Part 9

After the meal, Buckingham sprang forward to offer his hand to Madame. But it was de Guiche's turn to lecture the duke.

“My lord,” he said, “be so good, from this moment on, as to no longer interpose yourself between Her Royal Highness Madame and myself. From this moment, indeed, Her Royal Highness belongs to France, and it is the hand of Monsieur, the king's brother, that touches the hand of the princess when Her Royal Highness does me the honor of touching my hand.”

And, as he spoke these words, he himself offered his hand to the young Madame with a timidity so visible and at the same time a nobility so courageous, that the English let escape a murmur of admiration, while Buckingham let fall a sigh of pain.

Raoul was in love; Raoul understood everything.

He fixed upon his friend one of those deep looks that only a friend or a mother extends as protector or watcher over the child or the friend who goes astray.

Toward two o'clock, at last, the sun appeared, the wind fell, the sea became smooth like a broad sheet of crystal, the mist that covered the coasts tore apart like a veil flying off in shreds. Then the smiling hills of France appeared with their thousand white houses, standing out against the green of the trees or the blue of the sky.

Chapter LXXXV — The Tents

The admiral, as we have seen, had taken the part of no longer paying attention to the threatening eyes and convulsive fits of Buckingham. Indeed, since leaving England, he must have gently grown accustomed to them. De Guiche had not yet in any way noticed this animosity that the young lord seemed to bear toward him; but he felt, by instinct, no sympathy for the favorite of Charles II. The queen mother, with greater experience and a cooler sense, dominated the whole situation, and, as she understood its danger, she prepared to cut the knot when the moment came. That moment arrived. Calm was restored everywhere, except in the heart of Buckingham, and he, in his impatience, repeated half aloud to the young princess:

“Madame, Madame, for Heaven's sake, let us go ashore, I beg you! Do you not see that that fop the Count of Norfolk is killing me with his attentions and his adorations for you?”

Henriette heard these words; she smiled and, without turning round, giving only to her voice that inflection of gentle reproach and languid impertinence with which coquetry knows how to give assent while seeming to formulate a defense:

“My dear lord,” she murmured, “I have already told you that you were mad.”

None of these details, we have already said, escaped Raoul; he had heard Buckingham's prayer, the princess's reply; he had seen Buckingham step back at that reply, heave a sigh, and pass his hand over his brow; and having no veil over his eyes nor around his heart, he understood all and trembled in appreciating the state of things and of minds.

At length the admiral, with studied slowness, gave the final orders for the departure of the boats.

Buckingham greeted these orders with such transports, that a stranger might have believed the young man's brain to be troubled. At the voice of the Count of Norfolk, a great barge, all decked out, slowly descended from the sides of the admiral's ship: it could hold twenty rowers and fifteen passengers.

Velvet carpets, embroidered housings bearing the arms of England, garlands of flowers—for in those times the parable was willingly cultivated amid political alliances—formed the principal ornament of this truly royal barge.

Scarcely was the barge afloat, scarcely had the rowers raised their oars, waiting, like soldiers at present arms, for the embarkation of the princess, when Buckingham ran to the stairway to take his place in the boat.

But the queen stopped him.

“My lord,” she said, “it is not fitting that you let my daughter and myself go ashore before the lodgings are certainly prepared. I pray you therefore, my lord, to precede us to Le Havre and to see that all is in order at our arrival.”

This was a new blow for the duke, a blow all the more terrible in that it was unexpected.

He stammered, reddened, but could not reply. He had thought to keep near Madame during the crossing, and thus savor to the last of the moments granted him by fortune. But the order was explicit.

The admiral, who had heard it, cried out at once:

“The small boat to sea!”

The order was executed with that rapidity peculiar to the maneuvers of warships.

Buckingham, in despair, cast a look of desperation at the princess, a look of supplication at the queen, a look of anger at the admiral. The princess pretended not to see him.

The queen turned away her head.

