“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, previously6 to being put away forever. D’Artagnan was struck at seeing two open coffins8 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 Palls9 of Virgil, with a smile on his violet lips. He shuddered10 at seeing the father and son, those two departed souls, represented on earth by two silent, melancholy11 bodies, incapable12 of touching13 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 coffin7, 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 was useless to question Grimaud, who would not answer, he recollected15 that M. de Beaufort’s secretary had written more than he, D’Artagnan, had had the courage to read. Taking up the recital17 of the affair which had cost Raoul his life, he found these words, which ended the concluding paragraph of the letter:
“Monseigneur le duc has ordered that the body of monsieur le vicomte should be embalmed18, after the manner practiced by the Arabs when they wish their dead to be carried to their native land; and monsieur le duc has appointed relays, so that the same confidential19 servant who brought up the young man might take back his remains20 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 scatter21 dust upon that brow 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 seemed to thee a preferable gift to life.”
At length arrived the moment when the chill remains of these two gentlemen were to be given back to mother earth. There was such an affluence22 of military and other people that up to the place of the sepulture, which was a little chapel23 on the plain, the road from the city was filled with horsemen and pedestrians24 in mourning. Athos had chosen for his resting-place the little inclosure of a chapel erected25 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 rebuilt, transported, was pleasing to the eye beneath its leafy curtains of poplars and sycamores. It was ministered in every Sunday, by the cure of the neighboring bourg, to whom Athos paid an allowance of two hundred francs for this service; and all the vassals26 of his domain27, with their families, came thither28 to hear mass, without having any occasion to go to the city.
Behind the chapel extended, surrounded by two high hedges of hazel, elder and white thorn, and a deep ditch, the little inclosure — uncultivated, though gay in its sterility29; because the mosses31 there grew thick, wild heliotrope32 and ravenelles there mingled33 perfumes, while from beneath an ancient chestnut34 issued a crystal spring, a prisoner in its marble cistern35, and on the thyme all around alighted thousands of bees from the neighboring plants, whilst chaffinches and redthroats sang cheerfully among the flower-spangled hedges. It was to this place the somber36 coffins were carried, attended by a silent and respectful crowd. The office of the dead being celebrated37, the last adieux paid to the noble departed, the assembly dispersed38, talking, along the roads, of the virtues39 and mild death of the father, of the hopes the son had given, and of his melancholy end upon the arid40 coast of Africa.
Little by little, all noises were extinguished, like the lamps illuminating41 the humble42 nave43. The minister bowed for the last time to the altar and the still fresh graves; then, followed by his assistant, he slowly took the road back to the presbytery. D’Artagnan, left alone, perceived that night was coming on. He had forgotten the hour, thinking only 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 her, and also to endeavor to find out who was the pious44 friend who performed this sacred duty with so much zeal45 and perseverance46. The unknown had hidden her face in her hands, which were white as alabaster47. From the noble simplicity48 of her costume, she must be a woman of distinction. Outside the inclosure were several horses mounted by servants; a travelling carriage was in waiting for this lady. D’Artagnan in vain sought to make out what caused her delay. She continued praying, and frequently pressed her handkerchief to her face, by which D’Artagnan perceived she was weeping. He beheld49 her strike her breast with the compunction of a Christian50 woman. He heard her several times exclaim as from a wounded heart: “Pardon! pardon!” And as she appeared to abandon herself entirely51 to her grief, as she threw herself down, almost fainting, exhausted52 by complaints and prayers, D’Artagnan, touched by this love for his so much regretted friends, made a few steps towards the grave, in order to interrupt the melancholy colloquy53 of the penitent54 with the dead. But as soon as his step sounded on the gravel55, the unknown raised her head, revealing to D’Artagnan a face aflood with tears, 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 mansion57 of the Comte de la Fere. You would have wept less — and they too — and I!”
“Monsieur!” said she, sobbing58.
“For it was you,” added this pitiless friend of the dead — “it was you who sped these two men to 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 have already 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 pray God, on 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 expect from Heaven.”
“I will repeat to you, mademoiselle,” said D’Artagnan, “what M. de Bragelonne said of you, at Antibes, when he already meditated59 death: ‘If pride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising her. If love has produced her error, I pardon her, but I swear that no one could have loved her as I have done.’”
“You know,” interrupted Louise, “that of 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, desired — now I have no longer anything to wish for; because this death drags all my joy into the tomb; because I can no longer dare to love without remorse60, and I feel that he whom I love — oh! it is but just! — will repay me with the tortures I have made others undergo.”
