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[Illustration: HARDLY HAD THE LADDER BEEN PROPERLY PLACED THAN THE
KING BEGAN TO ASCEND.--_Page 155._]
THE WORKS
OF
ALEXANDRE DUMAS
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE
OR
TEN YEARS LATER
BEING THE COMPLETION OF
"THE THREE MUSKETEERS" AND "TWENTY YEARS AFTER"
_PART II_
* * * * *
_Copiously Illustrated with elegant Pen and Ink and Wood Engravings,
specially drawn for this edition by eminent French and American Artists._
* * * * *
COMPLETE IN NINE VOLUMES
VOLUME FOUR
* * * * *
NEW YORK
PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER.
1893
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
(PART II.)
I. Showing what neither the Naiad
nor Dryad had anticipated 5
II. The new General of the Jesuits 9
III. The Storm 14
IV. The Shower of Rain 18
V. Toby 25
VI. Madame's four Chances 29
VII. The Lottery 33
VIII. Malaga 37
IX. A Letter from M. de Baisemeaux 44
X. In which the Reader will be
delighted to find that Porthos
has lost nothing of his
Strength 46
XI. The Rat and the Cheese 55
XII. Planchet's Country-House 59
XIII. Showing what could be seen from
Planchet's House 62
XIV. How Porthos, Trüchen, and Planchet
parted with each other
on friendly terms, thanks to
D'Artagnan 65
XV. The Presentation of Porthos at
Court 67
XVI. Explanations 69
XVII. Madame and Guiche 73
XVIII. Montalais and Malicorne 77
XIX. How De Wardes was received at
Court 81
XX. The Combat 87
XXI. The King's Supper 93
XXII. After Supper 96
XXIII. Showing in what way D'Artagnan
discharged the Mission with
which the King had intrusted
him 98
XXIV. The Encounter 101
XXV. The Physician 104
XXVI. Wherein D'Artagnan perceives
that it was he who was mistaken,
and Manicamp who was
right 106
XXVII. Showing the advantage of having
two Strings to one's Bow 109
XXVIII. M. Malicorne the Keeper of the
Records of the Realm of France 115
XXIX. The Journey 118
XXX. Triumfeminate 121
XXXI. The First Quarrel 124
XXXII. Despair 129
XXXIII. The Flight 132
XXXIV. Showing how Louis, on his side,
had passed the time from Ten
to half-past Twelve at Night 135
XXXV. The Ambassadors 138
XXXVI. Chaillot 142
XXXVII. Madame 147
XXXVIII. Mademoiselle de la Valliere's
Pocket-Handkerchief 151
XXXIX. Which treats of Gardeners, of
Ladders, and Maids of Honor 153
XL. Which treats of Carpentry Operations,
and furnishes Details
upon the Mode of constructing
Staircases 157
XLI. The Promenade by Torchlight 161
XLII. The Apparition 166
XLIII. The Portrait 170
XLIV. Hampton Court 174
XLV. The Courier from Madame 180
XLVI. Saint-Aignan follows Malicorne's
Advice 185
XLVII. Two Old Friends 188
XLVIII. Wherein may be seen that a
Bargain which cannot be made
with one Person, can be carried
out with Another 196
XLIX. The Skin of the Bear 201
L. An Interview with the Queen-Mother 204
LI. Two Friends 209
LII. How Jean de la Fontaine wrote
his first Tale 213
LIII. La Fontaine in the Character of
a Negotiator 215
LIV. Madame de Belliere's Plate and
Diamonds 219
LV. M. de Mazarin's Receipt 221
LVI. Monsieur Colbert's rough Draft 225
LVII. In which the Author thinks it is
now time to return to the
Vicomte de Bragelonne 231
LVIII. Bragelonne continues his Inquiries 234
LIX. Two Jealousies 236
LX. A Domiciliary Visit 239
LXI. Porthos' Plan of Action 243
