Destiny’s Masks

 

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The duel

 It was late at night. The streets of Paris seemed deserted. After the day's work, the workmen had retreated to their homes and rested in the pleasant family circle. From time to time, a group of cardinal's guards played and waved with swords. Once they disappeared into the corner of the street, it sanks back into silence again.

But here at Saint-Antoine Gate, a young man appears on horseback. He does not seem to be a Parisian, but rather a provincial. His clothes are dusty, a sign that he spent a lot of time in the saddle. As a proof there comes the sweat on his brown horse's neck, and the white foam on the back of his mouth. The fringes of the hat are wrinkled and flushed, and the face seems tired. His torn clothes hang in rags on his shoulders, which makes you think of a possible duel he attended on the road.

A young man ... let's sketch his portrait:

Imagine Don Quixote at eighteen; Don Quixote with no armor, neither on his chest nor on his thighs, a Don Quixote dressed in a short coat of wool, the blue color of which had changed with time, beating when in purple, when in an azure like the sky. The prolonged face, the muscles of the jaws, another sign, after which you can distinguish a béarnais even when not wearing a beret: our youngster nevertheless wore a beret adorned with a wedge; eyes open and agile, vulturesque nose, but well done; too tall for a boy, too    short for a man; a less experienced eye would have taken him as the son of a farmer who had gone on journey had he not seen the long sword hanging on the chest belt on his master's thigh when he walked, the hunched hair of the horse when it was riding.

With a hand on the hip, a slick smile on his lips, he approached the officer who was on guard that night, and with a voice in which a pure béarnaise's accent could be seen, he whispered something to the night guard. In response, he showed him a certain street, to which he straightened his horse and galloped in the direction indicated.

But at the moment when he passed the corner of Saint-Honoré Street, his ears crossed the sound of swords. He tightened his hearing and saw a stalked horse, collapsing to the ground under a dash of dagger. The béarnais shifted his horse in the direction of the noise. The sword metal continued to sound in the night.

As soon as the Jesuit monastery passed, he saw a group of people in the light of a lantern. Four of them wore the blue uniform of the Musketeers, very respected in those times. They held themselves in defense position next to each other. Three of them were riding, and the fourth horse was struggling three steps away with a dagger stuck in his neck. .All four wore masks that completely hid their faces. In front of them, standing in attacking position, eight cardinalist guards, and at their feet, two of their comrades, seriously injured or even dying.

In the moonlight, the fire of an archebus shot, a detuning sounded, and one of the horsemen fell on the pavement, groaning, proof that the fire had reached its goal. At the same moment, there was a scream and one of them called in the night the name "Louis!". 

This archery fire, pause in which the hearts grew alive for a new attack and a new defense, set off the start of a terrible slaughter. The one who had cried the name of the wounded turned back to the cardinal's guard and saying, "You will pay my friend's wound," he swung his sword into his chest with a sudden flurry. The three masked cavaliers rushed to the attackers, uniting their voices and shouting unanimously, "Long live the King!" To this cry, the unknown béarnais reacted unexpectedly. He pulled his sword out of his sheath, and repeating this cry with a triumphant voice, stepped into the gallop of the horse to help the Musketeers, and began to split punches to left and right. On this occasion, the three masked Chevaliers  intensified their battle, seeing that there came reinforcements. The young man, who had fallen from his horse, struggled to stand up and pulled his dagger out of his sheath, tossed him to the nearest cardinalist, the one who, along with two comrades, attacked one of the Musketeers. As he threw it, he shouted, "Long live the dauphine," after which, exhausted and bleeding, he collapsed to the ground. At the sound of this cry, one of the Musketeers turned in surprise, with a faint expression on his face, murmuring, "Thank you," but he had to return immediately to avoid being hit in the back and put ??????

his sword in the chest of the attacker, shouting, "For Louis!" then, turning to another, he cried in the same voice, "For Albert," and another guard crashed to the ground. Only three of them stood, the Musketeer aimed at one of them, and cried out triumphantly, "For Rene!" A second musketeer made two of those left fall and another jumped from to last remaining on the battlefield, and straightening his sword against his chest, adressed one of the Musketeers: "Hés yours, Amaury!"

 "Thank you, my good René," he said, smiling under the mask, and addressing the guard, "Monsieur de Pontoise, your sword!" And he stretched out his hand gauntly. He looked up at him, and said, breaking the sword : "We'll meet again, canaille." 

