IN WHICH THE AUTHOR THINKS IT IS NOW TIME TO RETURN TO THE VICOMTE DE
BRAGELONNE.
Our readers will have observed in this story, the adventures of the new
and of the past generation being detailed, as it were, side by side. To
the former, the reflection of the glory of earlier years, the experience
of the bitter things of this world; to the former, also, that peace
which takes possession of the heart, and that healing of the scars which
were formerly deep and painful wounds. To the latter, the conflicts of
love and vanity; bitter disappointments and ineffable delights; life
instead of memory. If, therefore, any variety has been presented to the
reader in the different episodes of this tale, it is to be attributed to
the numerous shades of color which are presented on this double palette,
where two pictures are seen side by side, mingling and harmonizing their
severe and pleasing tones. The repose of the emotions of the one is
found in the bosom of the emotions of the other. After having talked
reason with older heads, one loves to talk nonsense with youth.
Therefore, if the threads of this story do not seem very intimately to
connect the chapter we are now writing with that we have just written,
we do not intend to give ourselves any more thought or trouble about it
than Ruysdael took in painting an autumn sky, after having finished a
spring-time scene. We wish our readers to do as much, and to resume
Raoul de Bragelonne's story at the very place where our last sketch left
him.
In a state of frenzy and dismay, or rather without power or will of his
own--without knowing what to do--he fled heedlessly away after the scene
in La Valliere's room. The king, Montalais, Louise, that chamber, that
strange exclusion, Louise's grief, Montalais's terror, the king's
wrath--all seemed to indicate some misfortune. But what? He had arrived
from London because he had been told of the existence of a danger; and
almost on his arrival this appearance of danger was manifest. Was not
this sufficient for a lover? Certainly it was; but it was insufficient
for a pure and upright heart such as his. And yet Raoul did not seek for
explanations in the very quarter where all jealous or less timid lovers
would have done. He did not go straightway to his mistress, and say,
"Louise, is it true that you love me no longer? Is it true that you love
another?" Full of courage, full of friendship as he was full of love; a
religious observer of his word, and believing blindly the words of
others, Raoul said within himself, "Guiche wrote to put me on my guard;
Guiche knows something; I will go and ask Guiche what he knows, and tell
him what I have seen." The journey was not a long one. Guiche, who had
been brought, from Fontainebleau to Paris within the last two days, was
beginning to recover from his wound, and to walk about a little in his
room. He uttered a cry of joy as he saw Raoul, earnest in his
friendship, enter his apartment. Raoul, too, had not been able to
refrain from exclaiming aloud, when he saw De Guiche so pale, so thin,
so melancholy. A very few words, and a simple gesture which De Guiche
made to put aside Raoul's arm, were sufficient to inform the latter of
the truth.
"Ah! so it is," said Raoul, seating himself beside his friend: "one
loves and dies."
"No, no, not dies," replied Guiche, smiling, "since I am now recovering,
and since, too, I can press you in my arms."
"Ah! I understand."
"And I understand you, too. You fancy I am unhappy, Raoul?"
"Alas!"
"No; I am the happiest of men. My body suffers, but not my mind or my
heart. If you only knew--Oh! I am, indeed, the very happiest of men."
"So much the better," replied Raoul; "so much the better, provided it
lasts."
"It is over. I have had enough happiness to last me to my dying day,
Raoul."
"I have no doubt you have had; but she--"
"Listen; I love her, because--but you are not listening to me."
"I beg your pardon."
"Your mind is preoccupied."
"Yes; your health, in the first place--"
"It is not that, I know."
"My dear friend, you would be wrong, I think, to ask me any
questions--_you_, of all persons in the world;" and he laid so much
weight upon the "you," that he completely enlightened his friend upon
the nature of the evil, and the difficulty of remedying it.
"You say that, Raoul, on account of what I wrote to you."
"Certainly. We will talk over that matter a little when you shall have
finished telling me of all your own pleasures and pains."
"My dear friend. I am entirely at your service now."
"Thank you; I have hurried, I have flown here; I came here in half the
time the government couriers usually take. Now, tell me, my dear friend,
what did you want."
"Nothing whatever, but to make you come."
"Well, then, I am here."
"All is quite right, then."
"There must have been something else, I suppose?"
"No, indeed."
"De Guiche!"
"Upon my honor!"
"You cannot possibly have crushed all my hopes so violently, or have
exposed me to being disgraced by the king for my return, which is in
disobedience of his orders--you cannot, I say, have planted jealousy in
my heart, merely to say to me, 'It is all right, be perfectly easy!'"
"I do not say to you, Raoul, 'Be perfectly easy;' but pray understand
me; I never will, nor can I, indeed, tell you anything else."
"What sort of a person do you take me for?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you know anything, why conceal it from me? If you do not know
anything, why did you write so warningly?"
"True, true, I was very wrong, and I regret having done so, Raoul. It
seems nothing to write to a friend and say 'Come;' but to have this
friend face to face, to feel him tremble, and breathlessly and anxiously
wait to hear what one hardly dare tell him, is very different."