LXII. The Change of Residence, the
Trap-Door, and the Portrait 247
LXIII. Rival Politics 253
LXIV. Rival Affections 255
LXV. King and Nobility 259
LXVI. After the Storm 264
LXVII. Heu! Miser! 267
LXVIII. Wounds upon Wounds 269
LXIX. What Raoul had Guessed 272
LXX. Three Guests astonished to find
themselves at Supper together 275
LXXI. What took place at the Louvre
during the Supper at the
Bastille 278
LXXII. Political Rivals 282
LXXIII. In which Porthos is convinced
without having understood
anything 286
LXXIV. M. de Baisemeaux's "Society" 289
LXXV. The Prisoner 293
LXXVI. How Mouston had become fatter
without giving Porthos notice
thereof, and of the
Troubles which consequently
befell that worthy Gentleman 307
LXXVII. Who Messire John Percerin
was 311
LXXVIII. The Patterns 315
LXXIX. Where, probably, Moliere formed
his first Idea of the Bourgeois
Gentilhomme 319
LXXX. The Beehive, the Bees, and the Honey 323
LXXXI. Another Supper at the Bastille 328
LXXXII. The General of the Order 331
LXXXIII. The Tempter 336
LXXXIV. Crown and Tiara 340
LXXXV. The Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte 344
LXXXVI. The Wine of Melun 347
LXXXVII. Nectar and Ambrosia 350
LXXXVIII. A Gascon, and a Gascon and a
half 352
LXXXIX. Colbert 359
XC. Jealousy 362
XCI. High Treason 366
XCII. A Night at the Bastille 371
XCIII. The Shadow of M. Fouquet 374
XCIV. The Morning 383
XCV. The King's Friend 387
XCVI. Showing how the Countersign
was respected at the Bastille 395
XCVII. The King's Gratitude 400
XCVIII. The False King 404
XCIX. In which Porthos thinks he is
pursuing a Duchy 409
C. The Last Adieux 412
CI. Monsieur de Beaufort 415
CII. Preparations for Departure 419
CIII. Planchet's Inventory 423
CIV. The Inventory of M. de Beaufort 426
CV. The Silver Dish 429
CVI. Captive and Jailers 433
CVII. Promises 438
CVIII. Among Women 444
CIX. The Last Supper 449
CX. In the Carriage of M. Colbert 453
CXI. The Two Lighters 456
CXII. Friendly Advice 460
CXIII. How the King, Louis XIV.,
played his little Part 463
CXIV. The White Horse and the Black Horse 468
CXV. In which the Squirrel falls--in
which the Adder flies 472
CXVI. Belle-Isle-en-Mer 477
CXVII. The Explanations of Aramis 482
CXVIII. Result of the Ideas of the King,
and the Ideas of D'Artagnan 487
CXIX. The Ancestors of Porthos 489
CXX. The Son of Biscarrat 491
CXXI. The Grotto of Locmaria 494
CXXII. The Grotto 497
CXXIII. An Homeric Song 501
CXXIV. The Death of a Titan 504
CXXV. The Epitaph of Porthos 508
CXXVI. The Round of M. de Gesvres 511
CXXVII. King Louis XIV. 514
CXXVIII. The Friends of M. Fouquet 518
CXXIX. Porthos' Will 522
CXXX. The Old Age of Athos 525
CXXXI. The Vision of Athos 527
CXXXII. The Angel of Death 531
CXXXIII. The Bulletin 533
CXXXIV. The last Canto of the Poem 536
EPILOGUE 539
THE DEATH OF D'ARTAGNAN 549
* * * * *
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
I.--_Frontispiece._--Hardly had the ladder been properly placed
than the king began to ascend.
II.--As the rain dripped more and more through the foliage of the oak,
the king held his hat over the head of the young girl.
III.--D'Artagnan, reclining upon an immense straight-backed chair, with
his legs not stretched out, but simply placed upon a stool, formed an
angle of the most obtuse form that could possibly be seen.
