Part 14

— Indeed, said the duke, yielding to the melancholy influence of this preamble, men of heart dream as much of the past or the future as of the present.

— That is true, said the queen in a low voice. The result, she added, is that you, milord, who are a man of heart… you will soon leave France… to shut yourself up among your riches, your relics.

Buckingham raised his head.

— I do not think so, he said, madam.

— How?

— On the contrary, I think that I shall leave England to come and live in France.

It was Anne of Austria’s turn to show her astonishment.

— What! said she, are you then not in favor with the new king?

— On the contrary, madam, His Majesty honors me with boundless kindness.

— It cannot be, said the queen, that your fortune is diminished; it was said to be considerable.

— My fortune, madam, was never more flourishing.

— Then it must be some secret cause?

— No, madam, said Buckingham quickly, there is nothing in the cause of my determination that is secret. I love the sojourn of France, I love a court full of taste and politeness; I love, in short, madam, those somewhat serious pleasures which are not the pleasures of my country and which are to be found in France.

Anne of Austria smiled with subtlety.

— Serious pleasures! said she; have you well reflected, Monsieur de Buckingham, upon that seriousness?

The duke stammered.

— There is no pleasure so serious, continued the queen, that should prevent a man of your rank…

— Madam, interrupted the duke, Your Majesty insists greatly upon this point, it seems to me.

— You find that, duke?

— It is, with all deference to Your Majesty, the second time she has praised the attractions of England at the expense of the charm one feels in living in France.

Anne of Austria drew near the young man, and, laying her beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at her touch:

— Monsieur, said she, believe me, nothing equals the stay in one’s native land. It has happened to me, often, to regret Spain. I have lived long, milord, very long for a woman, and I confess to you that there has not passed a year in which I have not regretted Spain.

— Not a single year, madam! said the young duke coldly; not one of those years when you were queen of beauty, as you still are, moreover?

— Oh! no flattery, duke; I am a woman who might be your mother!

She put, upon these last words, an accent, a sweetness that pierced Buckingham’s heart.

— Yes, said she, I might be your mother, and that is why I give you good counsel.

— The counsel to return to London? he cried.

— Yes, milord, said she.

The duke joined his hands with a frightened air, which could not fail of its effect upon this woman disposed to tender feelings by tender memories.

— It must be, added the queen.

— How! he cried again, am I seriously told that I must depart, that I must exile myself, that I must flee!

— That you exile yourself, did you say? Ah! milord, one would think France is your homeland.

— Madam, the country of those who love is the country of those they love.

— Not another word, milord, said the queen, you forget to whom you speak!

Buckingham fell to his knees.

— Madam, madam, you are a source of wit, of goodness, of clemency; madam, you are not only first of this kingdom by rank, you are first in the world by the qualities that make you divine; I have said nothing, madam. Have I said anything to which you could reply so cruel a word? Have I betrayed myself, madam?

— You have betrayed yourself, said the queen in a low voice.

— I have said nothing! I know nothing!

— You forget that you have spoken, thought before a woman, and besides…

— Besides, he interrupted quickly, no one knows that you listen to me.

— On the contrary, they know it, duke; you have the faults and the qualities of youth.

— I have been betrayed! I have been denounced!

— By whom?

— Those who already, at Le Havre, had, with infernal perspicacity, read my heart like an open book.

— I know not of whom you speak.

— But Monsieur de Bragelonne, for example.

— It is a name I know without knowing him who bears it. No, Monsieur de Bragelonne has said nothing.

— Who then? oh, madam, if someone had had the audacity to see in me what I do not wish to see in myself…

— What would you do, duke?

— There are secrets that kill those who discover them.

— He who has discovered your secret, mad fool, he is not yet killed; more than that, you will not kill him; he is armed with every right: he is a husband, he is a jealous man, he is the second gentleman of France, he is my son, the Duke of Orleans.

The duke grew pale.

— How cruel you are, madam! said he.

— There you are, Buckingham, said Anne of Austria with melancholy, passing through every extreme and fighting shadows, when it would be so easy for you to remain at peace with yourself.

— If we war, madam; we shall die upon the field of battle, replied the young man softly, abandoning himself to the most painful dejection.

Anne ran to him and took his hand.

— Villiers, said she in English with a vehemence to which none could have resisted, what do you ask? Of a mother, to sacrifice her son; of a queen, to consent to the dishonor of her house! You are a child, think not of it! What! to spare you a tear, I should commit those two crimes, Villiers? You speak of the dead; the dead, at least, were respectful and submissive; the dead bowed before an order of exile; they carried away their despair like a treasure in their hearts, because the despair came from the beloved woman, because death, thus deceptive, was like a gift, like a favor.

Buckingham rose, his features altered, his hands upon his heart.

