THE LAST CANTO OF THE POEM.
On the morrow, all the noblesse of the provinces, of the environs, and
wherever messengers had carried the news, were seen to arrive.
D'Artagnan had shut himself up, without being willing to speak to
anybody. Two such heavy deaths falling upon the captain, so closely
after the death of Porthos, for a long time oppressed that spirit which
had hitherto been so indefatigable and invulnerable. Except Grimaud, who
entered his chamber once, the musketeer saw neither servants nor guests.
He supposed, from the noises in the house, and the continual coming and
going, that preparations were being made for the funeral of the comte.
He wrote to the king to ask for an extension of his leave of absence.
Grimaud, as we have said, had entered D'Artagnan's apartment, had seated
himself upon a joint-stool near the door, like a man who meditates
profoundly; then, rising, he made a sign to D'Artagnan to follow him.
The latter obeyed in silence. Grimaud descended to the comte's
bed-chamber, showed the captain with his finger the place of the empty
bed, and raised his eyes eloquently toward heaven.
"Yes," replied D'Artagnan, "yes, good Grimaud--now with the son he loved
so much!"
Grimaud left the chamber, and led the way to the hall, where, according
to the custom of the province, the body was laid out, previously to its
being buried forever. D'Artagnan was struck at seeing two open coffins
in the hall. In reply to the mute invitation of Grimaud, he approached,
and saw in one of them Athos, still handsome in death, and, in the
other, Raoul, with his eyes closed, his cheeks pearly as those of the
Pallas of Virgil, with a smile on his violet lips. He shuddered at
seeing the father and son, those two departed souls, represented on
earth by two silent, melancholy bodies, incapable of touching each
other, however close they might be.
"Raoul here!" murmured he. "Oh! Grimaud, why did you not tell me this?"
Grimaud shook his head, and made no reply; but taking D'Artagnan by the
hand, he led him to the coffin, and showed him, under the thin
winding-sheet, the black wounds by which life had escaped. The captain
turned away his eyes, and, judging it useless to question Grimaud, who
would not answer, he recollected that M. de Beaufort's secretary had
written more than he, D'Artagnan, had had the courage to read. Taking up
the recital of the affair which had cost Raoul his life, he found these
words, which terminated the last paragraph of the letter:
"Monsieur le Duc has ordered that the body of Monsieur le Vicomte should
be embalmed, after the manner practiced by the Arabs when they wish
their bodies to be carried to their native land; and Monsieur le Duc has
appointed relays, so that a confidential servant who brought up the
young man might take back his remains to M. le Comte de la Fere."
"And so," thought D'Artagnan, "I shall follow thy funeral, my dear
boy--I, already old--I, who am of no value on earth--and I shall
scatter the dust upon that brow which I kissed but two months since. God
has willed it to be so. Thou hast willed it to be so, thyself. I have no
longer the right even to weep. Thou hast chosen death; it hath seemed to
thee preferable to life."
At length arrived the moment when the cold remains of these two
gentlemen were to be returned to the earth. There was such an affluence
of military and other people that up to the place of sepulture, which
was a chapel in the plain, the road from the city was filled with
horsemen and pedestrians in mourning habits. Athos had chosen for his
resting-place the little inclosure of a chapel erected by himself near
the boundary of his estates. He had had the stones, cut in 1550, brought
from an old Gothic manor house in Berry, which had sheltered his early
youth. The chapel, thus re-edified, thus transported, was pleasant
beneath its wood of poplars and sycamores. It was administered every
Sunday, by the curé of the neighboring bourg, to whom Athos paid an
allowance of two hundred francs for this service; and all the vassals of
his domain, to the number of about forty, the laborers, and the farmers,
with their families, came hither to hear mass, without having any
occasion to go to the city.
Behind the chapel extended, surrounded by two high hedges of
nut-trees, elders, white thorns and a deep ditch, the little
inclosure--uncultivated, it is true, but gay in its sterility; because
the mosses there were high, because the wild heliotropes and ravenelles
there mixed their perfumes, because beneath the tall chestnuts issued a
large spring, a prisoner in a cistern of marble, and that upon the thyme
all around alighted thousands of bees from the neighboring plains, while
chaffinches and redthroats sang cheerfully among the flowers of the
hedge. It was to this place the two coffins were brought, attended by a
silent and respectful crowd. The office of the dead being celebrated,
the last adieux paid to the noble departed, the assembly dispersed,
talking, along the roads, of the virtues and mild death of the father,
of the hopes the son had given, and of his melancholy end upon the
coast of Africa.
By little and little, all noises were extinguished, like the lamps
illumining the humble nave. The minister bowed for a last time to the
altar and the still fresh graves, then, followed by his assistant, who
rang a hoarse bell, he slowly took the road back to the presbytery.
D'Artagnan, left alone, perceived that night was coming on. He had
forgotten the hour, while thinking of the dead. He arose from the oaken
bench on which he was seated in the chapel, and wished, as the priest
had done, to go and bid a last adieu to the double grave which contained
his two lost friends.
A woman was praying, kneeling on the moist earth. D'Artagnan stopped at
the door of the chapel, to avoid disturbing this woman; and also to
endeavor to see who was the pious friend who performed this sacred duty
with so much zeal and perseverance. The unknown concealed her face in
her hands, which were white as alabaster. From the noble simplicity of
her costume, she must be a woman of distinction. Outside the inclosure
were several horses mounted by servants, and a traveling carriage
waiting for this lady. D'Artagnan in vain sought to make out what caused
her delay. She continued praying, she frequently passed her handkerchief
over her face, by which D'Artagnan perceived she was weeping. He saw her
strike her breast with the pitiless compunction of a Christian woman. He
heard her several times proffer, as if from a wounded heart: "Pardon!
pardon!" And as she appeared to abandon herself entirety to her grief,
as she threw herself down almost fainting, amid complaints and prayers,
D'Artagnan, touched by his love for his so much regretted friends, made
a few steps toward the grave, in order to interrupt the melancholy
colloquy of the penitent with the dead. But as soon as his step sounded
on the gravel the unknown raised her head, revealing to D'Artagnan a
face inundated with tears, but a well-known face. It was Mademoiselle de
la Valliere! "Monsieur d'Artagnan!" murmured she.
"You!" replied the captain, in a stern voice--"you here!--oh! madame, I
should better have liked to see you decked with flowers in the mansion
of the Comte de la Fere. You would have wept less--they too--I too!"
"Monsieur!" she said, sobbing.
