Part 1
Alexandre Dumas
THE VISCOUNT OF BRAGELONNE
VOLUME IV
(1848 — 1850)
Table of Contents
Chapter CXCVII — King and Nobility Chapter CXCVIII — More Storm Chapter CXCIX — Woe! miserable! Chapter CC — Wound upon Wound Chapter CCI — What Raoul Had Guessed Chapter CCII — Three Guests Astonished to Sup Together Chapter CCIII — What Was Passing at the Louvre During the Supper at the Bastille Chapter CCIV — Political Rivals Chapter CCV — Where Porthos Is Convinced Without Having Understood Chapter CCVI — The Society of M. de Baisemeaux Chapter CCVII — Prisoner Chapter CCVIII — How Mouston Had Grown Fat Without Informing Porthos, and the Disagreeable Consequences Thereof for That Worthy Gentleman Chapter CCIX — Who Sir Jean Percerin Was Chapter CCX — The Samples Chapter CCXI — Where Molière Perhaps Took His First Idea of the Bourgeois Gentleman Chapter CCXII — The Hive, the Bees, and the Honey Chapter CCXIII — Another Supper at the Bastille Chapter CCXIV — The General of the Order Chapter CCXV — The Tempter Chapter CCXVI — Crown and Tiara Chapter CCXVII — The Château of Vaux-le-Vicomte Chapter CCXVIII — The Wine of Melun Chapter CCXIX — Nectar and Ambrosia Chapter CCXX — To a Gascon, a Gascon and a Half Chapter CCXXI — Colbert Chapter CCXXII — Jealousy Chapter CCXXIII — Lèse-Majesté Chapter CCXXIV — A Night at the Bastille Chapter CCXXV — The Shadow of M. Fouquet Chapter CCXXVI — The Morning Chapter CCXXVII — The King's Friend Chapter CCXXVIII — How the Watch Was Kept at the Bastille Chapter CCXXIX — The King's Recognition Chapter CCXXX — The False King Chapter CCXXXI — Where Porthos Thinks He Is Chasing a Dukedom Chapter CCXXXII — The Last Farewells Chapter CCXXXIII — M. de Beaufort Chapter CCXXXIV — Preparations for Departure Chapter CCXXXV — Planchet's Inventory Chapter CCXXXVI — M. de Beaufort's Inventory Chapter CCXXXVII — The Silver Dish Chapter CCXXXVIII — Captive and Jailers Chapter CCXXXIX — The Promises Chapter CCXL — Between Women Chapter CCXLI — The Supper Chapter CCXLII — In M. Colbert's Coach Chapter CCXLIII — The Two Barges Chapter CCXLIV — Friendly Advice Chapter CCXLV — How King Louis XIV Played His Little Part Chapter CCXLVI — The White Horse and the Black Horse Chapter CCXLVII — Where the Squirrel Falls and the Adder Flies Chapter CCXLVIII — Belle-Île-en-Mer Chapter CCXLIX — Aramis's Explanations Chapter CCL — Continuation of the King's Ideas and the Ideas of M. d'Artagnan Chapter CCLI — Porthos's Ancestors Chapter CCLII — Biscarrat's Son Chapter CCLIII — The Cave of Locmaria Chapter CCLIV — The Cave Chapter CCLV — A Song of Homer Chapter CCLVI — Death of a Titan Chapter CCLVII — Porthos's Epitaph Chapter CCLVIII — M. de Gesvres's Round Chapter CCLIX — King Louis XIV Chapter CCLX — M. Fouquet's Friends Chapter CCLXI — Porthos's Will Chapter CCLXII — Athos's Old Age Chapter CCLXIII — Athos's Vision Chapter CCLXIV — The Angel of Death Chapter CCLXV — Bulletin Chapter CCLXVI — The Last Canto of the Poem Chapter CCLXVII — Epilogue Chapter CCLXVIII — The Death of M. d'Artagnan
Chapter CXCVII — King and Nobility
Louis at once composed himself to put on a good face for M. de La Fère. He foresaw well enough that the count had not come by chance. He vaguely felt the importance of this visit; but to a man of Athos's bearing, to a mind so distinguished, first sight should offer nothing disagreeable or disorderly.