— You are right, madam, said he; but those of whom you speak had received the order of exile from a beloved mouth; they were not driven away: they were begged to depart, they were not laughed at.

— No, one remembered! murmured Anne of Austria. But who tells you that you are driven away, that you are exiled? Who tells you that one does not remember your devotion? I speak for no one, Villiers, I speak for myself, depart! Render me this service, do me this grace; that I may owe this also to someone of your name.

— Then it is for you, madam?

— For me alone.

— There shall be behind me no man who laughs, no prince who says: “I willed it!”

— Duke, listen to me.

And here the august face of the old queen took on a solemn expression.

— I swear to you that no one here commands, save myself; I swear to you that not only shall no one laugh, no one boast, but that no one shall even fail in the duty your rank imposes. Count on me, duke, as I have counted on you.

— You do not explain yourself, madam; I am wounded, I am in despair; consolation, however sweet and complete it may be, shall not seem sufficient to me.

— Friend, did you know your mother? replied the queen with an endearing smile.

— Oh! very little, madam, but I recall that that noble lady covered me with kisses and tears when I wept.

— Villiers! murmured the queen, passing her arm around the young man’s neck, I am a mother to you, and, believe me well, never shall anyone make my son weep.

— Thank you, madam, thank you! said the young man, touched and suffocating with emotion; I feel that there was yet room in my heart for a sentiment sweeter, nobler than love. The queen mother looked at him and pressed his hand.

— Go, said she.

— When must I leave? command!

— Take the fitting time, milord, resumed the queen; you depart, but you choose your day… Thus, instead of leaving today, as you would no doubt wish; tomorrow, as was expected, leave the day after tomorrow in the evening; only, announce your intention from today.

— My intention? murmured the young man.

— Yes, duke.

— And… I shall never return to France?

Anne of Austria reflected a moment, and was absorbed in the painful gravity of that meditation.

— It will be sweet to me, said she, that you return on the day when I shall go to sleep eternally at Saint-Denis near the king my husband.

— Who made you suffer so! said Buckingham.

— Who was king of France, replied the queen.

— Madam, you are full of goodness, you enter into prosperity, you swim in joy; long years are promised you.

— Well! then you shall come late, said the queen, trying to smile.

— I shall not return, said Buckingham sadly, I who am young.

— Oh! thank God…

— Death, madam, counts not the years; it is impartial; one dies though young, one lives though old.

— Duke, no gloomy thoughts; I shall cheer you. Come in two years. I see upon your charming face that the ideas which make you so lugubrious today will be decrepit ideas before six months; therefore, they will be dead and forgotten within the time I assign you.

— I believe you judged me better just now, madam, replied the young man, when you said that, upon us of the house of Buckingham, time has no hold.

— Silence! oh! silence! said the queen, kissing the duke upon the forehead with a tenderness she could not repress; go! go! do not soften me, forget yourself no more! I am the queen, you are subject of the king of England; King Charles awaits you; farewell, Villiers! farewell, Villiers!

— For ever! replied the young man.

And he fled, devouring his tears. Anne pressed her hands to her forehead; then, looking at herself in the mirror:

— Say what they will, murmured she, woman is always young; one is always twenty years old in some corner of the heart.

Chapter XCIII — Wherein His Majesty Louis XIV finds Mademoiselle de La Vallière neither rich enough nor pretty enough for a gentleman of the rank of the Viscount de Bragelonne

Raoul and the Count de La Fère arrived in Paris on the evening of the day on which Buckingham had had this interview with the queen mother. Scarcely arrived, the count had Raoul request an audience of the king.

The king had spent part of the day looking, with Madame and the ladies of the court, at Lyons fabrics which he was presenting to his sister-in-law. There had then been dinner at court, then gaming, and, according to his habit, the king, leaving the game at eight o’clock, had passed into his cabinet to work with Monsieur Colbert and Monsieur Fouquet.

Raoul was in the antechamber at the moment when the two ministers went out, and the king caught sight of him through the half-open door.

— What does Monsieur de Bragelonne want? he asked.

The young man drew near.

— Sire, he replied, an audience for the Count de La Fère, who arrives from Blois with great desire to speak with Your Majesty.

— I have an hour before gaming and my supper, said the king. Is Monsieur de La Fère ready?

— The count is below, at the orders of Your Majesty.

— Let him come up.

Five minutes later, Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV, received by the master with that gracious kindness which Louis, with a tact beyond his years, reserved for winning men whom one does not conquer with ordinary favors.

— Count, said the king, let me hope that you come to ask me something.

— I shall not hide it from Your Majesty, replied the count; I come indeed to solicit.

— Let us see! said the king with a cheerful air.

— It is not for myself, Sire.

— So much the worse! but nevertheless, for your protégé, count, I shall do what you refuse to do for yourself.

— Your Majesty consoles me… I come to speak to the king for the Viscount de Bragelonne.