"For it is you," added this pitiless friend of the dead--"it is you who
have laid these two men in the grave."
"Oh! spare me!"
"God forbid, madame, that I should offend a woman, or that I should make
her weep in vain; but I must say that the place of the murderer is not
upon the grave of her victims."
She wished to reply.
"What I now tell you," added he, coldly, "I told the king."
She clasped her hands. "I know," said she, "I have caused the death of
the Vicomte de Bragelonne."
"Ah! you know it?"
"The news arrived at court yesterday. I have traveled during the night
forty leagues to come and ask pardon of the comte, whom I supposed to be
still living, and to supplicate God, upon the tomb of Raoul, that He
would send me all the misfortunes I have merited, except a single one.
Now, monsieur, I know that the death of the son has killed the father; I
have two crimes to reproach myself with; I have two punishments to look
for from God."
"I will repeat to you, mademoiselle," said D'Artagnan, "what M. de
Bragelonne said of you at Antibes, when he already meditated death: 'If
pride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising her. If
love has produced her error, I pardon her, swearing that no one could
have loved her as I have done.'"
"You know," interrupted Louise, "that for my love I was about to
sacrifice myself; you know whether I suffered when you met me lost,
dying, abandoned. Well! never have I suffered so much as now; because
then I hoped, I desired--now I have nothing to wish for; because this
death drags away all my joy into the tomb; because I can no longer dare
to love without remorse, and I feel that he whom I love--oh! that is
the law--will repay me with the tortures I have made others undergo."
D'Artagnan made no reply: he was too well convinced she was not
mistaken.
"Well! then," added she, "dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, do not overwhelm me
to-day, I again implore you. I am like the branch torn from the trunk, I
no longer hold to anything in this world, and a current drags me on, I
cannot say whither. I love madly, I love to the point of coming to tell
it, impious as I am, over the ashes of the dead; and I do not blush for
it--I have no remorse on account of it. This love is a religion. Only,
as hereafter you will see me alone, forgotten, disdained; as you will
see me punished with that with which I am destined to be punished, spare
me in my ephemeral happiness, leave it to me for a few days, for a few
minutes. Now even, at the moment I am speaking to you, perhaps it no
longer exists. My God! This double murder is perhaps already expiated!"
While she was speaking thus, the sound of voices and the steps of horses
drew the attention of the captain. M. de Saint-Aignan came to seek La
Valliere. "The king," he said, "was a prey to jealousy and uneasiness."
Saint-Aignan did not see D'Artagnan, half concealed by the trunk of a
chestnut-tree which shaded the two graves. Louise thanked Saint-Aignan,
and dismissed him with a gesture. He rejoined the party outside the
inclosure.
"You see, madame," said the captain bitterly to the young woman--"you
see that your happiness still lasts."
The young woman raised her head with a solemn air. "A day will come,"
said she, "when you will repent of having so ill-judged me. On that day,
it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been unjust toward
me. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you will be the first to pity
my sufferings. Do not reproach me with that happiness, Monsieur
d'Artagnan; it costs me dear, and I have not paid all my debt." Saying
these words, she again knelt down, softly and affectionately.
"Pardon me, the last time, my affianced Raoul!" said she. "I have broken
our chain; we are both destined to die of grief. It is thou who
departest the first; fear nothing, I shall follow thee. See only, that I
have not been base, and that I have come to bid thee this last adieu.
The Lord is my witness, Raoul, that if with my life I could have
redeemed thine, I would have given that life without hesitation. I could
not give my love. Once more, pardon!"
She gathered a branch, and stuck it into the ground; then, wiping the
tears from her eyes, she bowed to D'Artagnan, and disappeared.
The captain watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and carriage,
then crossing his arms upon his swelling chest, "When will it be my turn
to depart?" said he, in an agitated voice. "What is there left for man
after youth, after love, after glory, after friendship, after strength,
after riches? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed all I
have named; this moss, under which repose Athos and Raoul, who possessed
still much more!"
He hesitated a moment, with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up:
"Forward! still forward!" said he. "When it shall be time, God will tell
me, as He has told others."
He touched the earth, moistened with the evening dew, with the ends of
his fingers, signed himself as if he had been at the _bénitier_ of a
church, and retook alone--ever alone--the road to Paris.
EPILOGUE.
Four years after the scene we have just described, two horsemen, well
mounted, traversed Blois early in the morning, for the purpose of
arranging a birding party which the king intended to make in that uneven
plain which the Loire divides in two, and which borders on the one side
on Meung, on the other on Amboise. These were the captain of the king's
harriers and the governor of the falcons, personages greatly respected
in the time of Louis XIII., but rather neglected by his successor. These
two horsemen, having reconnoitered the ground, were returning, their
observations made, when they perceived some little groups of soldiers,
here and there, whom the sergeants were placing at distances at the
openings of the inclosures. These were the king's musketeers. Behind
them came, upon a good horse, the captain, known by his richly
embroidered uniform. His hair was gray, his beard was becoming so. He
appeared a little bent, although sitting and handling his horse
gracefully. He was looking about him watchfully.
"M. d'Artagnan does not get any older," said the captain of the harriers
to his colleague the falconer: "with ten years more than either of us,
he has the seat of a young man on horseback."
"That is true," replied the falconer. "I don't see any change in him for
the last twenty years."
But this officer was mistaken; D'Artagnan in the last four years had
lived twelve years. Age imprinted its pitiless claws at each angle of
his eyes; his brow was bald; his hands, formerly brown and nervous, were
getting white, as if the blood began to chill there.
D'Artagnan accosted the officers with the shade of affability which
distinguishes superior men, and received in return for his courtesy two
most respectful bows.
"Ah! what a lucky chance to see you here, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried
the falconer.
"It is rather I who should say that, messieurs," replied the captain,
"for, nowadays, the king makes more frequent use of his musketeers than
of his falcons."
"Ah! it is not as it was in the good old times," sighed the falconer.
"Do you remember, Monsieur d'Artagnan, when the late king flew the pie
in the vineyards beyond Beaugence? Ah! dame! you were not captain of the
musketeers at that time, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"And you were nothing but under-corporal of the tiercelets," replied
D'Artagnan, laughing. "Never mind that; it was a good time, seeing that
it is always a good time when we are young. Good day, monsieur the
captain of the harriers."
"You do me honor, Monsieur le Comte," said the latter. D'Artagnan made
no reply. The title of comte had not struck him; D'Artagnan had been a
comte four years.