At this insult, the one named René, made a threatening gesture that would have frightened even the most courageous , but the Amaury chevalier stopped him, grabbing his hand and stopping to accompany his gesture with deed. In a majestic gesture of the mysterious young man, which meant that he was saving his life, and after René's sword fell from his chest and hid himself again in the sheath, Pontoise fled away.

Amaury then ducked and kneeled down beside Louis, the wounded knight, who was still lying on the ground, and who, during the attack, had risen twice, trying to help his comrades, and twice crashing down, and bathing the shirt in blood. Amaury knelt down and took Louis's hand to him, gently and encouraging. He tore his sleeve from the right arm's shirt, and revealed a deep, still bloody wound. He supported the musketeer so that his head could sit comfortably on his knees and, with a sudden movement, he removed the sleeve of the shirt from his own shoulder. He pulled the dagger out of his belt and scratched his shoulder. He leaned forward and dropped a few drops of his own blood into the wound of Louis. He stretched his hand over the wound, and murmured a few words with a low voice.

The young béarnais sat aside, wondering at this strange ritual. Amaury pulled the cape from his shoulders, wrapping it carefully around the wounded shoulder. He called Albert and René, who so furiously fought that evening, and helped them raise their wounded friend, which the cold air of the night at the contact with the open wound had made him faint. He took the hand that Rene had stretched out , and he rose to his feet, thanking him.

Then the Musketeers' attention was directed to the  béarnais , who, after having freed himself, and had no one to fight with, had retreated modestly, holding his horse, which he had found impatient and staring at the four brave knights. But the greatest attention was attracted to the mysterious Amaury, so brave, with such a noble attitude, and with such a strange look. Amaury then approached him and addressed him as follows: "Gentleman, thank you for the service that you have offered by helping us. Be so kind as to accept this ring on our behalf as a sign of gratitude. "and, pulling out the glove, revealed a white and neat hand. He took out a diamond ring from his little finger, and handed it to the béarnais, who took it from the hands of the chevalier and looked at itwonderfully. He came closer to the light of a lantern, to look at him better, and he saw with wonder that he had been given a jewel of great value, a diamond. But when he turned to thank, he found the street deserted.  In vain he made his way around the houses, and scrutinized the narrow streets,he found no trace of the Musketeers.

In this situation, and not having what to do in the street at midnight, he entered the first tavern he found in his path, and rent a room. Lying down, he again asked, "What was that?" and he fell asleep shortly afterwards, leaving no answer to the question that was so hard about it.


I beg your pardon for the faults, as English is not my native language!!

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The festival

 Two days after this strange night, Paris celebrated a national holiday. All the people, therefore, headed for Grève, where fireworks would be fired, a compliment to royalism, present at any great public solemnity, a true celebration for the French people. The location was very well chosen. Place de Grève was wide and spacious. Six thousand spectators could easily walk on the street. Around the king's equestrian statue, lodges had been circularly arranged to allow all viewers to enjoy the light show. The Parisians came in groups, in couples, alone, everywhere. By seven o'clock, the first curious people could be seen, animating the scene to reproduce, at 8 o'clock in the evening, in the Place de Grève, a vast Teniers painting with French grimaces.

After the Parisian bourgeois, at the same time hurrying and lazy, they had become the cabriolets and the carriages of the noblest. Just as no itinerary had been drawn, they were stationary in the streets of the Place de Grève, placing themselves in order to see the fireworks perfectly. Cabriolet noblemen who had no invitations came down from the carriages and continued their journey on foot, ahead of the valleys, through the already crowded crowd.

It was eager to see how the curious people were to gain ground through the crowd. At eight o'clock, all eyes turned toward the fireworks plateau.

The carriages continued to come. One of them did not reach Grève until nine o'clock, that is, just minutes before the start of the fireworks. Henri, our bearn, the courageous duelant of the previous evening, who for some time was also there, among the curious, involuntarily fixed his look on this carriage. He approached and crammed on the carriage-mark , and managed to listen through the doorway to the animated conversation of the carriage masters:

"Your Highness," murmured a young man, "the carriage can not continue forward, and nothing will be seen from here" to a woman who, at the moment, turned her back on Henri.

"Highness?!''the woman responded ''Oh, no, René, please, without ceremony, moreover, no one hears us. I would not want anyone to recognize me in the crowd, and the darkness is pretty deer. Moreover, everyone's attention will be directed to the fireworks, and no one will notice my presence unless Albert calls me to be heard across the Place de Grève: Dauphina of France, His Highness Louise Margueritte Dianne "She's Ending smiling.