— Count, it is as if you spoke for yourself.

— Not quite, Sire… What I desire to obtain from you, I cannot for myself. The viscount thinks of marrying.

— He is still young; but what matters… He is a distinguished man, I would find him a wife.

— He has found her, Sire, and seeks only the assent of Your Majesty.

— Ah! it is only a matter of signing a marriage contract?

Athos bowed.

— Has he chosen his fiancée rich and of a quality that pleases you?

Athos hesitated a moment.

— The fiancée is a maiden, he replied; but as for rich, she is not.

— That is an evil for which we see a remedy.

— Your Majesty fills me with gratitude; nevertheless, he will permit me to make an observation.

— Do so, count.

— Your Majesty seems to announce the intention of dowering this young girl?

— Yes, certainly.

— And my step at the Louvre would have had that result? I should be grieved, Sire.

— No false delicacy, count; what is the fiancée’s name?

— It is, said Athos coldly, Mademoiselle de La Vallière de La Baume Le Blanc.

— Ah! said the king, searching his memory; I know that name; a marquis de La Vallière…

— Yes, Sire, she is his daughter.

— He is dead?

— Yes, Sire.

— And the widow remarried to Monsieur de Saint-Remy, master of the household to the Dowager Madame?

— Your Majesty is well informed.

— That is it, that is it!… More than that: the damsel entered among the maids of honor of the young Madame.

— Your Majesty knows the whole history better than I.

The king reflected again, and, glancing sidelong at the rather troubled face of Athos:

— Count, said he, she is not very pretty, this damsel, it seems to me?

— I do not rightly know, answered Athos.

— I, I have looked at her: she did not strike me.

— It is an air of sweetness and modesty, but little beauty, Sire.

— Fine blond hair, however.

— I believe so.

— And rather fine blue eyes.

— That is exactly it.

— Therefore, as regards beauty, the match is ordinary. Let us pass to money.

— Fifteen to twenty thousand livres of dowry at most, Sire; but lovers are disinterested; I myself set little store by money.

— The superfluous, do you mean; but the necessary is urgent. With fifteen thousand livres of dowry, without appanages, a woman cannot approach the court. We shall make up for it; I wish to do this for Bragelonne.

Athos bowed. The king again remarked his coolness.

— Let us pass from money to quality, said Louis XIV; daughter of the Marquis de La Vallière, that is well; but we have that good Saint-Remy who rather spoils the house… through the women, I know, in short that spoils; and you, count, you hold firmly, I believe, to your house.

— I, Sire, hold to nothing at all save my devotion to Your Majesty.

The king paused again.

— See here, said he, monsieur, you have much surprised me since the beginning of your interview. You come to make me a marriage request, and you seem much afflicted to make this request. Oh! I rarely err, young as I am, for with some I put my friendship at the service of intelligence; with others, I put my distrust doubled by perspicacity. I repeat, you do not make this request with good heart.

— Well! Sire, it is true.

— Then I do not understand you; refuse.

— No, Sire: I love Bragelonne with all my love; he is smitten with Mademoiselle de La Vallière, he builds himself paradises for the future; I am not of those who would break the illusions of youth. This marriage displeases me, but I beseech Your Majesty to consent to it as soon as possible, and thus make Raoul’s happiness.

— Come, come, count, does she love him?

— If Your Majesty wishes me to tell the truth, I do not believe in the love of Mademoiselle de La Vallière; she is young, she is a child, she is intoxicated; the pleasure of seeing the court, the honor of being in the service of Madame, will balance in her head what tenderness she might have in her heart, it will therefore be a marriage such as Your Majesty sees many of at court; but Bragelonne wishes it; so let it be.

— You do not, however, resemble those easy fathers who make themselves slaves to their children? said the king.

— Sire, I have will against the wicked, I have none against men of heart. Raoul suffers, he takes chagrin; his spirit, usually free, has become heavy and dark; I do not wish to deprive Your Majesty of the services he may render.

— I understand you, said the king, and I understand above all your heart.

— Then, replied the count, I need not tell Your Majesty that my aim is to make the happiness of these children or rather of this child.

— And I, I wish, as you do, the happiness of Monsieur de Bragelonne.

— I await nothing more, Sire, than the signature of Your Majesty. Raoul will have the honor to present himself before you, and will receive your consent.

— You are mistaken, count, said the king firmly; I have just told you that I wished the happiness of the viscount; thus I oppose at this moment his marriage.

— But, Sire, cried Athos, Your Majesty promised me…

— Not that, count; I promised it not to you, for it is opposed to my views.

— I understand all that the initiative of Your Majesty has of kindly and generous toward me; but I take the liberty of reminding you that I undertook to come as ambassador.

— An ambassador, count, often asks and does not always obtain.

— Ah! Sire, what a blow for Bragelonne!

— I shall deal the blow, I shall speak to the viscount.