D’Artagnan made no reply; he was too well convinced that she was not mistaken.
“Well, then,” added she, “dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, do not overwhelm me today, I again implore61 you! I am like the branch torn from the trunk, I no longer hold to anything in this world — a current drags me on, I know not whither. I love madly, even to the point of coming to tell it, wretch62 that I am, over the ashes of the dead, and I do not blush for it — I have no remorse on this account. Such love is a religion. Only, as hereafter you will see me alone, forgotten, disdained63; as you will see me punished, as I am destined64 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 expiated65!”
While she was speaking thus, the sound of voices and of horses drew the attention of the captain. M. de Saint–Aignan came to seek La Valliere. “The king,” he said, “is a prey66 to jealousy67 and uneasiness.” Saint–Aignan did not perceive D’Artagnan, half concealed68 by the trunk of a chestnut-tree which shaded the double grave. 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 your happiness still lasts.”
The young woman raised her head with a solemn air. “A day will come,” said she, “when you will repent69 of having so misjudged me. On that day, it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been unjust towards me. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you yourself will be the first to pity my sufferings. Do not reproach me with my fleeting70 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 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 redeemed71 thine, I would have given that life without hesitation72. I could not give my love. Once more, forgive me, dearest, kindest friend.”
She strewed73 a few sweet flowers on the freshly sodded earth; then, wiping the tears from her eyes, the heavily stricken lady bowed to D’Artagnan, and disappeared.
The captain watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and carriage, then crossing his arms upon his swelling74 chest, “When will it be my turn to depart?” said he, in an agitated75 voice. “What is there left for man after youth, love, glory, friendship, strength, and wealth have disappeared? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed76 all I have named; this moss30, under which repose77 Athos and Raoul, who possessed much more!”
He hesitated for a moment, with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up, “Forward! still forward!” said he. “When it is time, God will tell me, as he foretold78 the 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 benitier in 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 hawking79 party the king had arranged to make in that uneven80 plain the Loire divides in two, which borders on the one side Meung, on the other Amboise. These were the keeper of the king’s harriers and the master of the falcons82, personages greatly respected in the time of Louis XIII., but rather neglected by his successor. The horsemen, having reconnoitered the ground, were returning, their observations made, when they perceived certain little groups of soldiers, here and there, whom the sergeants83 were placing at distances at the openings of the inclosures. These were the king’s musketeers. Behind them came, upon a splendid horse, the captain, known by his richly embroidered84 uniform. His hair was gray, his beard turning so. He seemed a little bent85, although sitting and handling his horse gracefully86. He was looking about him watchfully87.
“M. d’Artagnan does not get any older,” said the keeper of the harriers to his colleague the falconer; “with ten years more to carry 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 a dozen. Age had printed its pitiless claws at each angle of his eyes; his brow was bald; his hands, formerly88 brown and nervous, were getting white, as if the blood had half forgotten them.
D’Artagnan accosted89 the officers with the shade of affability which distinguishes superiors, and received in turn 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! dame56! you were not the captain of the musketeers at that time, Monsieur d’Artagnan.” 7
“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 keeper of the harriers.”
“You do me honor, monsieur le comte,” said the latter. D’Artagnan made no reply. The title of comte had hardly struck him; D’Artagnan had been a comte four years.
“Are you not very much fatigued90 with the long journey you have taken, 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 return,” said D’Artagnan, quietly.
“And,” said the falconer, “is he well?”
“Who?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Why, poor M. Fouquet,” continued the falconer, in a low voice. The keeper of the harriers had prudently92 withdrawn93.
“No,” replied D’Artagnan, “the poor man frets95 terribly; he cannot comprehend how imprisonment96 can be a favor; he says that parliament absolved97 him by banishing98 him, and banishment99 is, or should be, liberty. He cannot imagine that they had sworn his death, and that to save his life from the claws of parliament was to be under too much obligation to Heaven.”
“Ah! yes; the poor man had a close chance of the scaffold,” replied the falconer; “it is said that M. Colbert had given orders to the governor of the Bastile, and that the execution was ordered.”
“Enough!” said D’Artagnan, pensively100, and with a view of cutting short the conversation.
“Yes,” said the keeper of the harriers, drawing towards them, “M. Fouquet is now at Pignerol; he has richly deserved it. He had the good fortune to be conducted there by you; he robbed the king sufficiently101.”