When the young king was assured of being calm in appearance, he gave order to the ushers to introduce the count.
A few minutes later, Athos, in ceremonial dress, vested with the orders that he alone had the right to wear at the Court of France, Athos presented himself with an air so grave and so solemn that the king could judge at once whether or not he had been mistaken in his presentiments.
Louis took a step toward the count and offered him, with a smile, a hand upon which Athos bowed with full respect.
"Monsieur le Comte de La Fère," said the king rapidly, "you are so rare at my court that it is a very good fortune to see you there."
Athos bowed and replied:
"I could wish to have the happiness of being always near Your Majesty."
This reply, made in that tone, signified manifestly: "I could wish to be one of the king's counselors, to spare him mistakes."
The king felt it, and, determined before this man to keep the advantage of calm together with the advantage of rank:
"I see that you have something to say to me," he observed.
"I would not otherwise have presumed to present myself to Your Majesty."
"Speak quickly, monsieur; I am eager to satisfy you."
The king sat down.
"I am persuaded," replied Athos in a slightly moved tone, "that Your Majesty will give me full satisfaction."
"Ah!" said the king with a certain haughtiness, "is it a complaint you come to lodge here?"
"It would be a complaint," resumed Athos, "only if Your Majesty... But, pray excuse me, Sire, I shall take up the conversation at its beginning."
"I am listening."
"The king remembers that at the time of M. de Buckingham's departure, I had the honor to speak with him."
"At that time, more or less... Yes, I recall it; only, the subject of the interview... I have forgotten."
Athos trembled.
"I shall have the honor of recalling it to the king," said he. "It concerned a request I had come to address to Your Majesty, touching the marriage that M. de Bragelonne wished to contract with Mlle de La Vallière."
"Here we are," thought the king. "I remember," said he aloud.
"At that time," pursued Athos, "the king was so good and so generous toward me and M. de Bragelonne that not one of the words spoken by His Majesty has escaped my memory."
"And?..." said the king.
"And the king, of whom I asked Mlle de La Vallière for M. de Bragelonne, refused me."
"That is true," said Louis dryly.
"Alleging," Athos hastened to say, "that the betrothed had no standing in the world."
Louis constrained himself to listen patiently.
"That..." added Athos, "she had little fortune."
The king sank back into his armchair.
"Little birth."
Fresh impatience of the king.
"And little beauty," added Athos relentlessly.
This last thrust, driven into the lover's heart, made him start beyond measure.
"Monsieur," said he, "that is a very good memory you have!"
"It is always thus with me when I have the great honor of an interview with the king," returned the count without discomposure.
"In short, I said all that, be it so!"
"And I thanked Your Majesty much for it, Sire, because those words testified to a most honorable interest in M. de Bragelonne."
"You recall also," said the king, laying stress on the words, "that you had a great repugnance to this marriage?"
"That is true, Sire."
"And that you made the request against your will?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Finally, I recall likewise, for I have a memory almost as good as yours, I recall, I say, that you spoke these words: 'I do not believe in Mlle de La Vallière's love for M. de Bragelonne.' Is that true?"
Athos felt the blow; he did not recoil.
"Sire," said he, "I have already begged Your Majesty's pardon for it, but there are certain things in this interview that will be intelligible only at the outcome."
"Let us see the outcome, then."
"Here it is. Your Majesty had said that he deferred the marriage for the good of M. de Bragelonne."
The king was silent.
"Today, M. de Bragelonne is so unhappy that he can no longer delay asking a solution of Your Majesty."
The king paled. Athos looked at him fixedly.
"And what... does he ask... M. de Bragelonne?" said the king with hesitation.
"Exactly what I came to ask the king in the last interview: Your Majesty's consent to his marriage."
The king was silent.
"The questions relating to obstacles are cleared away for us," continued Athos. "Mlle de La Vallière, without fortune, without birth, and without beauty, is none the less the only fine match in the world for M. de Bragelonne, since he loves this young girl."
The king clasped his hands together.
"The king hesitates?" asked the count, losing nothing of his firmness or his politeness.