The admiral began to laugh.

Buckingham, at that laugh, was all ready to spring upon Norfolk.

The queen mother rose.

“Depart, sir,” she said with authority.

The young duke stopped. But looking around him and making a last effort:

“And you, gentlemen,” he asked, quite suffocated by so many diverse emotions, “you, Monsieur de Guiche; you, Monsieur de Bragelonne, will you not accompany me?”

De Guiche bowed.

“I am, as is Monsieur de Bragelonne, at the orders of the queen,” he said; “what she shall command us to do, we shall do.”

And he looked at the young princess, who lowered her eyes.

“Pardon, Monsieur de Buckingham,” said the queen, “but Monsieur de Guiche represents Monsieur here; it is he who must do the honors of France for us, as you did the honors of England; he cannot therefore dispense with accompanying us; we owe, moreover, this slight favor to the courage he had in coming to find us in such bad weather.”

Buckingham opened his mouth as if to reply; but, whether he found no thought or no words to formulate that thought, no sound fell from his lips, and, turning as if in delirium, he jumped from the vessel into the boat.

The rowers had but just time to hold him and to hold themselves, for the weight and the recoil had nearly capsized the barge.

“Decidedly, my lord is mad,” said the admiral aloud to Raoul.

“I fear so for my lord,” answered Bragelonne.

During all the time the boat took to reach land, the duke never ceased covering with his looks the admiral's ship, as a miser would whom one tears from his coffer, a mother whom one removes from her daughter to lead her to death. But nothing answered his signals, his manifestations, his lamentable attitudes.

Buckingham was so stunned by it, that he let himself fall on a bench, plunged his hand into his hair, while the careless sailors made the boat fly over the waves. On arriving, he was in such a torpor, that had he not met on the quay the messenger whom he had sent ahead as quartermaster, he would not have known to ask his way. Once arrived at the house destined for him, he shut himself up in it like Achilles in his tent.

Meanwhile the boat bearing the princesses left the side of the admiral's ship at the very moment Buckingham set foot on shore. A barge followed, filled with officers, courtiers, and eager friends.

All the population of Le Havre, embarked in haste upon fishing boats and flat barges or upon long Norman canal-boats, came to meet the royal vessel.

The cannon of the forts resounded; the admiral's ship and the two others exchanged their salvoes, and clouds of flame flew from the gaping mouths in tufts of cottony smoke above the waves, then evaporated in the azure of the sky.

The princess descended at the steps of the quay. A joyful music awaited her on land and accompanied each of her steps.

While, advancing into the center of the city, she trod with her delicate foot the rich tapestries and the strewn flowers, de Guiche and Raoul, withdrawing from among the English, took their way through the town and advanced rapidly toward the place designated for the residence of Madame.

“Let us hasten,” said Raoul to de Guiche, “for, from the character I know him to have, this Buckingham will do us some mischief on seeing the result of our deliberation yesterday.”

“Oh!” said the count, “we have de Wardes there, who is firmness personified, and Manicamp, who is gentleness itself.”

De Guiche nevertheless made haste, and, five minutes after, they were in sight of the Town Hall.

What struck them first was a great number of people assembled on the square.

“Good!” said de Guiche, “it appears our lodgings are built.”

Indeed, before the hotel, on the square itself, rose eight tents of the greatest elegance, surmounted by the united pavilions of France and England.

The Town Hall was surrounded by tents like a variegated belt; ten pages and twelve light horsemen given as escort to the ambassadors mounted guard before these tents. The spectacle was curious, strange; it had something fairylike. These improvised habitations had been constructed during the night. Clad within and without with the richest stuffs that de Guiche had been able to procure at Le Havre, they entirely encircled the Town Hall, that is to say the dwelling of the young princess; they were joined one to another by simple silken cables, stretched and guarded by sentinels, so that the plan of Buckingham was completely overturned, if that plan had really been to keep for himself and his English the approaches of the Town Hall.