"Are you not very much fatigued with the long journey you have had,
Monsieur le Capitaine?" continued the falconer. "It must be full two
hundred leagues from hence to Pignerol."
"Two hundred and sixty to go, and as many to come back," said
D'Artagnan, quietly.
"And," said the falconer, "is _he_ well?"
"Who?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Why, poor M. Fouquet," continued the falconer, still in a low voice.
The captain of the harriers had prudently withdrawn.
"No," replied D'Artagnan, "the poor man frets terribly; he cannot
comprehend how imprisonment can be a favor; he says that the parliament
had absolved him by banishing him, and that banishment is liberty. He
cannot imagine that they had sworn his death, and that to save his life
from the claws of the parliament was to have too much obligation to
God."
"Ah! yes; the poor man had a near chance of the scaffold," replied the
falconer; "it is said that M. Colbert had given orders to the governor
of the Bastille, and that the execution was ordered."
"Enough!" said D'Artagnan, pensively, and with a view of cutting short
the conversation.
"Yes," said the captain of the harriers, drawing toward them, "M.
Fouquet is now at Pignerol; he has richly deserved it. He has had the
good fortune to be conducted there by you; he had robbed the King
enough."
D'Artagnan launched at the master of the dogs one of his evil looks, and
said to him--"Monsieur, if any one told me that you had eaten your dogs'
meat, not only would I refuse to believe it; but, still more, if you
were condemned to the whip or the jail for it, I should pity you, and
would not allow people to speak ill of you. And yet, monsieur, honest
man as you may be, I assure you that you are not more so than poor M.
Fouquet was."
After having undergone this sharp rebuke, the captain of the harriers
hung his head, and allowed the falconer to get two steps in advance of
him nearer to D'Artagnan.
"He is content," said the falconer, in a low voice, to the musketeer;
"we all know that harriers are in fashion nowadays; if he were a
falconer he would not talk in that way."
D'Artagnan smiled in a melancholy manner at seeing this great political
question resolved by the discontent of such humble interests. He for a
moment ran over in his mind the glorious existence of the surintendant,
the crumbling away of his fortunes, and the melancholy death that
awaited him; and, to conclude, "Did M. Fouquet love falconry?" said he.
"Oh, passionately, monsieur!" replied the falconer, with an accent of
bitter regret, and a sigh that was the funeral oration of Fouquet.
D'Artagnan allowed the ill-humor of the one and the regrets of the other
to pass, and continued to advance into the plain. They could already
catch glimpses of the huntsmen at the issues of the wood, the feathers
of the out-riders passing like shooting stars across the clearings, and
the white horses cutting with their luminous apparitions the dark
thickets of the copses.
"But," resumed D'Artagnan, "will the sport be long? Pray, give us a good
swift bird, for I am very tired. Is it a heron or a swan?"
"Both, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the falconer; "but you need not be
alarmed, the king is not much of a sportsman; he does not sport on his
own account, he only wishes to give amusement to the ladies."
The words "to the ladies" were so strongly accented, that it set
D'Artagnan listening.
"Ah!" said he, looking at the falconer with surprise.
The captain of the harriers smiled, no doubt with a view of making it up
with the musketeer.
"Oh! you may safely laugh," said D'Artagnan; "I know nothing of current
news; I only arrived yesterday, after a month's absence. I left the
court mourning the death of the queen-mother. The king was not willing
to take any amusement after receiving the last sigh of Anne of Austria;
but everything has an end in this world. Well! then he is no longer sad?
So much the better."
"And everything commences as well as ends," said the captain of the
dogs, with a coarse laugh.
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, a second time--he burned to know, but dignity
would not allow him to interrogate people below him--"there is something
beginning, then, it appears?"
The captain gave him a significant wink; but D'Artagnan was unwilling to
learn anything from this man.
"Shall we see the king early?" asked he of the falconer.
"At seven o'clock, monsieur, I shall fly the birds."
"Who comes with the king? How is Madame? How is the queen?"
"Better, monsieur."
"Has she been ill, then?"
"Monsieur, since the last chagrin she had, her majesty has been unwell."
"What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I am but just
returned."
"It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her
mother-in-law, complained to the king, who replied to her--'Do I not
sleep with you every night, madame? What more do you want?'"
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan--"poor woman! She must heartily hate Mademoiselle
de la Valliere."
"Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere," replied the falconer.
"Who then?--" The horn interrupted this conversation. It summoned the
dogs and the hawks. The falconer and his companion set off immediately,
leaving D'Artagnan alone in the midst of the suspended sentence. The
king appeared at a distance, surrounded by ladies and horsemen. All the
troop advanced in beautiful order, at a foot's pace, the horns of
various sorts animating the dogs and the horses. It was a movement, a
noise, a mirage of light, of which nothing now can give an idea, unless
it be the fictitious splendor or false majesty of a theatrical
spectacle. D'Artagnan, with an eye a little weakened, distinguished
behind the group three carriages. The first was intended for the queen:
it was empty. D'Artagnan, who did not see Mademoiselle de la Valliere by
the king's side, on looking about for her, saw her in the second
carriage. She was alone with two of her women, who seemed as dull as
their mistress. On the left hand of the king, upon a high-spirited
horse, restrained by a bold and skillful hand, shone a lady of the most
dazzling beauty. The king smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the king.
Loud laughter followed every word she spoke.
"I must know that woman," thought the musketeer; "who can she be?" And
he stooped toward his friend, the falconer, to whom he addressed the
question he had put to himself. The falconer was about to reply, when
the king, perceiving D'Artagnan, "Ah, comte!" said he, "you are returned
then! why have I not seen you?"
"Sire," replied the captain, "because your majesty was asleep when I
arrived; and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning."
"Still the same!" said Louis, in a loud voice, denoting satisfaction.
"Take some rest, comte, I command you to do so. You will dine with me
to-day."
A murmur of admiration surrounded D'Artagnan like an immense caress.
Every one was eager to salute him. Dining with the king was an honor his
majesty was not so prodigal of as Henry IV. had been. The king passed a
few steps in advance, and D'Artagnan found himself in the midst of a
fresh group, among whom shone Colbert.
"Good-day, M. d'Artagnan," said the minister, with affable politeness;
"have you had a pleasant journey?"
"Yes, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.
"I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening," continued
the minister; "you will meet an old friend there."
"An old friend of mine?" asked D'Artagnan, plunging painfully into the
dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many
friendships and so many hatreds.
"M. le Duc d'Alméda, who is arrived this morning from Spain."