— Love, Sire, is an irresistible force.

— One resists love; I certify it to you, count.

— When one has the soul of a king, your soul, Sire.

— Trouble yourself no more on that score. I have designs upon Bragelonne; I do not say he will not marry Mademoiselle de La Vallière; but I do not wish him to marry so young; I do not wish him to marry before he has made his fortune, and he, for his part, to merit my good graces, such as I wish to give them to him. In a word, I wish that one wait.

— Sire, once again…

— Monsieur le Comte, you came, you said, to ask me a favor?

— Yes, certainly.

— Well! grant me one, let us speak no more of this. It is possible that before long I shall make war; I have need of free gentlemen about me. I should hesitate to send under balls and cannon a married man, a father of a family, I should also hesitate, for Bragelonne, to dowry, without major reason, an unknown young girl, that would sow jealousy in my nobility.

Athos bowed and answered nothing.

— Is that all it imported to ask me? added Louis XIV.

— All absolutely, Sire, and I take my leave of Your Majesty. But must I warn Raoul?

— Spare yourself that care, spare yourself that vexation. Tell the viscount that tomorrow, at my levee, I shall speak to him; as for this evening, count, you are of my game.

— I am in traveling dress, Sire.

— A day will come, I hope, when you shall not leave me. Before long, count, the monarchy will be established so as to offer worthy hospitality to all men of your merit.

— Sire, provided a king be great in the hearts of his subjects, little matters the palace he inhabits, since he is adored in a temple.

Saying these words, Athos left the cabinet and found Bragelonne waiting for him.

— Well! monsieur? said the young man.

— Raoul, the king is very good to us, perhaps not in the sense you believe, but he is good and generous to our house.

— Monsieur, you have bad news to tell me, said the young man, growing pale.

— The king will tell you tomorrow morning that it is not bad news.

— But finally, monsieur, the king has not signed?

— The king wishes to draw up your contract himself, Raoul; and he wishes to make it so grand, that time fails him. Blame your impatience rather than the good will of the king.

Raoul, consternated, because he knew the frankness of the count and at the same time his skill, remained plunged in a gloomy stupor.

— You do not accompany me to my lodging? said Athos.

— Pardon me, monsieur, I follow you, he stammered.

And he descended the steps behind Athos.

— Oh! while I am here, said the latter suddenly, could I not see Monsieur d’Artagnan?

— Do you wish me to take you to his apartment? said Bragelonne.

— Yes, certainly.

— Then it is by the other staircase. And they changed their way; but, arrived at the landing of the great gallery, Raoul perceived a lackey in the livery of the Count de Guiche who ran at once toward him on hearing his voice.

— What is it? said Raoul.

— This note, monsieur. Monsieur le Comte learned you were returned, and he wrote to you at once; I have been seeking you for an hour.

Raoul drew near Athos to open the letter.

— You permit, monsieur? said he.

— Do so.

“Dear Raoul,” wrote the Count de Guiche, “I have a matter of importance to treat without delay; I know you have arrived; come quickly.”

He had scarce finished reading, when, issuing from the gallery, a valet, in Buckingham’s livery, recognizing Raoul, approached him respectfully.

— From milord duke, said he.

— Ah! cried Athos, I see, Raoul, that you are already in affairs like a general of an army; I leave you, I shall find Monsieur d’Artagnan alone.

— Pray excuse me, I beg you, said Raoul.

— Yes, yes, I excuse you; farewell, Raoul. You will find me at my lodging until tomorrow; at daybreak I may depart for Blois, unless countermanded.

— Monsieur, I shall present my respects to you tomorrow.

Athos departed.

Raoul opened Buckingham’s letter.

“Monsieur de Bragelonne,” wrote the duke, “of all the French I have seen, you are he who pleases me most; I am about to have need of your friendship. There comes to me a certain message written in good French. I am English, myself, and I fear I may not understand well enough. The letter is signed with a good name, that is all I know. Will you be obliging enough to come see me, for I learn you are arrived from Blois? Your devoted, Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.”

— I am going to your master, said Raoul to the valet of Guiche, dismissing him. And, in an hour, I shall be at Monsieur de Buckingham’s, he added, making a sign with his hand to the duke’s messenger.

Chapter XCIV — A Host of Blows with the Sword in the Water

Raoul, on his way to de Guiche’s, found him conversing with de Wardes and Manicamp. De Wardes, since the adventure of the barrier, treated Raoul as a stranger.

One would have said nothing had passed between them; only, they had the air of not knowing one another.

Raoul entered, de Guiche advanced to meet him. Raoul, while pressing his friend’s hand, cast a rapid glance over the two young men. He hoped to read upon their faces what was stirring in their minds.

De Wardes was cold and impenetrable. Manicamp seemed lost in contemplation of a trimming that absorbed him.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”