"As you say, Dianne," René replied, uttering her name in a special way ...

"What can I say, Louise, you brought me here to bore me, at least I could have a little fun," answered a guttural voice from the carriage.

The woman did not pay attention to him, and, muttering to herself, "the buffoon" and smiling, she addressed a charming voice to a third passenger: "Louis, are you sure you can come? Your wound ... "

"Do not worry, Margot," he said, "Amaury took care of it," and all four were heard laughing.

"Let's go down, messieurs mes amis," her Highness answered with joy in her voice. Henri stepped aside to allow the door to open, but without departing. "Amaury, Louis, Albert, René, all these names he had heard the previous evening, had been faithfully repeated in the scene above, except for the most mysterious of them: that of the Amaury Chevalier. Above all, he had heard the name of the French dauphin, which made Henri lend his ear even more.

The carriage door opened, and a young man stepped onto the pavement. He was a young man at the age of twenty, with a childish and sweet look, his eyes black and blue, with rosy cheeks and velvety as a peach of autumn, he mustssed a thin line over the top of his lip ; it could have been said that his hands wanted to bow, from time to time he was tipping his ears to keep it blurry and tense. He usually spoke slowly, greeting to right and left, he laughed calmly, showing his beautiful teeth that seemed very cared, as well as his whole being. A long and imposing sword hanging from the belt, alongside a small and stylish revolver.

He descended and offered his hand as a support to the dauphin, the pearl of the French crown. She was then the object of the veneration of the poets, some of whom resembled the Aurora of ancient Greece, others with Venus of Cytera. Indeed, her beauty did not have a pair at this Court, where Queen Augustine de Brinvilliers had gathered all the French nobility. She had golden hair, a bright white face, voluptuous eyes, shaded by long lashes, delicate lips and waist, a foot like a child in silk shoe. The French people loved her for her goodness and big heart, and they were proud that a beautiful flower had come out of their land, and the strangers passing through the country and having had the opportunity to see her were turning to her beauty, elegance and goodness, amazed by her wisdom and courage, if they had the opportunity to talk to her. The princess was not only the most beautiful but also the most trained of the women of those times. An Italian scholar who had been presented to her, having talked to her for over an hour in Italian, Spanish, Latin and Greek, said enthusiastically, "See the Court and not to see Louise Margueritte Dianne of France, it would be as if you had not seen the Court or France .

Immediately after the dauphine, the tapestry came back to one side, and a distinctive and handsome head appeared under the tassels, but terribly livid.

"Louis," the princess murmured softly, taking his hand and descending from the carriage. Louis, as we remember, had seriously injured his shoulder ...

Following him, ending the escort, Albert descended, the buffoon and friend of the French dauphin, holding his head upright and shaking his long and wavy favourites in a sweet evening breeze.

Henri, on the one hand, sank in the shadows, not to be noticed by the four nobles, but not losing sight of them, admiring them and watching their gestures and words with awe.

Just getting out of the carriage, the first fireworks lit up, illuminating the Place de Grève. A cry of admiration began from all the chests of the crowd, a unanimous cry, satisfied. The surroundings of Place du Grève were gradually lit, and the facade of the buildings in colorful and jovial shades. There was applause among the people, applause that made the dauphin smile, and murmur at Renè's ear. "Today is a feast day for my father's people, the king! How beautiful! "But René did not look at the fireworks, but he looked at Dianne, whose face was lit with salves, radiating happiness. The young Musketeer's hand involuntarily searched for the dauphin, not wanting to find her. None of these delicate details distracted Henri's careful and wary look, for which this small group of nobility seemed more interesting than the fireworks. To the left of the dauphin, Louis stood, restrained by her delicate and gloved hand, staining her with small, fresh blood stains, driping from his wound.

Suddenly, Place de Grève was dazzling.

"Mon Dieu!" Murmured Albert, in the dauphine ear, "it seems that the curtain is ready to fall over the theater of the show to turn it into a drama ..."

Albert finished his phrase, showing an uneasiness that already felt among the Parisians, suddenly, the place where the fireworks were placed took fire. A sound like a thundering sound was heard, making an unpleasant noise for the audience of the first-row .

"Dianne, we have no time to lose, on the contrary, follow me," whisperes René to the Dauphina . "In a few moments, the fire will reach the entire Place de Grève. Quick! The crowd started to get stuck there, you see! Do you hear shouts, Dianne ?! There are no cries of happiness. "And now,daring to take her hand without involuntary tremors, he began to make his way through the crowd.