"The Duc d'Alméda?" said D'Artagnan, reflecting in vain.
"I!" said an old man, white as snow, sitting bent in his carriage, which
he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.
"Aramis!" cried D'Artagnan, struck with perfect stupor. And he left,
inert as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round his
neck.
Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a minute, put his
horse forward, and left the two old friends together.
"And so," said the musketeer, taking the arm of Aramis, "you, the exile,
the rebel, are again in France?"
"Ah! and I shall dine with you at the king's table," said Aramis,
smiling. "Yes; will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in
this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere's carriage to pass. Look
how uneasy she is! How her eye, dimmed with tears, follows the king, who
is riding on horseback yonder!"
"With whom?"
"With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now become Madame de Montespan,"
replied Aramis.
"She is jealous; is she then deserted?"
"Not quite yet, but it will not be long first."
They chatted together, while following the sport, and Aramis' coachman
drove them so cleverly that they got up at the moment when the falcon,
attacking the bird, beat him down, and fell upon him. The king alighted,
Madame de Montespan followed his example. They were in front of an
isolated chapel, concealed by large trees, already despoiled of their
leaves by the first winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an
inclosure, closed by a latticed gate. The falcon had beat down his prey
in the inclosure belonging to this little chapel, and the king was
desirous of going in, to take the first feather, according to custom.
The cortege formed a circle round the building and the hedges, too small
to receive so many. D'Artagnan held back Aramis by the arm, as he was
about, like the rest, to alight from his carriage, and in a hoarse,
broken voice: "Do you know, Aramis," said he, "whither chance has
conducted us?"
"No," replied the duke.
"Here repose people I have known," said D'Artagnan, much agitated.
Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, penetrated
into the chapel by a little door which D'Artagnan opened for him.
"Where are they buried?" said he.
"There, in the inclosure. There is a cross, you see, under that little
cypress. The little cypress is planted over their tomb; don't go to it;
the king is going that way; the heron has fallen just there."
Aramis stopped, and concealed himself in the shade. They then saw,
without being seen, the pale face of La Valliere, who, neglected in her
carriage, had at first looked on, with a melancholy heart, from the
door, and then, carried away by jealousy, she had advanced into the
chapel, whence, leaning against a pillar, she contemplated in the
inclosure the king smiling and making signs to Madame de Montespan to
approach, as there was nothing to be afraid of. Madame de Montespan
complied; she took the hand the king held out to her, and he, plucking
out the first feather from the heron, which the falconer had strangled,
placed it in the hat of his beautiful companion. She, smiling in her
turn, kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The king
blushed with pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the
fire of love.
"What will you give me in exchange?" said he.
She broke off a little branch of cypress and offered it to the king, who
looked intoxicated with hope.
"Humph!" said Aramis to D'Artagnan; "the present is but a sad one, for
that cypress shades a tomb."
"Yes, and the tomb is that of Raoul de Bragelonne," said D'Artagnan
aloud; "of Raoul, who sleeps under that cross with his father."
A groan resounded behind them. They saw a woman fall fainting to the
ground. Mademoiselle de la Valliere had seen all, and heard all.
"Poor woman!" muttered D'Artagnan, as he helped the attendants to carry
back to her carriage she who from that time was to suffer.
That evening D'Artagnan was seated at the king's table, near M. Colbert
and M. le Duc d'Alméda. The king was very gay. He paid a thousand little
attentions to the queen, a thousand kindnesses to Madame, seated at his
left hand, and very sad. It might have been supposed to be that calm
time when the king used to watch the eyes of his mother for the avowal
or disavowal of what he had just done.
Of mistresses there was no question at this dinner. The king addressed
Aramis two or three times, calling him M. l'Ambassadeur, which increased
the surprise already felt by D'Artagnan at seeing his friend the rebel
so marvelously well received at court.
The king, on rising from table, gave his hand to the queen, and made a
sign to Colbert, whose eye watched that of his master. Colbert took
D'Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king began to chat with his
sister, while Monsieur, very uneasy, entertained the queen with a
preoccupied air, without ceasing to watch his wife and brother from the
corner of his eye. The conversation between Aramis, D'Artagnan, and
Colbert turned upon indifferent subjects. They spoke of preceding
ministers; Colbert related the feats of Mazarin, and required those of
Richelieu to be related to him. D'Artagnan could not overcome his
surprise at finding this man, with heavy eyebrows and a low forehead,
contain so much sound knowledge and cheerful spirits. Aramis was
astonished at that lightness of character which permitted a serious man
to retard with advantage the moment for a more important conversation,
to which nobody made any allusion, although all three interlocutors felt
the imminence of it. It was very plain from the embarrassed appearance
of Monsieur how much the conversation of the king and Madame annoyed
him. The eyes of Madame were almost red; was she going to complain? Was
she going to commit a little scandal in open court? The king took her on
one side, and in a tone so tender that it must have reminded the
princess of the time when she was loved for herself--
"Sister," said he, "why do I see tears in those beautiful eyes?"
"Why--sire--" said she.
"Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?"
She looked toward Monsieur, an infallible sign that they were talking
about him.
"Yes," said she.
"Listen to me," said the king; "if your friends compromise you, it is
not Monsieur's fault."
He spoke these words with so much kindness, that Madame, encouraged, she
who had had so many griefs for so long a time, was near bursting, so
full was her heart.
"Come, come, dear little sister," said the king, "tell me your griefs;
by the word of a brother, I pity them; by the word of a king, I will
terminate them."
She raised her fine eyes, and, in a melancholy tone--
"It is not my friends who compromise me," said she; "they are either
absent or concealed; they have been brought into disgrace with your
majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!"
"You say this on account of Guiche, whom I have exiled, at the desire of
Monsieur?"
"And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavored to get himself killed
once every day!"
"Unjust, do you say, sister?"
"So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with friendship
that I have always entertained for your majesty--"
"Well?"
"Well! I would have asked my brother Charles, upon whom I can always--"
The king started. "What then?"
"I would have asked him to have it represented to you that Monsieur and
his favorite, M. le Chevalier de Lorraine, ought not with impunity to
constitute themselves the executioners of my honor and my happiness."
"The Chevalier de Lorraine," said the king; "that dismal face?"
"Is my mortal enemy. While that man lives in my household, where
Monsieur retains him and delegates his powers to him, I shall be the
most miserable woman in this kingdom."
"So," said the king, slowly, "You call your brother of England a better
friend than I am?"
"Actions speak for themselves, sire."
