Dying by the Sword

[1] The Musketeer’s Seamstress.

[2] A Death in Gascony.

[3] The Musketeer’s Seamstress.

[4] We now come across M. Aramis’s seamstress, as depicted in Dumas. We don’t know if M. Dumas lacked knowledge of Aramis’s earlier affair with Violette, Duchess de Dreux, or if, for the sake of a more popular narrative, he chose to focus on the Duchess de Chevreuse, whom historians have called Richelieu’s most voluptuous adversary.

[5] Though it is clear from Dumas that a fleur-de-lis meant the criminal was intended for the gallows, though the manuscript explicitly says it, the compiler of this account has not been able to find confirmation on this point. As far as Ms. D’Almeida can determine, the only criminals to be branded were those whose crime fell very short of death. While one can understand Athos’s rage at being duped, his killing of his wife upon finding the brand on her shoulder would be seen as overreaction, when merely divorcing her and having her immured in a convent would serve the purpose. And though Athos is remorseful, it is because he thinks the brand might not have been legitimate and never because he doubts the brand is worthy of death. It is one of those instances in which one must bow to the material of the time, and even M. Dumas’s-flawed though we’ve seen it to be-interpretation of events, and assume there was more to this than was recorded or at least than was recorded and survived to the twenty-first century.

[6] The Musketeer’s Seamstress.

[7] We know from both Monsieur Dumas and from the rest of these diaries-despite extensive water damage-that indeed Athos gratified this ambition during one of Marie Michon’s precipitate flights from court that coincided with one of his travels on behalf of the King. The result of that wayside night was Raoul, Viscount de Bragelone.

[8] He repeats this trick later on, in the quite different circumstances that Monsieur Dumas related. It must have seemed incredible to Monsieur Dumas, who perhaps lacked the access to these documents, because he found it necessary to explain such a brilliant piece of deductive theft by relating it to the customs of the North American continent.

[9] Some will note that in Monsieur Dumas’ Three Musketeers the whole “affaire milady” was rather more complex and drawn out, and while the scene at the end of it was roughly similar, it involved the complicity of a little maid named Kitty. I trust I don’t need to explain to the readers who have been faithfully following these chronicles how unlikely it would be that young, romantic D’Artagnan would be involved not only with one woman but with three. Indeed, it would be somewhat wrenching to think of him betraying Constance-whom even in Monsieur Dumas’s embellished chronicle, he mourned lifelong-with the seductive but brittle milady, who might be experienced but cannot help but appear non-genuine.

We’ll leave Monsieur Dumas’s account, enjoyable and well crafted as it is, in the realm of a pleasant fiction concocted to accord to the morals and manners of his time and the idea that a brave and strong man must, of course, also be promiscuous.