IV.--De Guiche turned round also, and, at the moment the horse was quiet
again, he fired, and the ball carried off De Wardes' hat from his head.
V.--Athos broke his sword across his knee, slowly placed the two pieces
upon the floor, and saluting the king, who was almost choking from rage
and shame, he quitted the cabinet.
VI.--Raoul, presenting his pistol, threw himself on the leader,
commanding the coachman to stop.
VII.--Aramis saw that the young man was stretched upon his bed, his face
half-concealed by his arms.
VIII.--"You will look through the opening, which answers to one of the
false windows made in the dome of the king's apartment. Can you see?"
IX.--"What is this, monsieur, and what is the meaning of this jest?" "It
is no jest," replied in a deep voice the masked figure that held the
lantern.
X.--The king entered into the cell without pronouncing a single word: he
was pale and haggard.
XI.--They saw, by the red flashes of the lightning against the violet
fog which the wind stamped upon the bankward sky, they saw pass gravely
at six paces behind the governor, a man clothed in black and masked by a
visor of polished steel, soldered to a helmet of the same nature, which
altogether enveloped the whole of his head.
XII.--The Deathbed of Athos--"Here I am!"
THE
VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
CHAPTER I.
SHOWING WHAT NEITHER THE NAIAD NOR DRYAD HAD ANTICIPATED.
Saint-Aignan stopped at the foot of the staircase which led to the
_entresol_, where the maids of honor were lodged, and to the first
floor, where Madame's apartments were situated. Then, by means of one of
the servants who was passing, he sent to apprise Malicorne, who was
still with Monsieur. After having waited ten minutes, Malicorne arrived,
looking full of suspicion and importance. The king drew back toward the
darkest part of the vestibule. Saint-Aignan, on the contrary, advanced
to meet him, but at the first words, indicating his wish, Malicorne drew
back abruptly.
"Oh! oh!" he said, "you want me to introduce you into the rooms of the
maids of honor?"
"Yes."
"You know very well that I cannot do anything of the kind, without being
made acquainted with your object."
"Unfortunately, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, it is quite impossible for
me to give you any explanation: you must therefore confide in me as in a
friend who got you out of a great difficulty yesterday, and who now begs
you to draw him out of one to-day."
"Yet, I told you, monsieur, what my object was; that my object was not
to sleep out in the open air, and any man might express the same wish,
while you, however, admit nothing."
"Believe me, my dear Monsieur Malicorne," Saint-Aignan persisted, "that
if I were permitted to explain myself, I would do so."
"In that case, my dear monsieur, it is impossible for me to allow you to
enter Mademoiselle de Montalais's apartment."
"Why so?"
"You know why better than any one else, since you caught me on the wall
paying my addresses to Mademoiselle de Montalais; it would, therefore,
be an excess of kindness, on my part, you will admit, since I am paying
my attentions to her, to open the door of her room to you."
"But who told you it was on her account I asked you for the key?"
"For whom, then?"
"She does not lodge there alone, I suppose?"
"No, certainly; for Mademoiselle de la Valliere shares her rooms with
her; but, really, you have nothing more to do with Mademoiselle de la
Valliere than with Mademoiselle de Montalais, and there are only two men
to whom I would give this key; to M. de Bragelonne, if he begged me to
give it him, and to the king if he ordered me to do so."
"In that case, give me the key, monsieur, I order you to do so," said
the king, advancing from the obscurity, and partially opening his cloak.
"Mademoiselle de Montalais will step down to talk with you, while we go
upstairs to Mademoiselle de la Valliere, for, in fact, it is she only
whom we require."
"The king," exclaimed Malicorne, bowing down to the very ground.
"Yes, the king," said Louis, smiling, "the king, who is as pleased with
your resistance as with your capitulation. Rise, monsieur, and render
us the service we request of you."
"I obey your majesty," said Malicorne, leading the way up the staircase.
"Get Mademoiselle de Montalais to come down," said the king, "and do not
breathe a word to her of my visit."