"And you would prefer going to ask assistance there--"
"To my own country!" said she, with pride; "yes, sire."
"You are the grandchild of Henry IV., as well as myself, my friend.
Cousin and brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the title
of brother-germain?"
"Then," said Henrietta, "act!"
"Let us form an alliance."
"Begin."
"I have, you say, unjustly exiled Guiche."
"Oh! yes," said she blushing.
"Guiche shall return."
"So far, well."
"And now you say that I am wrong in having in your household the
Chevalier de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill-advice respecting you?"
"Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some
day--Observe, if ever I come to an ill end, I beforehand accuse the
Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a soul capable of any crime!"
"The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you--I promise you
that."
"Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire--I sign; but
since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine."
[Illustration: THE DEATHBED OF ATHOS--"HERE I AM!"--_Page 532._]
"Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must make him
my more intimate friend than ever."
"That is very easy."
"Oh! not quite so much so as you may think, for in ordinary friendship
people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a
return, easy expenses; but in political friendship--"
"Ah! it's a political friendship, is it?"
"Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is
soldiers, it is soldiers all living and well equipped, that we must
serve up to our friend; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons
and stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always our
coffers in a fit state to form such friendships."
"Ah! you are quite right," said Madame; "the coffers of the king of
England have been very sonorous for some time."
"But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you
can obtain more than an ambassador could ever obtain."
"To effect, that I must go to London, my dear brother."
"I have thought so," replied the king, eagerly; "and I have said to
myself that such a voyage would do your spirits good."
"Only," interrupted Madame, "it is possible I should fail. The king of
England has dangerous counselors."
"Counselors, do you say?"
"Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention--I am only
supposing so--of asking Charles II. his alliance for a war--"
"For a war?"
"Yes, well! then the counselors of the king, who are to the number of
seven--Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn, Miss
Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess of
Castlemaine--will represent to the king that war costs a great deal of
money; that it is far better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court
than to equip vessels of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich."
"And then your negotiations will fail?"
"Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fail that they don't make
themselves."
"Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?"
"No; tell me what it is."
"It is that by searching well around you, you might perhaps find a
female counselor to take with you to your brother whose eloquence might
paralyze the ill-will of the seven others."
"That is really an idea, sire, and I will search."
"You will find what you want."
"I hope so."
"A pretty person is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an ugly
one, is it not?"
"Most assuredly."
"An animated, lively, audacious character."
"Certainly."
"Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without
awkwardness--little enough, so as not to trouble herself about the
dignity of her race."
"Quite just."
"And who knows a little English."
"Mon Dieu! why, some one," cried Madame, "like Mademoiselle de
Keroualle, for instance!"
"Oh! why, yes!" said Louis XIV.; "you have found--it is you who have
found, my sister."
"I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose."
"Oh! no; I will name her _séductrice plénipotentiaire_ at once, and will
add the dowry to the title."
"That is well."
"I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, and consoled
for all your griefs."
"I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am
negotiating about."
"This is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and
by their republican attitude. I don't like republics."
"That may easily be conceived, sire."
"I see with pain that these kings of the sea--they call themselves
so--keep trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will
soon occupy all the ports in Europe. Such a power is too near me,
sister."
"They are your allies, nevertheless."
"That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard of
struck; a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua
did, with this legend: _The sun has stopped before me._ There is not
much fraternity in that, is there?"
"I thought you had forgotten that miserable affair."
"I never forget anything, my sister. And if my true friends, such as
your brother Charles, are willing to second me--" The princess remained
pensively silent.
"Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to be shared," said Louis
XIV. "For this partition, which England submits to, could I not
represent the second party as well as the Dutch?"
"We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to treat that question," replied
Madame.
"Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?"
"The consent of Monsieur, my husband."----"You shall have it."
"Then consider me gone, my brother."
On hearing these words, Louis XIV. turned round toward the corner of the
room in which D'Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and made an
affirmative sign to his minister. Colbert then broke the conversation at
the point it happened to be at, and said to Aramis:
"Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, shall we talk about business?"
D'Artagnan immediately withdrew, from politeness. He directed his steps
toward the chimney, within hearing of what the king was going to say to
Monsieur, who, evidently uneasy, had gone to him. The face of the king
was animated. Upon his brow was stamped a will, the redoubtable
expression of which already met with no more contradiction in France,
and was soon to meet with no more in Europe.
"Monsieur," said the king to his brother, "I am not pleased with M. le
Chevalier de Lorraine. You, who do him the honor to protect him, must
advise him to travel for a few months." These words fell with the crush
of an avalanche upon Monsieur, who adored this favorite, and
concentrated all his affections in him.
"In what has the chevalier been able to displease your majesty?" cried
he, darting a furious look at Madame.
"I will tell you that when he is gone," replied the impassible king.
"And also when Madame, here, shall have crossed over into England."
"Madame! into England!" murmured Monsieur, in a perfect state of stupor.
"In a week, my brother," continued the king, "while we two will go
whither I will tell you." And the king turned upon his heel after having
smiled in his brother's face, to sweeten a little the bitter draught he
had given him.
During this time, Colbert was talking with the Duc d'Alméda.
"Monsieur," said Colbert to Aramis, "this is the moment for us to come
to an understanding. I have made your peace with the king, and I owed
that clearly to a man of your merit; but as you have often expressed
friendship for me, an opportunity presents itself for giving me a proof
of it. You are, besides, more a Frenchman than Spaniard. Shall we have,
answer me frankly, the neutrality of Spain, if we undertake anything
against the United Provinces?"
"Monsieur," replied Aramis, "the interest of Spain is very clear. To
embroil Europe with the United Provinces, against which subsists the
ancient malice of their conquered liberty, is our policy, but the king
of France is allied with the United Provinces. You are not ignorant,
besides, that it would be a maritime war, and that France is not in a
state to make such a one with advantage."
Colbert, turning round at this moment, saw D'Artagnan, who was seeking
an interlocutor, during the "aside" of the king and Monsieur. He called
him, at the same time saying in a low voice to Aramis. "We may talk with
M. d'Artagnan. I suppose?"
"Oh! certainly," replied the ambassador.
"We were saying, M. d'Alméda and I," said Colbert, "that war with the
United Provinces would be a maritime war."
"That's evident enough," replied the musketeer.
"And what do you think of it, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"I think that to carry that war on successfully, you must have a very
large land army."
"What did you say?" said Colbert, thinking he had ill-understood him.
"Why such a land army?" said Aramis.