The only passage giving access to the steps of the building, and which was not closed by this silken barricade, was guarded by two tents like two pavilions, and whose doors opened on the two sides of this entrance.

These two tents were those of de Guiche and of Raoul, and in their absence were always to be occupied: that of de Guiche, by de Wardes; that of Raoul by Manicamp.

All around these two tents and the six others, a hundred officers, gentlemen, and pages shone with silk and gold, humming like bees around their hive.

All this, sword at side, was ready to obey a sign from de Guiche or from Bragelonne, the two chiefs of the embassy. At the very moment the two young men appeared at the end of a street opening onto the square, they perceived, crossing that same square at a gallop, a young gentleman of marvelous elegance. He cleft the crowd of the curious, and, at the sight of these improvised buildings, he uttered a cry of anger and despair. It was Buckingham, Buckingham come out of his stupor to don a dazzling costume and to come await Madame and the queen at the Town Hall.

But at the entrance of the tents they barred his passage, and he was forced to stop.

Buckingham, exasperated, raised his whip; two officers seized his arm.

Of the two guardians, only one was there. De Wardes, mounted within the Town Hall, was transmitting some orders given by de Guiche.

At the noise Buckingham was making, Manicamp, lying lazily upon the cushions of one of the two entrance tents, raised himself with his ordinary nonchalance, and, perceiving that the noise continued, appeared beneath the curtains.

“What is it,” he said with gentleness, “and who makes all this great noise?”

Chance would have it that at the moment he began to speak, silence had just been born again, and although his accent was soft and moderate, everyone heard his question. Buckingham turned round, looked at that tall lean body and that indolent face.

Probably the person of our gentleman, moreover dressed rather simply, as we have said, inspired in him but little respect, for he answered disdainfully:

“Who are you, sir?”

Manicamp leaned on the arm of an enormous light horseman, straight as a pillar of a cathedral, and replied in the same tranquil tone:

“And you, sir?”

“I am my lord duke of Buckingham. I have rented all the houses surrounding the Town Hall, where I have business; now, since these houses are rented, they are mine, and since I rented them to have free passage to the Town Hall, you have not the right to close this passage to me.”

“But, sir, who prevents you from passing?” asked Manicamp.

“But your sentinels.”

“Because you wish to pass on horseback, sir, and the standing order is to let pass only those on foot.”

“No one has the right to give standing orders here, except me,” said Buckingham.

“How so, sir?” asked Manicamp with his soft voice. “Do me the grace to explain this enigma.”

“Because, as I told you, I have rented all the houses of the square.”

“We know it well, since there remained for us only the square itself.”

“You are mistaken, sir, the square is mine as are the houses.”

“Oh! pardon, sir, you are in error. With us one says the king's pavement; therefore, the square is the king's; therefore, since we are the king's ambassadors, the square is ours.”

“Sir, I have already asked you who you were!” cried Buckingham, exasperated by the coolness of his interlocutor.

“I am called Manicamp,” answered the young man in an aeolian voice, so harmonious and suave was it.

Buckingham shrugged his shoulders.

“In short,” he said, “when I rented the houses surrounding the Town Hall, the square was free; these huts obstruct my view, remove these huts!”

A dull and threatening murmur ran through the crowd of listeners. De Guiche was arriving at that moment; he parted the crowd that separated him from Buckingham, and, followed by Raoul, he arrived on one side, while de Wardes arrived on the other.

“Pardon, my lord,” he said; “but if you have any complaint to make, have the kindness to make it to me, seeing that it is I who gave the plans of this construction.”

“Moreover, I will observe to you, sir, that the word hut is taken in ill part,” graciously added Manicamp.

“You were saying then, sir?” continued de Guiche.

“I was saying, Count,” resumed Buckingham with an accent of anger still sensible, though tempered by the presence of an equal, “I was saying that it is impossible that these tents remain where they are.”

“Impossible,” said de Guiche, “and why?”

