hated Mazarin, though without fearing him.”
“As for me,” said Aramis, “I love Monsieur Fouquet, and I’m his man. You know my situation: I have no estate and no income. Monsieur Fouquet gave me a benefice and then a bishopric; Monsieur Fouquet has treated me gallantly, and I’m still worldly enough to appreciate it. Monsieur Fouquet has won my loyalty and I’ve placed myself at his service.”
“None better. You’ve chosen a fine patron.”
Aramis pursed his lips. “The best, I think, that any of us could have found.” He paused, thinking. D’Artagnan was careful not to interrupt him. Aramis continued, “You probably know from Porthos how he got involved in all this?”
“No,” said d’Artagnan. “I’m curious, of course, but I never pry into a friend’s secrets.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t do it if he wouldn’t want me to know.”
“Oh, never fear, I wouldn’t harm Porthos—I treasure him because he’s so simple and so good. Porthos has a noble spirit. Since becoming a bishop, I seek out those simple natures who love the truth and hate intrigue.”
D’Artagnan stroked his mustache.
“I saw that Porthos was bored, I knew his good heart would remind me of the honor of the old days and move me to do better in the here and now, so I summoned him to Vannes. Monsieur Fouquet, who loves me and knows I love Porthos, promised to obtain for him a knightly order at the first opportunity. And there’s your secret.”
“I won’t reveal it,” said d’Artagnan.
“As well I know, cher ami. No one understands honor better than you.”
“I like to think so, Aramis.”
“Now….” And the prelate gazed at his friend as if to read into the depths of his soul. “Now, let’s talk about us. Do you want to be one of Monsieur Fouquet’s good friends? Don’t answer until I explain what that means.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you want to be a Marshal of France, a duke and peer of the realm, with an income of a million a year?”
“But to earn all that, my friend,” d’Artagnan replied, “what would I have to do?”
“Be Monsieur Fouquet’s man.”
“But I’m the king’s man, old friend.”
“You could be Monsieur Fouquet’s man as well.”
“I’m afraid there’s only one d’Artagnan.”
“I presume you have an ambition, a heart’s desire.”
“Of course.”
“Well?”
“Well, I would like to be a Marshal of France—and a duke and peer of the realm. The king will make me so, in time.”
Aramis fixed his piercing gaze on the musketeer.
“Isn’t the king our master?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Undeniably—but Louis XIII was our master as well, and what came of that?”
“Oh, but dear friend, between Louis XIII and Richelieu there was no Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the musketeer quietly.
“In this new reign,” said Aramis, “there will be many obstacles.”
“Not for the king, surely.”
“Perhaps not, but….”
“Listen, Aramis. It seems to me that nowadays everyone is out for themselves and no one is out for this young prince. I think I’ll support myself by supporting him.”
“And what of the ingratitude of princes?”
“That’s only a fear for the weak.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“Very.”
“But the king might not need your services anymore.”
“On the contrary, I think he’ll need them more than ever. If it became necessary to arrest a new Condé,116 what would arrest him? This, and only this, in all of France.” And d’Artagnan slapped his sword.
“I believe it,” said Aramis, turning pale.
And he rose and shook d’Artagnan’s hand.
“There’s the last call for the royal supper,” said the Captain of the King’s Musketeers. “If you’ll excuse me…?”
Aramis put an arm around his shoulder and drew him close. “A friend like you is the brightest jewel in the royal crown,” he said.
And they parted.
I knew it, thought d’Artagnan. He’s up to something.
It’s time to light the fuse to the bomb, thought Aramis, because d’Artagnan is on to us.
~ THE END ~
The story continues in Book Eight, Shadow of the Bastille
Notes on the Text of Devil’s Dance
115. A NEW POLYBIUS OR ARCHIMEDES: Polybius (circa 208-118 BC), the author of Tactics, was one of the first military historians; Archimedes (circa 287-212 BC) was the greatest engineer of the Classical era.
116. ARREST A NEW CONDÉ: D’Artagnan refers to the period when the Prince de Condé (see Historical Characters) was in revolt against the Regency of Anne of Austria.
ALEXANDRE DUMAS’ MUSKETEERS CYCLE
Devil’s Dance is part of a series. Everyone has heard of The Three Musketeers and its heroes d’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, but what’s less well known nowadays is that Dumas followed up his greatest novel with a series of sequels that are just as great. Your Cheerful Editor Lawrence Ellsworth has been compiling all-new contemporary translations of these novels, and the entire series, when complete, will fill nine volumes:
- The Three Musketeers, Book One
- The Red Sphinx, Book Two
- Twenty Years After, Book Three
- Blood Royal, Book Four
- Between Two Kings, Book Five
- Court of Daggers, Book Six
- Devil’s Dance, Book Seven
- Shadow of the Bastille, Book Eight
- The Man in the Iron Mask, Book Nine
Volumes one through six are already in print, the first five from Pegasus Books, while Book Six, Court of Daggers, is available as an independent publication. Each week now brings a new episode in the serialization of Book Seven, Devil’s Dance.
If you’re interested in my work, you can learn more about it at swashbucklingadventure.net. Also, be sure to check out my parallel Substack, cinemaofswords.substack.com.
Welcome, fellow cavaliers, and enjoy the ride!
—Lawrence Ellsworth
Copyright © 2023 Lawrence Schick. All rights reserved.
Hearty congratulations, sir, on completing another volume! I'm still back on volume three, but I'm so grateful that the path keeps growing longer in front of me.