"Because the king will be beaten by sea if he has not the English with
him, and that when beaten by sea, he will be soon invaded, either by the
Dutch in his ports, or by the Spaniards by land."
"And Spain neutral?" asked Aramis.
"Neutral as long as the king shall be the stronger," rejoined
D'Artagnan.
Colbert admired that sagacity which never touched a question without
enlightening it thoroughly. Aramis smiled, as he had long known that in
diplomacy D'Artagnan acknowledged no master. Colbert, who, like all
proud men, dwelt upon his fantasy with a certainty of success, resumed
the subject, "Who told you, M. d'Artagnan, that the king had no navy?"
"Oh! I have taken no heed of these details," replied the captain. "I am
but a middling sailor. Like all nervous people, I hate the sea; and yet
I have an idea that with ships, France being a seaport with two hundred
heads, we might have sailors."
Colbert drew from his pocket a little oblong book, divided into two
columns. On the first were the names of vessels, on the other the
figures recapitulating the number of cannon and men requisite to equip
these ships. "I have had the same idea as you," said he to D'Artagnan,
"and I have had an account drawn up of the vessels we have
altogether--thirty-five ships."
"Thirty-five ships! that is impossible!" cried D'Artagnan.
"Something like two thousand pieces of cannon," said Colbert. "That is
what the king possesses at this moment. With thirty-five vessels we can
make three squadrons, but I must have five."
"Five!" cried Aramis.
"They will be afloat before the end of the year, gentlemen; the king
will have fifty ships of the line. We may venture on a contest with
them, may we not?"
"To build vessels," said D'Artagnan, "is difficult, but possible. As to
arming them, how is that to be done? In France there are neither
foundries nor military docks."
"Bah!" replied Colbert, with a gay tone, "I have instituted all that
this year and a half past, did you not know it? Don't you know M.
d'Imfreville?"
"D'Imfreville!" replied D'Artagnan; "no."
"He is a man I have discovered; he has a specialty; he is a man of
genius--he knows how to set men to work. It is he who has founded cannon
and cut the woods of Bourgogne. And then, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, you
may not believe what I am going to tell you, but I have a further idea."
"Oh, monsieur!" said Aramis, civilly, "I always believe you."
"Figure to yourself that, calculating upon the character of the Dutch,
our allies, I said to myself, 'They are merchants, they are friends with
the king; they will be happy to sell to the king what they fabricate for
themselves; then the more we buy--Ah! I must add this: I have Forant--do
you know Forant, D'Artagnan?'"
Colbert, in his warmth, forgot himself; he called the captain simply
_D'Artagnan,_ as the king did. But the captain only smiled at it.
"No," replied he, "I don't know him."
"That is another man I have discovered, with a genius for buying. This
Forant has purchased for me 350,000 pounds of iron in balls, 200,000
pounds of powder, twelve cargoes of Northern timber, matches, grenades,
pitch, tar--I know not what! with a saving of seven per cent upon what
all those articles would cost me fabricated in France."
"That is a good idea," replied D'Artagnan, "to have Dutch balls founded,
which will return to the Dutch."
"Is it not, with loss too?" And Colbert laughed aloud. He was delighted
with his own joke.
"Still further," added he; "these same Dutch are building for the king,
at this moment, six vessels after the model of the best of their marine.
Destouches--Ah! perhaps you don't know Destouches?"
"No, monsieur."
"He is a man who has a glance singularly sure to discern, when a ship is
launched, what are the defects and qualities of that ship--that is
valuable, please to observe! Nature is truly whimsical. Well, this
Destouches appeared to me to be a man likely to be useful in a port, and
he is superintending the construction of six vessels of 78, which the
Provinces are building for his majesty. It results from all this, my
dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, that the king, if he wished to quarrel with
the Provinces, would have a very pretty fleet. Now, you know better than
anybody else if the land army is good."
D'Artagnan and Aramis looked at each other, wondering at the mysterious
labors this man had effected in a few years. Colbert understood them,
and was touched by this best of flatteries.
"If we in France were ignorant of what was going on," said D'Artagnan,
"out of France still less must be known."
"That is why I told Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," said Colbert, "that Spain
promising its neutrality, England helping us--"
"If England assists you," said Aramis, "I engage for the neutrality of
Spain."
"I take you at your word," hastened Colbert to reply with his blunt
_bonhomie_. "And, apropos of Spain, you have not the 'Golden Fleece,'
Monsieur d'Alméda. I heard the king say the other day that he should
like to see you wear the _grand cordon_ of St. Michael."
Aramis bowed. "Oh!" thought D'Artagnan, "and Porthos is no longer here!
What ells of ribbon would there be for him in these _largesses_! Good
Porthos!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," resumed Colbert, "between us two, you will have,
I would wager, an inclination to lead your musketeers into Holland. Can
you swim?" And he laughed like a man in a very good humor.
"Like an eel," replied D'Artagnan.
"Ah! but there are some rough passages of canals and marshes yonder,
Monsieur d'Artagnan, and the best swimmers are sometimes drowned there."
"It is my profession to die for his majesty," said the musketeer. "Only
as it is seldom that in war much water is met with without a little
fire, I declare to you beforehand, that I will do my best to choose
fire. I am getting old, water freezes me--fire warms, Monsieur Colbert."
And D'Artagnan looked so handsome in juvenile vigor and pride, as he
pronounced these words, that Colbert, in his turn, could not help
admiring him. D'Artagnan perceived the effect he had produced. He
remembered that the best tradesman is he who fixes a high price upon his
goods when they are valuable. He prepared, then, his price in advance.
"So then," said Colbert, "we go into Holland?"
"Yes," replied D'Artagnan: "only--"
"Only?" said M. Colbert.
"Only," repeated D'Artagnan, "there is in everything the question of
interest and the question of self-love. It is a very fine title, that of
captain of the musketeers; but, observe this: we have now the king's
guards and the military household of the king. A captain of musketeers
ought either to command all that, and then he would absorb a hundred
thousand livres a year for expenses of representation and table--"
"Well! but do you suppose, by chance, that the king would haggle with
you?" said Colbert.
"Eh! monsieur, you have not understood me," replied D'Artagnan, sure of
having carried the question of interest; "I was telling you that I, an
old captain, formerly chief of the king's guard, having precedence of
the maréchaux of France--I saw myself one day in the trenches with two
other equals, the captain of the guards and the colonel commanding the
Swiss. Now, at no price will I suffer that. I have old habits, I will
stand to them."
Colbert felt this blow, but he was prepared for it.
"I have been thinking of what you said just now," replied he.