Malicorne bowed in sign of obedience, and proceeded up the staircase.
But the king, after a hasty reflection, followed him, and that, too,
with such rapidity, that although Malicorne was already more than
half-way up the staircase, the king reached the room at the same moment
he did. He then observed by the door which remained half-opened behind
Malicorne, La Valliere, sitting in an armchair with her head thrown
back, and in the opposite corner Montalais, who, in her dressing-gown,
was standing before a looking-glass, engaged in arranging her hair, and
parleying all the while with Malicorne. The king hurriedly opened the
door, and entered the room. Montalais called out at the noise made by
the opening of the door, and, recognizing the king, made her escape. La
Valliere rose from her seat, like a dead person who had been galvanized,
and then fell back again in her armchair. The king advanced slowly
toward her.
"You wished for an audience, I believe," he said, coldly; "I am ready to
hear you. Speak."
Saint-Aignan, faithful to his character of being deaf, blind, and dumb,
had stationed himself in a corner of the door, upon a stool which he
fortuitously found there. Concealed by the tapestry which covered the
doorway, and leaning his back against the wall, he could in this way
listen without been seen; resigning himself to the post of a good
watch-dog, who patiently waits and watches without ever getting in his
master's way.
La Valliere, terror-stricken at the king's irritated aspect, again rose
a second time, and assuming a posture of humility and entreaty,
murmured, "Forgive me, sire."
"What need is there for my forgiveness?" asked Louis.
"Sire, I have been guilty of a great fault; nay, more than a great
fault, a great crime."
"You?"
"Sire, I have offended your majesty."
"Not the slightest degree in the world," replied Louis XIV.
"I implore you, sire, not to maintain toward me that terrible
seriousness of manner which reveals your majesty's just anger. I feel I
have offended you, sire; but I wish to explain to you how it was that I
have not offended you of my own accord."
"In the first place," said the king, "in what way can you possibly have
offended me? I cannot perceive how. Surely not on account of a young
girl's harmless and very innocent jest? You turned the credulity of a
young man into ridicule--it was very natural to do so; any other woman
in your place would have done the same."
"Oh! your majesty overwhelms me by your remark."
"Why so?"
"Because if I had been the author of the jest, it would not have been
innocent."
"Well! is that all you had to say to me in soliciting an audience?" said
the king, as though about to turn away.
Thereupon, La Valliere, in an abrupt and broken voice, her eyes dried up
by the fire of her tears, made a step toward the king, and said, "Did
your majesty hear everything?"
"Everything, what?"
"Everything I said beneath the royal oak."
"I did not lose a syllable."
"And when your majesty heard me, you were able to think I had abused
your credulity."
"Credulity; yes, indeed you have selected the very word."
"And your majesty did not suppose that a poor girl like myself might
possibly be compelled to submit to the will of others."
"Forgive me," returned the king; "but I shall never be able to
understand that she, who of her own free will could express herself so
unreservedly beneath the royal oak, would allow herself to be
influenced to such an extent by the direction of others."
"But the threat held out against me, sire."
"Threat! who threatened you--who dared to threaten you?"
"They who have the right to do so, sire."
"I do not recognize any one as possessing the right to threaten in my
kingdom."
"Forgive me, sire, but near your majesty, even, there are persons
sufficiently high in position to have, or to believe that they possess,
the right of injuring a young girl, without fortune, and possessing only
her reputation."
"In what way injure her?"
"In depriving her of her reputation, by disgracefully expelling her from
the court."
"Oh! Mademoiselle de la Valliere," said the king, bitterly, "I prefer
those persons who exculpate themselves without incriminating others."
"Sire!"
"Yes; and I confess that I greatly regret to perceive that an easy
justification, as your own might be, should have been complicated in my
presence by a tissue of reproaches and imputations against others."
"And which you do not believe?" exclaimed La Valliere. The king remained
silent.
"Nay, but tell me!" repeated La Valliere, vehemently.
"I regret to confess it," replied the king, bowing coldly.