D’Artagnan launched at the master of the dogs one of his crossest looks, and said to him, “Monsieur, if any one told me you had eaten your dogs’ meat, not only would I refuse to believe it; but still more, if you were condemned102 to the lash103 or to 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 rebuke104, the keeper 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 interest. He for a moment ran over in his mind the glorious existence of the surintendant, the crumbling105 of his fortunes, and the melancholy death that awaited him; and to conclude, “Did M. Fouquet love falconry?” said he.
“Oh, passionately106, monsieur!” repeated the falconer, with an accent of bitter regret and a sigh that was the funeral oration107 of Fouquet.
D’Artagnan allowed the ill-humor of the one and the regret of the other to pass, and continued to advance. They could already catch glimpses of the huntsmen at the issue of the wood, the feathers of the outriders passing like shooting stars across the clearings, and the white horses skirting the bosky thickets108 looking like illuminated109 apparitions110.
“But,” resumed D’Artagnan, “will the sport last 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 take the field on his own account, he only wishes to amuse the ladies.”
The words “to amuse the ladies” were so strongly accented they set D’Artagnan thinking.
“Ah!” said he, looking keenly at the falconer.
The keeper 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 comes to an end in this world. Well! then he is no longer sad? So much the better.” 8
“And everything begins as well as ends,” said the keeper with a coarse laugh.
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan, a second time — he burned to know, but dignity would not allow him to interrogate111 people below him — “there is something beginning, then, it seems?”
The keeper gave him a significant wink112; but D’Artagnan was unwilling113 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 chagrin114 she suffered, her majesty115 has been unwell.”
“What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I have but just returned.”
“It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her mother-inlaw, complained to the king, who answered her — ‘Do I not sleep at home every night, madame? What more do you expect?’”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan — “poor woman! She must heartily116 hate Mademoiselle de la Valliere.”
“Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere,” replied the falconer.
“Who then —” The blast of a hunting-horn interrupted this conversation. It summoned the dogs and the hawks117. The falconer and his companions 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 animating118 the dogs and horses. There was an animation119 in the scene, a mirage120 of light, of which nothing now can give an idea, unless it be the fictitious121 splendor122 of a theatric spectacle. D’Artagnan, with an eye a little, just a little, dimmed by age, distinguished123 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 most dazzling beauty. The king smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the king. Loud laughter followed every word she uttered.
“I must know that woman,” thought the musketeer; “who can she be?” And he stooped towards 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 amongst us once more 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 today.”
A murmur14 of admiration124 surrounded D’Artagnan like a caress125. Every one was eager to salute126 him. Dining with the king was an honor his majesty was not so prodigal127 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, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the minister, with marked affability, “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, plunging128 painfully into the dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many friendships and so many hatreds129.
“M. le Duc d’Almeda, who is arrived this morning from Spain.”
“The Duc d’Almeda?” said D’Artagnan, reflecting in vain.
“Here!” cried 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 profound amazement130. And he felt, inert131 as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round his neck.
Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a few moments, urged his horse forward, and left the two old friends together.
“And so,” said the musketeer, taking Aramis’s arm, “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 fidelity132 in this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere’s carriage to pass. Look, how uneasy she is! How her eyes, dim with tears, follow the king, who is riding on horseback yonder!”
“With whom?”
“With Mademoiselle de Tonnay–Charente, now Madame de Montespan,” replied Aramis.
“She is jealous. Is she then deserted133?”
“Not quite yet, but it will not be long before she is.” 9
They chatted together, while following the sport, and Aramis’s coachman drove them so cleverly that they arrived at the instant when the falcon81, 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 isolated134 chapel, concealed by huge trees, already despoiled135 of their leaves by the first cutting winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an inclosure, closed by a latticed gate. The falcon had beaten 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 hoarse136, broken voice, “Do you know, Aramis,” said he, “whither chance has conducted us?”
“No,” replied the duke.
“Here repose men that we knew well,” said D’Artagnan, greatly agitated.
Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, penetrated137 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, beneath yon little cypress138. The tree of grief 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, at first looked on, with a melancholy heart, from the door, and then, carried away by jealousy, advanced into the chapel, whence, leaning against a pillar, she contemplated139 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 his beautiful companion’s hat. She, smiling in her turn, kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The king grew scarlet140 with vanity and pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the fire of new 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 intoxicated141 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 groan142 resounded143 — they saw a woman fall fainting to the ground. Mademoiselle de la Valliere had seen all, heard all.