"About what, monsieur?"
"We were speaking of canals and marshes in which people are drowned."
"Well!"
"Well! if they are drowned, it is for want of a boat, a plank, or a
stick."
"Of a stick, however short it may be," said D'Artagnan.
"Exactly," said Colbert. "And, therefore, I never heard of an instance
of a maréchal of France being drowned."
D'Artagnan became pale with joy, and in not a very firm voice:--"People
would be very proud of me in my country," said he, "if I were a maréchal
of France; but a man must have commanded an expedition in chief to
obtain the bâton."
"Monsieur," said Colbert, "here is in this pocket-book, which you will
study, a plan of a campaign you will have to lead a body of troops to
carry out in the next spring."
D'Artagnan took the book, tremblingly, and his fingers meeting with
those of Colbert the minister pressed the hand of the musketeer loyally.
"Monsieur," said he, "we had both a revenge to take, one over the other.
I have begun: it is now your turn!"
"I will do you justice, monsieur," replied D'Artagnan, "and implore you
to tell the king that the first opportunity that shall offer, he may
depend upon a victory, or seeing me dead."
"Then I will have the fleurs-de-lis for your maréchal's bâton prepared
immediately," said Colbert.
On the morrow of this day, Aramis, who was setting out for Madrid, to
negotiate the neutrality of Spain, came to embrace D'Artagnan at his
hotel.
"Let us love each other for four," said D'Artagnan, "we are now but
two."
"And you will, perhaps, never see me again, dear D'Artagnan," said
Aramis;--"if you knew how I have loved you! I am old, I am extinguished,
I am dead."
"My friend," said D'Artagnan, "you will live longer than I shall;
diplomacy commands you to live; but, for my part, honor condemns me to
die."
"Bah! such men as we are, Monsieur le Maréchal," said Aramis, "only die
satiated with joy or glory."
"Ah!" replied D'Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, "I assure, you,
Monsieur le Duc, I feel very little appetite for either."
They once more embraced, and, two hours after, they were separated.
THE DEATH OF D'ARTAGNAN.
Contrary to what always happens, whether in politics or morals, each
kept his promise, and did honor to his engagements.
The king recalled M. de Guiche, and banished M. le Chevalier de
Lorraine, so that Monsieur became ill in consequence. Madame set out for
London, where she applied herself so earnestly to make her brother,
Charles II., have a taste for the political councils of Mademoiselle de
Keroualle, that the alliance between England and France was signed, and
the English vessels, ballasted by a few millions of French gold, made a
terrible campaign against the fleets of the United Provinces. Charles
II. had promised Mademoiselle de Keroualle a little gratitude for her
good councils; he made her Duchess of Portsmouth. Colbert had promised
the king vessels, munitions, and victories. He kept his word, as is well
known. At length Aramis, upon whose promises there was least dependence
to be placed, wrote Colbert the following letter, on the subject of the
negotiations which he had undertaken at Madrid:
"MONSIEUR COLBERT: I have the honor to expedite to you the
R. P. d'Oliva, general ad interim of the Society of Jesus, my
provisional successor. The reverend father will explain to you,
Monsieur Colbert, that I preserve to myself the direction of all
the affairs of the Order which concern France and Spain; but that I
am not willing to retain the title of general, which would throw
too much light upon the march of the negotiations with which his
Catholic majesty wishes to intrust me. I shall resume that title by
the command of his majesty, when the labors I have undertaken in
concert with you, for the great glory of God and His Church, shall
be brought to a good end. The R. P. d'Oliva will inform you
likewise, monsieur, of the consent which his Catholic majesty gives
to the signature of a treaty which assures the neutrality of Spain,
in the event of a war between France and the United Provinces. This
consent will be valid, even if England, instead of being active,
should satisfy herself with remaining neutral. As to Portugal, of
which you and I have spoken, monsieur, I can assure you it will
contribute with all its resources to assist the Most Christian King
in his war. I beg you, Monsieur Colbert, to preserve to me your
friendship, as also to believe in my profound attachment, and to
lay my respect at the feet of his Most Christian Majesty.
"Signed, LE DUC DE ALMEDA."
Aramis had then performed more than he had promised; it remained to be
known how the king, M. Colbert, and D'Artagnan would be faithful to each
other. In the spring, as Colbert had predicted, the land army entered on
its campaign. It preceded, in magnificent order, the court of Louis
XIV., who, setting out on horseback, surrounded by carriages filled with
ladies and courtiers, conducted the élite of his kingdom to this
sanguinary fete. The officers of the army, it is true, had no other
music but the artillery of the Dutch forts; but it was enough for a
great number, who found in this war honors, advancement, fortune, or
death.
M. D'Artagnan set out commanding a body of twelve thousand men, cavalry
and infantry, with which he was ordered to take the different places
which form the knots of that strategic network which is called La
Frise. Never was an army conducted more gallantly to an expedition. The
officers knew that their leader, prudent and skillful as he was brave,
would not sacrifice a single man, nor yield an inch of ground, without
necessity. He had the old habits of war, to live upon the country, keep
his soldiers singing and the enemy weeping. The captain of the king's
musketeers placed his coquetry in showing that he knew his business.
Never were opportunities better chosen, _coups de main_ better
supported, errors of the besieged taken better advantage of.
The army commanded by D'Artagnan took twelve small places within a
month. He was engaged in besieging the thirteenth, which had held out
five days. D'Artagnan caused the trenches to be opened without appearing
to suppose that these people would ever allow themselves to be taken.
The pioneers and laborers were, in the army of this man, a body full of
emulation, ideas, and zeal, because he treated them like soldiers, knew
how to render their work glorious, and never allowed them to be killed
if he could prevent it. It should have been seen then, with what
eagerness the marshy glebes of Holland were turned over. Those turf
heaps, those mounds of potter's clay, melted at the words of the
soldiers like butter in the vast frying-pans of the Friesland
housewives.
M. d'Artagnan dispatched a courier to the king to give him an account of
the last successes, which redoubled the good humor of his majesty and
his inclination to amuse the ladies. These victories of M. d'Artagnan
gave so much majesty to the prince, that Madame de Montespan no longer
called him anything but Louis the Invincible. So that Mademoiselle de la
Valliere, who only called the king Louis the Victorious, lost much of
his majesty's favor. Besides, her eyes were frequently red, and for an
Invincible nothing is more disagreeable than a mistress who weeps while
everything is smiling around her. The star of Mademoiselle de la
Valliere was being drowned in the horizon in clouds and tears. But the
gayety of Madame de Montespan redoubled with the successes of the king,
and consoled him for every other unpleasant circumstance. It was to
D'Artagnan the king owed this; and his majesty was anxious to
acknowledge these services; he wrote to M. Colbert:
"MONSIEUR COLBERT--We have a promise to fulfill with M.
d'Artagnan, who so well keeps his. This is to inform you that the
time is come for performing it. All provisions for this purpose you
shall be furnished with in due time--LOUIS."