"I do not hesitate... I refuse," replied the king.
Athos collected himself a moment.
"I had the honor," said he in a gentle voice, "of observing to the king that no obstacle checked the affections of M. de Bragelonne, and that his determination seemed unalterable."
"There is my will; that is an obstacle, I believe?"
"It is the most serious of all," retorted Athos.
"Ah!"
"Now, may we be permitted to ask humbly of Your Majesty the reason for this refusal."
"The reason?... A question?" cried the king.
"A request, Sire."
The king, leaning on the table with both fists:
"You have lost the usage of the Court, Monsieur de La Fère," said he in a suppressed voice. "At Court, one does not question the king."
"That is true, Sire; but, if one does not question, one supposes."
"One supposes! what does that mean?"
"Almost always the subject's supposition implies the king's frankness..."
"Monsieur!"
"And the subject's lack of confidence," pursued Athos intrepidly.
"I think you are mistaken," said the monarch, drawn despite himself into anger.
"Sire, I am forced to seek elsewhere what I thought to find in Your Majesty. Instead of having an answer from you, I am forced to make one for myself."
"Monsieur le Comte," said he, "I have given you all the free time I had."
"Sire," replied the count, "I have not had time to say to the king what I came to say, and I see the king so rarely that I must seize the occasion."
"You were at suppositions; you will pass to offenses."
"Oh! Sire, offend the king, I? Never! I have all my life maintained that kings are above other men, not only by rank and power but by nobility of heart and worth of mind. I shall never make myself believe that my king, he who spoke a word to me, hid with that word an afterthought."
"What is that to say? what afterthought?"
"I explain myself," said Athos coldly. "If, in refusing Mlle de La Vallière's hand to M. de Bragelonne, Your Majesty had any other aim than the vicomte's happiness and fortune..."
"You see well, monsieur, that you offend me."
"If, in asking a delay of the vicomte, Your Majesty had only wished to remove the betrothed from Mlle de La Vallière..."
"Monsieur! Monsieur!"
"It is that I have heard it said everywhere, Sire. Everywhere they speak of Your Majesty's love for Mlle de La Vallière."
The king tore the gloves that, for something to do, he had been nibbling for some minutes.
"Woe!" he cried, "to those who meddle with my affairs! I have taken a resolution: I shall break all obstacles."
"What obstacles?" said Athos.
The king stopped short, like a runaway horse whose bit breaks the palate as it turns in its mouth.
"I love Mlle de La Vallière," said he suddenly, with as much nobleness as vehemence.
"But," interrupted Athos, "that does not prevent Your Majesty from marrying M. de Bragelonne to Mlle de La Vallière. The sacrifice is worthy of a king; it is merited by M. de Bragelonne, who has already rendered services and who may pass for an honorable man. Thus, the king, in renouncing his love, shows at once generosity, gratitude, and good policy."
"Mlle de La Vallière," said the king in a low voice, "does not love M. de Bragelonne."
"The king knows it?" asked Athos with a deep glance.
"I know it."
"Recently, then; otherwise, if the king had known it at my first request, His Majesty would have taken the trouble to tell me."
"Recently."
Athos kept silence a moment.
"I do not understand, then," said he, "that the king sent M. de Bragelonne to London. That exile rightly surprises those who love the king's honor."
"Who speaks of the king's honor, Monsieur de La Fère?"
"The king's honor, Sire, is made of the honor of all his nobility. When the king offends one of his gentlemen, that is to say when he takes from him a piece of his honor, it is from himself, from the king, that this portion of honor is stolen."
"Monsieur de La Fère!"
"Sire, did you send the Vicomte de Bragelonne to London before being Mlle de La Vallière's lover, or since you have been her lover?"
The king, irritated, especially because he felt himself dominated, wished to dismiss Athos with a gesture.