“Poor woman!” muttered D’Artagnan, as he helped the attendants to carry back to her carriage the lonely lady whose lot henceforth in life was suffering.
That evening D’Artagnan was seated at the king’s table, near M. Colbert and M. le Duc d’Almeda. 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 that time of calm when the king was wont144 to watch his mother’s eyes for the approval or disapproval145 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 was on his master’s face. Colbert took D’Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king began to chat with his sister, whilst Monsieur, very uneasy, entertained the queen with a preoccupied146 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 spoke147 of preceding ministers; Colbert related the successful tricks of Mazarin, and desired those of Richelieu to be related to him. D’Artagnan could not overcome his surprise at finding this man, with his heavy eyebrows148 and low forehead, display so much sound knowledge and cheerful spirits. Aramis was astonished at that lightness of character which permitted this serious man to retard149 with advantage the moment for more important conversation, to which nobody made any allusion150, although all three interlocutors felt its imminence151. It was very plain, from the embarrassed appearance of Monsieur, how much the conversation of the king and Madame annoyed him. Madame’s eyes were almost red: was she going to complain? Was she going to expose 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 lovely eyes?”
“Why — sire —” said she.
“Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?”
She looked towards 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, having borne so many solitary152 griefs so long, was nearly bursting into tears, so full was her heart.
“Come, come, dear little sister,” said the king, “tell me your griefs; on the word of a brother, I pity them; on the word of a king, I will put an end to them.”
She raised her glorious 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 devoted153, so good, so loyal!”
“You say this on account of De Guiche, whom I have exiled, at Monsieur’s desire?”
“And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavored to get himself killed once every day.”
“Unjust, say you, 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 had it represented to you that Monsieur and his favorite M. le Chevalier de Lorraine ought not with impunity154 to constitute themselves the executioners of my honor and my happiness.”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine,” said the king; “that dismal155 fellow?”
“Is my mortal enemy. Whilst that man lives in my household, where Monsieur retains him and delegates his power to him, I shall be the most miserable156 woman in the 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, lady. Cousin and brother-inlaw, 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 De Guiche.”
“Oh! yes,” said she, blushing.
“De Guiche shall return.” 10
“So far, well.”
“And now you say that I do 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 a dreadful end, I beforehand accuse the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a spirit that is capable of any crime!”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you — I promise you that.” 11
“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.”
“Instead of embroiling157 me with your brother Charles, you must make him a more intimate friend than ever.”
“That is very easy.”
“Oh! not quite so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary friendship people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a return, profitable 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 alive and well equipped — that we must serve up to our friends; vessels159 we must offer, all armed with cannons161 and stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always coffers in a fit condition for such friendships.”
“Ah! you are quite right,” said Madame; “the coffers of the king of England have been sonorous162 for some time.”
“But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you can secure more than an ambassador could ever get the promise of.”
“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 health and spirits good.”
“Only,” interrupted Madame, “it is possible I should fail. The king of England has dangerous counselors163.”
“Counselors, do you say?”
“Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention — I am only supposing so — of asking Charles II. his alliance in a war —”
“A war?”
“Yes; well! then the king’s counselors, who are in number 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 better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court than to equip ships of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich.”
“And then your negotiations165 will fail?”
“Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fall through which they don’t make themselves.”
“Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?”
“No; inform me what it is.”
“It is that, searching well around you, you might perhaps find a female counselor164 to take with you to your brother, whose eloquence166 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 ambassadress is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an ugly one, is it not?”
“Most assuredly.”
“An animated167, lively, audacious character.”
“Certainly.”
“Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without awkwardness — not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the dignity of her race.”
“Very true.”
“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 hit the mark — 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 seductrice plenipotentiaire at once, and will add a dowry to the title.”
“That is well.”
“I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, consoled for all your griefs.”
“I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am negotiating about.”
“That is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and by their republican attitude. I do not like republics.”
“That may easily be imagined, 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 of 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 had stopped before me. There is not much fraternity in that, is there?”
“I thought you had forgotten that miserable episode?”
“I never forget anything, 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 already gone, brother.”
On hearing these words, Louis XIV. turned round towards the corner of the room in which D’Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and made an affirmative sign to his minister. Colbert then broke in on the conversation suddenly, and said to Aramis:
“Monsieur l’ambassadeur, shall we talk about business?”