“Because they hinder me.”

De Guiche let escape a movement of impatience, but a cold glance from Raoul restrained him.

“They must hinder you less, sir, than that abuse of priority which you permitted yourself.”

“An abuse!”

“But doubtless. You send here a messenger who rents, in your name, the whole town of Le Havre, without concerning himself with the French who must come to meet Madame. That is little brotherly, Monsieur le Duc, for the representative of a friendly nation.”

“The land belongs to the first occupant,” said Buckingham.

“Not in France, sir.”

“And why not in France?”

“Because it is the country of politeness.”

“What do you mean?” cried Buckingham in such a violent way, that the bystanders drew back, expecting an immediate collision.

“That is to say, sir,” answered de Guiche, growing pale, “that I have had this lodging built for myself and my friends, as the asylum of the ambassadors of France, as the only shelter your exigency left us in the town, and that in this lodging I shall dwell, I and my people, unless a will more powerful and above all more sovereign than yours sends me away.”

“That is to say, does not evict us, as one says at the palace,” softly said Manicamp.

“I know one, sir, which will be such, I hope, as you desire,” said Buckingham, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword.

At that moment, and as the goddess Discord was about, inflaming minds, to turn all swords against human breasts, Raoul gently placed his hand on Buckingham's shoulder.

“One word, my lord,” he said.

“My right! my right first!” cried the fiery young man.

“It is precisely upon that point that I am going to have the honor of speaking to you,” said Raoul.

“Be it so, but no long speeches, sir.”

“A single question; you see one cannot be briefer.”

“Speak, I listen.”

“Is it you or the Duke of Orleans who are to marry the granddaughter of King Henry IV?”

“What say you?” asked Buckingham, recoiling all astonished.

“Answer me, I pray you, sir,” insisted Raoul tranquilly.

“Is your intention to mock me, sir?” asked Buckingham.

“That is still answering, sir, and that suffices me. Therefore, you confess, it is not you who are to marry the princess of England.”

“You know it well, sir, it seems to me.”

“Pardon, but it is that, from your conduct, the thing was no longer clear.”

“Come, to the point, what do you pretend to say, sir?”

Raoul drew near the duke.

“You have,” he said, lowering his voice, “furies that resemble jealousies; do you know that, my lord? now, these jealousies, regarding a woman, belong to none who is neither her lover nor her husband; a fortiori, I am sure you will understand that, my lord, when that woman is a princess.”

“Sir,” cried Buckingham, “do you insult Madame Henriette?”

“It is you,” coldly answered Bragelonne, “it is you who insult her, my lord, beware. Just now, aboard the admiral's ship, you pushed the queen to the limit and wearied the admiral's patience. I was observing you, my lord, and at first believed you mad; but since then I have guessed the real character of that madness.”

“Sir!”

“Wait, for I shall add a word. I hope to be the only one among the French who has guessed it.”

“But, do you know, sir,” said Buckingham, shivering with anger and uneasiness at once, “do you know that you hold there a language that deserves repression?”

“Weigh your words, my lord,” said Raoul with haughtiness; “I am not of a blood whose vivacities let themselves be repressed; whereas, on the contrary, you are of a race whose passions are suspect to good Frenchmen; I repeat to you therefore for the second time, beware, my lord.”

“Of what, if you please? Would you threaten me?”

“I am the son of the Count of La Fère, Monsieur de Buckingham, and I never threaten, because I strike first. Thus, let us understand one another well, the threat I make you is this…”

Buckingham clenched his fists; but Raoul continued as if he noticed nothing.

“At the first word outside decorum that you shall permit yourself toward Her Royal Highness. Oh! be patient, Monsieur de Buckingham; I am patient enough myself.”

“You?”