"Sire, I shall tell you all," replied the count; "I shall not leave here satisfied either by Your Majesty or by myself. Satisfied if you have proved to me that you are right; satisfied if I have proved to you that you are wrong. Oh! you shall listen to me, Sire. I am old, and I care for all that is truly great and truly strong in the kingdom. I am a gentleman who shed his blood for your father and for you, without ever asking anything of you or of your father. I have wronged no one in this world, and I have obliged kings! You shall listen to me! I come to ask you to account for the honor of one of your servants whom you abused by a lie or betrayed by a weakness. I know that these words irritate Your Majesty; but facts kill us, we others; I know that you are seeking what punishment you will inflict on my frankness; but I know, I, what punishment I shall ask of God to inflict on you, when I tell him of your perjury and my son's unhappiness."
The king paced with great strides, hand on breast, head stiff, eye flaming.
"Monsieur," he cried suddenly, "if I were for you the king, you would already be punished; but I am only a man, and I have the right to love on earth those who love me, a happiness so rare!"
"You have no more that right as a man than as a king; or, if you wished to take it loyally, you should have warned M. de Bragelonne instead of exiling him."
"I believe I am debating, in truth!" interrupted Louis XIV with that majesty which he alone knew how to find to such a remarkable degree in glance and in voice.
"I hoped you would answer me," said the count.
"You shall know my answer presently, monsieur."
"You know my thought," replied M. de La Fère.
"You have forgotten that you spoke to the king, monsieur; that is a crime!"
"You have forgotten that you were breaking the lives of two men; that is a mortal sin, Sire!"
"Leave now!"
"Not before telling you: Son of Louis XIII, you begin your reign ill, for you begin it with abduction and disloyalty! My race and I are released toward you from all that affection and all that respect which I made my son swear to you in the vaults of Saint-Denis, in presence of the remains of your noble ancestors. You have become our enemy, Sire, and we have henceforth to do only with God, our sole master. Beware!"
"You threaten?"
"Oh! no," said Athos sadly, "and I have no more bravado than fear in my soul. God, of whom I speak to you, Sire, hears me speak; he knows that, for the integrity, for the honor of your crown, I would still pour out all the blood that twenty years of civil and foreign war have left me. I can therefore assure you that I threaten the king no more than I threaten the man; but I say to you: You lose two servants for having killed faith in the father's heart and love in the son's heart. The one believes no longer in the royal word, the other believes no longer in the loyalty of men, nor in the purity of women. The one is dead to respect and the other to obedience. Farewell!"
That said, Athos broke his sword upon his knee, slowly laid the two pieces on the parquet, and, bowing to the king, who was choking with rage and shame, he left the cabinet.
Louis, sunk over his table, spent some minutes recovering himself, and, suddenly rising, he rang violently.
"Let M. d'Artagnan be called!" said he to the terrified ushers.
Chapter CXCVIII — More Storm
No doubt our readers have already asked themselves how Athos so opportunely found himself at the king's, he of whom they had heard nothing for a long time. Our pretension, as novelist, being above all to link events to one another with an almost fatal logic, we held ourselves ready to answer and we answer this question.
Porthos, faithful to his duty as arranger of affairs, had, on leaving the Palais-Royal, rejoined Raoul at the Minimes in the wood of Vincennes, and had related to him, in its smallest details, his interview with M. de Saint-Aignan; then he had concluded by saying that the king's message to his favorite would probably bring only a momentary delay, and that, on leaving the king, Saint-Aignan would hasten to answer the summons Raoul had sent him.
But Raoul, less credulous than his old friend, had concluded, from Porthos's account, that, if Saint-Aignan went to the king, Saint-Aignan would tell the king all, and that, if Saint-Aignan told the king all, the king would forbid Saint-Aignan to present himself on the field. He had therefore, in consequence of this reflection, left Porthos to keep the place, in the very improbable case that Saint-Aignan should come, and moreover had strongly urged Porthos not to remain on the ground more than an hour or an hour and a half. To which Porthos had formally refused, installing himself, on the contrary, at the Minimes as if to take root there, making Raoul promise to return from his father's to his own lodgings, Raoul, so that Porthos's lackey might know where to find him if M. de Saint-Aignan came to the rendezvous.
Bragelonne had left Vincennes and gone straight to Athos, who, for two days, had been in Paris.
The count was already warned by a letter from d'Artagnan.