The young girl uttered a deep groan, striking her hands together in
despair. "You do not believe me, then," she said to the king, who still
remained silent, while poor La Valliere's features became visibly
changed at his continued silence. "Therefore, you believe," she said,
"that I settled this ridiculous, this infamous plot, of trifling, in so
shameless a manner, with your majesty."
"Nay," said the king, "it is neither ridiculous nor infamous, it is not
even a plot; it is merely a jest, more or less amusing, and nothing
more."
"Oh!" murmured the young girl, "the king does not, and will not,
believe me, then?"
"No, indeed, I will not believe you," said the king. "Besides, in point
of fact, what can be more natural? The king, you argue, follows me,
listens to me, watches me; the king wishes perhaps to amuse himself at
my expense, I will amuse myself at his, and as the king is very
tender-hearted, I will take his heart by storm."
La Valliere hid her face in her hands, as she stifled her sobs. The king
continued most pitilessly, he revenged himself upon the poor victim
before him for all that he had himself suffered.
"Let us invent, then, this story of my loving him and preferring him to
others. The king is so simple and so conceited that he will believe me;
and then we can go and tell others how credulous the king is, and can
enjoy a laugh at his expense."
"Oh!" exclaimed La Valliere, "to think that, to believe that! it is
frightful."
"And," pursued the king, "that is not all; if this self-conceited prince
should take our jest seriously, if he should be imprudent enough to
exhibit before others anything like delight at it, well, in that case,
the king will be humiliated before the whole court; and what a
delightful story it will be, too, for him to whom I am really attached,
a part of my dowry for my husband, to have the adventure to relate of
the king who was so amusingly deceived by a young girl."
"Sire!" exclaimed La Valliere, her mind bewildered, almost wandering,
indeed, "not another word, I implore you; do you not see that you are
killing me?"
"A jest, nothing but a jest," murmured the king, who, however, began to
be somewhat affected.
La Valliere fell upon her knees, and that so violently, that their sound
could be heard upon the hard floor. "Sire," she said, "I prefer shame to
disloyalty."
"What do you mean?" inquired the king, without moving a step to raise
the young girl from her knees.
"Sire, when I shall have sacrificed my honor and my reason both to you,
you will perhaps believe in my loyalty. The tale which was related to
you in Madame's apartments, and by Madame herself, is utterly false; and
that which I said beneath the great oak--"
"Well!"
"That only is the truth."
"What!" exclaimed the king.
"Sire," exclaimed La Valliere, hurried away by the violence of her
emotions, "were I to die of shame on the very spot where my knees are
fixed, I would repeat it until my latest breath; I said that I loved
you, and it is true; I do love you."
"You!"
"I have loved you, sire, from the very day first I saw you; from the
moment when at Blois, where I was pining away my existence, your royal
looks, full of light and life, were first bent upon me. I love you
still, sire; it is a crime of high treason, I know, that a poor girl
like myself should love her sovereign and should presume to tell him so.
Punish me for my audacity, despise me for my shameless immodesty; but do
not ever say, do not ever think, that I have jested with or deceived
you. I belong to a family whose loyalty has been proved, sire; and I,
too, love my king."
Suddenly her strength, voice, and respiration ceased, and she fell
forward, like the flower Virgil alludes to, which the scythe of the
reaper touched as it passed over. The king, at these words, at this
vehement entreaty, no longer retained either ill-will or doubt in his
mind; his whole heart seemed to expand at the glowing breath of an
affection which proclaimed itself in such a noble and courageous
language. When, therefore, he heard the passionate confession of that
young girl's affection, his strength seemed to fail him, and he hid his
face in his hands. But when he felt La Valliere's hands clinging to his
own, when their warm pressure fired his blood, he bent forward, and
passing his arm round La Valliere's waist, he raised her from the ground
and pressed her against his heart. But she, her drooping head fallen
forward on her bosom, seemed to have ceased to live. The king,
terrified, called out for Saint-Aignan. Saint-Aignan, who had carried
his discretion so far as to remain without stirring in his corner,
pretending to wipe away a tear, ran forward at the king's summons. He
then assisted Louis to seat the young girl upon a couch, slapped her
hands, sprinkled some Hungary water over her face, calling out all the
while, "Come, come, it is all over; the king believes you, and forgives
you. There, there now! take care, or you will agitate his majesty too
much; his majesty is so sensitive, so tender-hearted. Now, really,
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, you must pay attention, for the king is
very pale."