D’Artagnan immediately withdrew, from politeness. He directed his steps towards the fireplace, within hearing of what the king was about to say to Monsieur, who, evidently uneasy, had gone to him. The face of the king was animated. Upon his brow was stamped a strength of will, the expression of which already met no further contradiction in France, and was soon to meet 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 avalanche168 upon Monsieur, who adored his favorite, and concentrated all his affections in him.
“In what has the chevalier been inconsiderate enough to displease169 your majesty?” cried he, darting170 a furious look at Madame.
“I will tell you that when he is gone,” said the king, suavely171. “And also when Madame, here, shall have crossed over into England.”
“Madame! in England!” murmured Monsieur, in amazement.
“In a week, brother,” continued the king, “whilst we will go whither I will shortly tell you.” And the king turned on his heel, smiling in his brother’s face, to sweeten, as it were, the bitter draught172 he had given him.
During this time Colbert was talking with the Duc d’Almeda.
“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 so much 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 a Spaniard. Shall we secure — answer me frankly174 — the neutrality of Spain, if we undertake anything against the United Provinces?”
“Monsieur,” replied Aramis, “the interest of Spain is clear. To embroil158 Europe with the Provinces would doubtless be our policy, but the king of France is an ally of the United Provinces. You are not ignorant, besides, that it would infer a maritime175 war, and that France is in no state to undertake this with advantage.”
Colbert, turning round at this moment, saw D’Artagnan who was seeking some interlocutor, during this “aside” of the king and Monsieur. He called him, at the same time saying in a low voice to Aramis, “We may talk openly with D’Artagnan, I suppose?”
“Oh! certainly,” replied the ambassador.
“We were saying, M. d’Almeda and I,” said Colbert, “that a conflict with the United Provinces would mean 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 on such a war successfully, you must have very large land forces.”
“What did you say?” said Colbert, thinking he had ill understood him.
“Why such a large 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 soon be 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 prove stronger,” rejoined D’Artagnan.
Colbert admired that sagacity which never touched a question without enlightening it thoroughly176. Aramis smiled, as he had long known that in diplomacy177 D’Artagnan acknowledged no superior. 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 take no heed178 of these details,” replied the captain. “I am but an indifferent sailor. Like all nervous people, I hate the sea; and yet I have an idea that, with ships, France being a seaport179 with two hundred exits, 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 recapitulating180 the number of cannon160 and men requisite181 to equip these ships. “I have had the same idea as you,” said he to D’Artagnan, “and I have had an account drawn94 up of the vessels we have altogether — thirty-five ships.”
“Thirty-five ships! impossible!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Something like two thousand pieces of cannon,” said Colbert. “That is what the king possesses at this moment. Of five and thirty 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 ship 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, in a bantering182 tone, “I have planned all that this year and a half past, did you not know it? Do you know M. d’Imfreville?”
“D’Imfreville?” replied D’Artagnan; “no.”
“He is a man I have discovered; he has a specialty183; he is a man of genius — he knows how to set men to work. It is he who has cast 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 still further idea.”
“Oh, monsieur!” said Aramis, civilly, “I always believe you.”
“Calculating upon the character of the Dutch, our allies, I said to myself, ‘They are merchants, they are friendly 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 do not 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 cargoes184 of Northern timber, matches, grenades, pitch, tar16 — 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 capital and quaint185 idea,” replied D’Artagnan, “to have Dutch cannon-balls cast 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 name. Destouches — Ah! perhaps you don’t know Destouches?”
“No, monsieur.”
“He is a man who has a sure glance to discern, when a ship is launched, what are the defects and qualities of that ship — that is valuable, observe! Nature is truly whimsical. Well, this Destouches appeared to me to be a man likely to prove useful in marine186 affairs, and he is superintending the construction of six vessels of seventy-eight guns, which the Provinces are building for his majesty. It results from 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 efficient.”
D’Artagnan and Aramis looked at each other, wondering at the mysterious labors187 this man had undertaken in so short a time. 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 promising188 its neutrality, England helping189 us —”
“If England assists you,” said Aramis, “I promise the neutrality of Spain.”
“I take you at your word,” Colbert hastened to reply with his blunt bonhomie. “And, a propos of Spain, you have not the ‘Golden Fleece,’ Monsieur d’Almeda. I heard the king say the other day that he should like to see you wear the grand cordon190 of St. Michael.”
Aramis bowed. “Oh!” thought D’Artagnan, “and Porthos is no longer here! What ells of ribbons would there be for him in these largesses! Dear Porthos!”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” resumed Colbert, “between us two, you will have, I wager191, an inclination192 to lead your musketeers into Holland. Can you swim?” And he laughed like a man in high good humor.