"Quickly, to the carriage, Margot," murmured behind Louis, barely standing and leaning on Albert.

But it was already too late, on all sides, the flames grew around the Place de Grève. Henri, who quickly understood what was going on, had come closer to the place where the dauphin stood, making his way through the crowd with his friends.

The spectators, at first only amazed, now scared, were going back with an incredible force. A black smoke slowly began to envelop the Place de Grève, aggravating the situation. The buildings were burning, the children were screaming and weeping, the women coughing and choking ... all together, the panic that sorrounded the crowd in a moment, made René, Louis, Albert and Dauphina move away from the carriage instead of approaching. Henri, seeing this,stayed with the group,being ready to help, if necessary.

Louise, crammed at René's arm, was in the movement of a group of scary Parisians who were trying to avoid being trampled by a carriage driven by two vigorous and scared men. Rene saw them coming in his direction, quick and threatening, the horses seemed to leave the sight, walking with the wind and shivering agitated. The Musketeer made an overwhelming effort to deviate from his path. But it was useless, he saw the crowd opening behind him, saw the black heads of mad horses like marble, and, letting go of the dauphine's arm and pushing her as far as possible from the horses,jumped agile on them and grabs the bridle. Margueritte saw the Musketeer fall and disappear, made a cry, stretched her hand to the young man, but was rejected by the general movement of the crowd, and in a moment she found herself alone, trembling, taken by the crowd like a feather in wind- without being able to put resistance.

More terrible shouting, more terrible than in battlefields, frightened horses, a horrible mass of hooves that trampled on the pavement, on the corpses, the livid fire of the houses around the Place de Grève that burned, the sinister shimmer of a few swords pulled out of the sheath by angry soldiers, and beyond that bloody chaos, her father's bronze statue, lit by the ever-increasing fire, was enough to mad the dauphin and take all her strength.

Margueritte made a cry, a soldier opened a passage through the crowd, hitting with the sword on the left and right. The sword flashed above his head. She puts her hands over her head like the shipwreckers do when the last wave drowns them, "Mon Dieu!" And fell on her knees. In situations like this, falling was death.

But this terrible, supreme cry, someone had heard , had recognized , had picked it up, Louis, lost in the crowd, his shoulder burning painfully, half unconscious of what was going on around him, lonely and fighting in the crowd, had approached the dauphin, leaned over her, picked her up, leaped over that sword that had involuntarily threatened Margueritte and broke it,knocking down the soldier. At the end of the force, bleeding from the shoulder wound, reopened by the crowd's pushes, the musketeer lifted Dianne from the ground and slammed into the crowd. This crowd sustained him, led him and the young princess, he went, or rather said he crawled for a few moments. Suddenly the crowd stopped crushed by an obstacle. Louis's feet reached the ground, then he only looked up to figure out the obstacle that stood in his way: he was three feet away from Saint-Supplice Hospital. In his blind panic, the crowd did not keep track of where he was heading.

In this brief moment, restless moment of rest, Louis had time to look at Margueritte, asleep by a drowsy sleep like death: her heart was no longer beating, her eyes closed, her face pink with the color of a wrinkling rose. Louis believed her dead. He, in turn, made a cry of sorrow and despair, putting his lips to her hand, hanging down the dress, inert and cold, delicate but pale. He shrieked, groaned, and shook his head to remove the tears he could not wipe but flowing down on his cheeks, stumbling over, half-living, half-faint, falling and rising , praying and swearing.

Suddenly, Louis felt the girl's heart beating under his protective hand. He breathed relieved "She's saved! Courage Margot! "He cried as he stared at the black and bleeding crowd, listening to the curses, cries, sighs, agony around him.

The unfortunate, with his back leaning against the wall of Saint-Supplice, his gaze fixed to the paniced crowd, shouting, gesturing with their hands on all sides, running and falling, bloody.

Louis felt ready to give up, but bringing all his forces together in a supreme effort, he surrounded the dauphin's inert body with his protective, scratched and bloody hands, his sleeves and clothes hanging down.

"Courage, courage, Margot, sister, courage," he murmured desperately, trying to inspire courage to the dauphine that he no longer possessed. A moment later, he made a sigh, closed his eyes, and, dying, fell on a bunch of corpses, still holding the dauphine in his arms and protecting her.

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