The fact was, the king was visibly losing color. But La Valliere did not
move.
"Do pray recover," continued Saint-Aignan, "I beg, I implore you; it is
really time you should; think only of one thing, that if the king should
become unwell, I should be obliged to summon his physician. What a state
of things that would be! So do pray rouse yourself; make an effort, pray
do, and do it at once, too."
It was difficult to display more persuasive eloquence than Saint-Aignan
did, but something still more powerful and of a more energetic nature
than this eloquence aroused La Valliere. The king, who was kneeling
before her, covered the palms of her hands with those burning kisses
which are to the hands what a kiss upon the lips is to the face. La
Valliere's senses returned to her; she languidly opened her eyes, and,
with a dying look, murmured, "Oh! sire, has your majesty pardoned me,
then?"
The king did not reply, for he was still too much overcome. Saint-Aignan
thought it his duty again to retire, for he observed the passionate
devotion which was displayed in the king's gaze. La Valliere arose.
"And now, sire, that I have justified myself, at least I trust so in
your majesty's eyes, grant me leave to retire into a convent. I shall
bless your majesty all my life, and I shall die there thanking and
loving Heaven for having granted me one day of perfect happiness."
"No, no," replied the king, "you will live here blessing Heaven, on the
contrary, but loving Louis, who will make your existence one of perfect
felicity--Louis who loves you--Louis who swears it."
"Oh! sire, sire!"
And upon this doubt of La Valliere, the king's kisses became so warm
that Saint-Aignan thought it his duty to retire behind the tapestry.
These kisses however, which she had not had the strength at first to
resist, began to intimidate the young girl.
"Oh! sire," she exclaimed, "do not make me repent my loyalty, for it
would show me that your majesty despises me still."
"Mademoiselle de la Valliere," said the king, suddenly, drawing back
with an air full of respect, "there is nothing in the world that I love
and honor more than yourself, and nothing in my court, I call Heaven to
witness, shall be so highly regarded as you shall be henceforward. I
entreat your forgiveness for my transport; it arose from an excess of
affection, but I can prove to you that I shall love still more than ever
by respecting you as much as you can possibly desire." Then bending
before her, and taking her by the hand, he said to her, "Will you honor
me by accepting the kiss I press upon your hand?" And the king's lips
were pressed respectfully and lightly upon the young girl's trembling
hand. "Henceforth," added Louis, rising and bending his glance upon La
Valliere, "henceforth you are under my safeguard. Do not speak to any
one of the injury I have done you, forgive others that which they may
have been able to do you. For the future you shall be so far above all
those, that, far from inspiring you with fear, they shall be even
beneath your pity." And he bowed as reverently as though he were leaving
a place of worship. Then calling to Saint-Aignan, who approached with
great humility, he said, "I hope, comte, that Mademoiselle de la
Valliere will kindly confer a little of her friendship upon you, in
return for that which I have vowed to her eternally."
Saint-Aignan bent his knee before La Valliere, saying, "How happy,
indeed, would such an honor make me!"
"I shall send your companion back to you," said the king. "Farewell! or,
rather, adieu till we meet again; do not forget me in your prayers, I
entreat."
"Oh! no," said La Valliere, "be assured that you and heaven are in my
heart together."
These words of Louise elated the king, who, full of happiness, hurried
Saint-Aignan down the stairs. Madame had not anticipated this
termination, and neither the Naiad nor the Dryad had said a word about
it.