Raoul therefore arrived in abundance at his father's, who, after holding out his hand and embracing him, signed to him to sit.
"I know you come to me as one comes to a friend, vicomte, when one weeps and suffers; tell me what cause brings you."
The young man bowed and began his story. More than once, in the course of this story, tears cut his voice and a sob strangled in his throat suspended the narration. Nevertheless he finished.
Athos probably already knew what to think, since we have said that d'Artagnan had written to him; but, bent on keeping to the end that calm and serenity which made the almost superhuman side of his character, he replied:
"Raoul, I believe nothing of what is said; I believe nothing of what you fear, not that persons worthy of credit have not already spoken to me of this adventure, but because, in my soul and in my conscience, I hold it impossible that the king should have outraged a gentleman. I therefore guarantee the king, and will bring you the proof of what I say."
Raoul, floating like a drunken man between what he had seen with his own eyes and that unshakable faith he had in a man who had never lied, bowed and contented himself with replying:
"Go then, Monsieur le Comte; I shall wait."
And he sat down, his head hidden in his two hands. Athos dressed and departed. At the king's, he did what we have just related to our readers, who have seen him enter His Majesty's and have seen him leave it.
When he returned home, Raoul, pale and gloomy, had not quitted his desperate posture. Yet at the noise of the doors opening, at the noise of his father's steps approaching him, the young man raised his head.
Athos was pale, bareheaded, grave; he gave his cloak and hat to the lackey, dismissed him with a gesture, and sat near Raoul.
"Well! monsieur," asked the young man, sadly nodding his head up and down, "are you well convinced now?"
"I am, Raoul; the king loves Mlle de La Vallière."
"So he admits it?" cried Raoul.
"Absolutely," said Athos.
"And she?"
"I have not seen her."
"No; but the king spoke to you of her. What does he say of her?"
"He says she loves him."
"Oh! you see! you see, monsieur!"
And the young man made a gesture of despair.
"Raoul," resumed the count, "I said to the king, believe me, all that you could have said to him yourself, and I think I said it in fitting terms, but firm."
"And what did you say to him, monsieur?"
"I said, Raoul, that all was finished between him and us, that you would be nothing more for his service; I said that I myself would remain apart. There remains but one thing for me to know."
"Which, monsieur?"
"Whether you have made up your mind."
"My mind? On what subject?"
"Concerning love and..."
"Finish, monsieur."
"And concerning vengeance; for I fear you are thinking of avenging yourself."
"Oh! monsieur, love... perhaps one day, later, I shall succeed in tearing it from my heart. I count on it, with God's help and the aid of your wise exhortations. Vengeance, I had thought of it only under the sway of an evil thought, for it was not from the true culprit that I could avenge myself; I have therefore already renounced vengeance."
"Thus you no longer think of seeking a quarrel with M. de Saint-Aignan?"
"No, monsieur. A challenge has been given; if M. de Saint-Aignan accepts it, I shall sustain it; if he does not take it up, I shall leave him on the ground."
"And La Vallière?"
"Monsieur le Comte has not seriously believed I would think of avenging myself on a woman," replied Raoul with so sad a smile that it drew a tear to the edges of the eyelids of that man who had so often bent over his own sorrows and the sorrows of others.
He held out his hand to Raoul, Raoul seized it eagerly.
"So, Monsieur le Comte, you are well assured the evil is past remedy?" asked the young man.
Athos shook his head in turn.
"Poor child!" he murmured.
"You think I still hope," said Raoul, "and you pity me. Oh! it costs me horribly, you see, to despise, as I ought, her whom I have so loved. Would that I had some wrong toward her; I should be happy and I would forgive her."
Athos looked sadly at his son. These few words Raoul had just uttered seemed to have come from his own heart. At that moment, the lackey announced M. d'Artagnan. This name rang, in a very different way, in the ears of Athos and Raoul.
The announced musketeer entered with a vague smile on his lips. Raoul stopped; Athos walked toward his friend with an expression of face that did not escape Bragelonne. D'Artagnan answered Athos with a simple blink of the eye; then, advancing toward Raoul and taking his hand:
“Stories of the world, in your language.”