In consequence of this, Colbert, who detained the envoy of D'Artagnan,
placed in the hands of that messenger a letter from himself for
D'Artagnan, and a small coffer of ebony inlaid with gold, which was not
very voluminous in appearance, but which, without doubt, was very heavy,
as a guard of five men was given to the messenger, to assist him in
carrying it. These people arrived before the place which D'Artagnan was
besieging toward daybreak, and presented themselves at the lodgings of
the general. They were told that M. d'Artagnan, annoyed by a sortie
which the governor, an artful man, had made the evening before, and in
which the works had been destroyed, seventy-seven men killed, and the
reparation of the breaches commenced, had just gone with half a score
companies of grenadiers to reconstruct the works.
M. Colbert's envoy had orders to go and seek M. d'Artagnan, wherever he
might be, or at whatever hour of the day or night. He directed his
course, therefore, toward the trenches, followed by his escort, all on
horseback. They perceived M. d'Artagnan in the open plain, with his
gold-laced hat, his long cane, and his large gilded cuffs. He was biting
his white mustache, and wiping off, with his left hand, the dust which
the passing balls threw up from the ground they plowed near him. They
also saw, amid this terrible fire, which filled the air with its hissing
whistle, officers handling the shovel, soldiers rolling barrows, and
vast fascines, rising by being either carried or dragged by from ten to
twenty men, cover the front of the trench, reopened to the center by
this extraordinary effort of the general animating his soldiers. In
three hours all had been reinstated. D'Artagnan began to speak more
mildly; and he became quite calm when the captain of the pioneers
approached him, hat in hand, to tell him that the trench was again
lodgeable. This man had scarcely finished speaking when a ball took off
one of his legs, and he fell into the arms of D'Artagnan. The latter
lifted up his soldier, and quietly, with soothing words, carried him
into the trench, amid the enthusiastic applause of the regiments. From
that time, it was no longer ardor--it was delirium; two companies stole
away up to the advanced posts, which they destroyed instantly.
When their comrades, restrained with great difficulty by D'Artagnan, saw
them lodged upon the bastions, they rushed forward likewise; and soon a
furious assault was made upon the counterscarp, upon which depended the
safety of the place. D'Artagnan perceived there was only one means left
of stopping his army, and that was to lodge it in the place. He directed
all his force to two breaches, which the besieged were busy in
repairing. The shock was terrible; eighteen companies took part in it,
and D'Artagnan went with the rest, within half cannon-shot of the place,
to support the attack by echelons. The cries of the Dutch, who were
being poniarded upon their guns by D'Artagnan's grenadiers, were
distinctly audible. The struggle grew fiercer with the despair of the
governor, who disputed his position foot by foot. D'Artagnan, to put an
end to the affair, and silence the fire, which was unceasing, sent a
fresh column, which penetrated like a wimble through the posts that
remained solid; and he soon perceived upon the ramparts, through the
fire, the terrified flight of the besieged pursued by the besiegers.
It was at this moment the general, breathing freely and full of joy,
heard a voice behind him, saying, "Monsieur, if you please, from M.
Colbert." He broke the seal of a letter which contained these words:
"MONSIEUR D'ARTAGNAN--The king commands me to inform you
that he has nominated you Maréchal of France, as a reward of your
good services, and the honor you do to his arms. The king is highly
pleased, monsieur, with the captures you have made; he commands
you, in particular, to finish the siege you have commenced, with
good fortune to _you_, and success for him."
D'Artagnan was standing with a heated countenance and a sparkling eye.
He looked up to watch the progress of his troops upon the walls, still
enveloped in red and black volumes of smoke. "I have finished," replied
he to the messenger; "the city will have surrendered in a quarter of an
hour." He then resumed his reading:
"The _coffret_, Monsieur d'Artagnan, is my own present. You will not
be sorry to see that while you warriors are drawing the sword to
defend the king, I am animating the pacific arts to ornament the
recompenses worthy of you. I commend myself to your friendship,
Monsieur le Maréchal, and beg you to believe in all
mine.--COLBERT."
D'Artagnan, intoxicated with joy, made a sign to the messenger, who
approached, with his _coffret_ in his hands. But at the moment the
maréchal was going to look at it a loud explosion resounded from the
ramparts, and called his attention toward the city. "It is strange,"
said D'Artagnan, "that I don't yet see the king's flag upon the walls,
or hear the drums beat the _chamade_." He launched three hundred fresh
men, under a high-spirited officer, and ordered another breach to be
beaten. Then, being more tranquil, he turned toward the _coffret_, which
Colbert's envoy held out to him.
It was his treasure--he had won it.
D'Artagnan was holding out his hand to open the _coffret_, when a ball
from the city crushed the _coffret_ in the arms of the officer, struck
D'Artagnan full in the chest, and knocked him down upon a sloping heap
of earth, while the fleur-de-lised bâton, escaping from the broken sides
of the box, came rolling under the powerless hand of the maréchal.
D'Artagnan endeavored to raise himself up. It was thought he had been
knocked down without being wounded. A terrible cry broke from the group
of his terrified officers: the maréchal was covered with blood; the
paleness of death ascended slowly to his noble countenance. Leaning upon
the arms which were held out on all sides to receive him, he was able
once more to turn his eyes toward the place, and to distinguish the
white flag at the crest of the principal bastion: his ears, already deaf
to the sounds of life, caught feebly the rolling of the drum which
announced the victory. Then, clasping in his nerveless hand the bâton,
ornamented with its fleurs-de-lis, he cast down upon it his eyes, which
had no longer the power of looking upward toward heaven, and fell back,
murmuring these strange words, which appeared to the soldiers cabalistic
words--words which had formerly represented so many things upon earth,
and which none but the dying man longer comprehended:
"Athos--Porthos, farewell till we meet again! Aramis, adieu
forever!"
Of the four valiant men whose history we have related, there now no
longer remained but one single body: God had resumed the souls.
END OF "THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE."
End of Project Gutenberg's The Vicomte de Bragelonne, by Alexandre Dumas