“Doubtless. So long as Madame was on English soil, I held my tongue; but, now that she has touched French soil, now that we have received her in the name of the prince, at the first insult that, in your strange attachment, you shall commit toward the royal house of France, I have two courses to take: either I declare before all the madness of which you are at this moment affected, and have you shamefully sent back to England; or, if you prefer, I give you the dagger in the throat in full assembly. Moreover, this second means seems to me the most fitting, and I think I shall abide by it.”

Buckingham had become paler than the flounce of English lace that surrounded his neck.

“Monsieur de Bragelonne,” he said, “is it indeed a gentleman who speaks?”

“Yes; only, that gentleman speaks to a madman. Cure yourself, my lord, and he will hold another language to you.”

“Oh! but, Monsieur de Bragelonne,” murmured the duke in a strangled voice, and carrying his hand to his throat, “you see well that I am dying!”

“If that were to happen at this moment, sir,” said Raoul with his unalterable coolness, “I should indeed regard it as a great happiness, for that event would prevent all sorts of evil reports about you and about the illustrious persons whom your devotion compromises so madly.”

“Oh! you are right, you are right,” said the young man distraught; “yes, yes, to die! yes, better to die than to suffer what I suffer at this moment.”

And he carried his hand to a charming dagger with a hilt all set with precious stones, which he drew half from his breast.

Raoul pushed his hand back.

“Beware, sir,” he said; “if you do not kill yourself, you do a ridiculous act; if you kill yourself, you stain with blood the nuptial robe of the princess of England.”

Buckingham remained a minute gasping. During that minute, one saw his lips tremble, his cheeks quiver, his eyes waver, as in delirium.

Then, suddenly:

“Monsieur de Bragelonne,” he said, “I know no nobler spirit than you; you are the worthy son of the most perfect gentleman known. Dwell in your tents!”

And he threw his two arms around Raoul's neck. All the bystanders, amazed at this movement which one could hardly have expected, given the stampings of one adversary and the rough insistence of the other, the assembly began to clap hands, and a thousand cheers, a thousand joyful applauses sprang toward the sky. De Guiche in his turn embraced Buckingham, a little against his will, but he embraced him at last.

It was the signal: English and French, who until then had looked at each other with uneasiness, fraternized on the instant. Amid these doings arrived the cortège of the princesses, who, without Bragelonne, would have found two armies engaged and blood upon the flowers.

All returned to the aspect of the banners.

Chapter LXXXVI — The Night

Concord had come back to sit amid the tents.

English and French rivaled each other in gallantry toward the illustrious travelers and in politeness among themselves.

The English sent the French flowers of which they had made provision to celebrate the arrival of the young princess; the French invited the English to a supper they were to give the next day. Madame therefore gathered on her passage unanimous felicitations. She appeared as a queen, because of the respect of all; as an idol, because of the adoration of some. The queen mother gave the French the most affectionate welcome. France was her country, hers, and she had been too unhappy in England for England to make her forget France. She was therefore teaching her daughter, by her own love, the love of the country where both had found hospitality, and where they were to find the fortune of a brilliant future.

When the entry was made and the spectators somewhat dispersed, when one heard no longer but from afar the fanfares and the murmur of the crowd, when night fell, enveloping in its starry veils the sea, the port, the town and the countryside still moved by this great event, de Guiche re-entered his tent, and sat upon a broad stool, with such an expression of pain, that Bragelonne followed him with his gaze until he had heard him sigh; then he approached. The count was thrown backward, the shoulder against the tent wall, the brow in his hands, the breast gasping and the knee restless.

“You suffer, friend?” Raoul asked him.

“Cruelly.”

“In body, is it not?”

“In body, yes.”

“The day has been fatiguing, indeed,” continued the young man, his eyes fixed upon him he questioned.

“Yes, and sleep would refresh me.”

“Do you wish me to leave you?”

“No, I have to speak to you.”

“I shall let you speak only after having questioned, myself, de Guiche.”

“Question.”

“But be frank.”

“As always.”

“Do you know why Buckingham was so furious?”

“I suspect it.”

“Stories of the world, in your language.”