"Dare! I have courage enough, if you have not," exclaimed Raoul, in
despair.
"See how unjust you are, and how soon you forget you have to do with a
poor wounded fellow such as your unhappy friend is. So, calm yourself,
Raoul. I said to you, 'Come'--you are here, so ask me nothing further."
"Your object in telling me to come was your hope that I should see with
my own eyes, was it not? Nay, do not hesitate, for I have seen all."
"Oh!" exclaimed De Guiche.
"Or at least I thought--"
"There now, you see you are not sure. But if you have any doubt, my poor
friend, what remains for me to do?"
"I saw Louise much agitated--Montalais in a state of bewilderment--the
king--"
"The king?"
"Yes. You turn your head aside. The danger is there, the evil is there;
tell me, is it not so, is it not the king?"
"I say nothing."
"Oh! you say a thousand upon a thousand times more than nothing. Give me
facts, for pity's sake, give me proofs. My friend, the only friend I
have, speak--tell me all. My heart is crushed, wounded to death; I am
dying from despair."
"If that really be so, as I see it is, indeed, dear Raoul," replied De
Guiche, "you relieve me from my difficulty, and I will tell you all,
perfectly sure that I can tell you nothing but what is consoling,
compared to the despair from which I now see you suffering."
"Go on--go on; I am listening."
"Well, then, I can only tell you what you can learn from every person
you meet."
"From every one, do you say? It is talked about, then?"
"Before you say people talk about it, learn what it is that people can
talk about. I assure you solemnly that people only talk about what may,
in truth, be very innocent; perhaps a walk--"
"Ah! a walk with the king?"
"Yes, certainly, a walk with the king; and I believe the king has
already very frequently before taken walks with ladies, without, on that
account--"
"You would not have written to me, shall I say again, if there had been
nothing unusual in this promenade."
"I know that while the storm lasted, it would have been far better if
the king had taken shelter somewhere else, than to have remained with
his head uncovered before La Valliere; but the king is so very courteous
and polite."
"Oh! De Guiche, De Guiche, you are killing me!"
"Do not let us talk any more, then."
"Nay; let us continue. This walk was followed by others, I suppose?"
"No--I mean yes; there was the adventure of the oak, I think. But I know
nothing about the matter at all." Raoul rose; De Guiche endeavored to
imitate him, notwithstanding his weakness. "Well, I will not add another
word; I have said either too much or not enough. Let others give you
further information if they will, or if they can; my duty was to warn
you, and that I have done. Watch over your own affairs now yourself."
"Question others! Alas; you are no true friend to speak to me in that
manner," said the young man, in utter distress. "The first man I may
meet may be evilly disposed or a fool; if the former, he will tell me a
lie to make me suffer more than I now do; if the latter, he will do far
worse still. Ah! De Guiche, De Guiche, before two hours are over, I
shall have been told ten falsehoods, and shall have as many duels on my
hands. Save me, then; is it not best to know the whole misfortune?"
"But I know nothing, I tell you; I was wounded, attacked by fever; my
senses were gone, and I have only a very faint recollection of it all.
But there is no reason why we should search very far, when the very man
we want is close at hand. Is not D'Artagnan your friend?"
"Oh! true, true."
"Go to him, then. He will be able to throw some light on the subject."
At this moment a lackey entered the room. "What is it?" said De Guiche.
"Some one is waiting for monseigneur in the Cabinet des Porcelaines."
"Very well. Will you excuse me, my dear Raoul? I am so proud since I
have been able to walk again."
"I would offer you my arm, De Guiche, if I did not guess that the person
in question is a lady."
"I believe so," said De Guiche, smiling, as he quitted Raoul.
Raoul remained motionless, absorbed in his grief, overwhelmed, like the
miner upon whom a vault has just fallen in, wounded, his life-blood
welling fast, his thoughts confused, endeavors to recover himself, and
to save his life and to preserve his reason. A few minutes were all
Raoul needed to dissipate the bewildering sensations which had been
occasioned by these two revelations. He had already recovered the thread
of his ideas, when, suddenly, through the door, he fancied he recognized
Montalais's voice in the Cabinet des Porcelaines. "She!" he cried. "Yes;
it is indeed her voice! She will be able to tell me the whole truth; but
shall I question her here? She conceals herself even from me; she is
coming no doubt from Madame. I will see her in her own apartment. She
will explain her alarm, her flight, the strange manner in which I was
driven out; she will tell me all that--after M. d'Artagnan, who knows
everything, shall have given me fresh strength and courage. Madame, a
coquette, I fear, and yet a coquette who is herself in love, has her
moments of kindness; a coquette who is as capricious and uncertain as
life or death, but who tells De Guiche that he is the happiest of men.
He at least is lying on roses." And so he hastily quitted the comte's
apartments, and reproaching himself as he went for having talked of
nothing but his own affairs to De Guiche, he arrived at D'Artagnan's
quarters.