“Like an eel,” replied D’Artagnan.
“Ah! but there are some bitter passages of canals and marshes193 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 in war that 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 — but fire warms, Monsieur Colbert.”
And D’Artagnan looked so handsome still in quasi-juvenile strength 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 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 lurks194 in everything the question of interest, 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 to command all that, and then he would absorb a hundred thousand livres a year for expenses.”
“Well! but do you suppose the king would haggle195 with you?” said Colbert.
“Eh! monsieur, you have not understood me,” replied D’Artagnan, sure of carrying his point. “I was telling you that I, an old captain, formerly chief of the king’s guard, having precedence of the marechaux of France — I saw myself one day in the trenches197 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, and I will stand or fall by 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 plank198, 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 marechal of France being drowned.”
D’Artagnan became very pale with joy, and in a not very firm voice, “People would be very proud of me in my country,” said he, “if I were a marechal of France; but a man must have commanded an expedition in chief to obtain the baton199.”
“Monsieur!” said Colbert, “here is in this pocket-book which you will study, a plan of campaign you will have to lead a body of troops to carry out in the next spring.” 12
D’Artagnan took the book, tremblingly, and his fingers meeting 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 to behold200 me dead —or both.”
“Then I will have the fleurs-delis for your marechal’s baton prepared immediately,” said Colbert.
On the morrow, 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 extinct — ah, I am almost dead.”
“My friend,” said D’Artagnan, “you will live longer than I shall: diplomacy commands you to live; but, for my part, honor condemns201 me to die.”
“Bah! such men as we are, monsieur le marechal,” said Aramis, “only die satisfied with joy in 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, separated — forever.
The Death of D’Artagnan.
Contrary to that which generally happens, whether in politics or morals, each kept his promises, and did honor to his engagements.
The king recalled M. de Guiche, and banished202 M. le Chevalier de Lorraine; so that Monsieur became ill in consequence. Madame set out for London, where she applied203 herself so earnestly to make her brother, Charles II., acquire a taste for the political counsels 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 gratitude204 for her good counsels; he made her Duchess of Portsmouth. Colbert had promised the king vessels, munitions205, victories. He kept his word, as is well known. At length Aramis, upon whose promises there was least dependence206 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. Oliva, general ad interim207 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 high a side-light on the progress 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. Oliva will inform you likewise, monsieur, of the consent 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 valid208 even if England, instead of being active, should satisfy herself with remaining neutral. As for 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 your friendship and also to believe in my profound attachment209, and to lay my respect at the feet of His Most Christian Majesty. Signed,
“LE DUC D’ALMEDA.” 13
Aramis had performed more than he had promised; it remained to be seen 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 elite210 of his kingdom to this sanguinary fete. The officers of the army, it is true, had no other music save the artillery211 of the Dutch forts; but it was enough for a great number, who found in this war honor, advancement212, fortune — or death.
M. d’Artagnan set out commanding a body of twelve thousand men, cavalry213, and infantry214, with which he was ordered to take the different places which form knots of that strategic network called La Frise. Never was an army conducted more gallantly215 to an expedition. The officers knew that their leader, prudent91 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, keeping his soldiers singing and the enemy weeping. The captain of the king’s musketeers well knew his business. Never were opportunities better chosen, coups-demain better supported, errors of the besieged216 more quickly taken advantage of.
The army commanded by D’Artagnan took twelve small places within a month. He was engaged in besieging217 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 laborers218 were, in the army of this man, a body full of ideas and zeal, because their commander treated them like soldiers, knew how to render their work glorious, and never allowed them to be killed if he could help it. It should have been seen with what eagerness the marshy219 glebes of Holland were turned over. Those turf-heaps, mounds220 of potter’s clay, melted at the word of the soldiers like butter in the frying-pans of Friesland housewives.
M. d’Artagnan dispatched a courier to the king to give him an account of the last success, 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 Invincible221. So that Mademoiselle de la Valliere, who only called the king Louis the Victorious222, lost much of his majesty’s favor. Besides, her eyes were frequently red, and to an Invincible nothing is more disagreeable than a mistress who weeps while everything is smiling round her. The star of Mademoiselle de la Valliere was being drowned 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 fulfil 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, detaining D’Artagnan’s envoy223, placed in the hands of that messenger a letter from himself, and a small coffer of ebony inlaid with gold, not very important 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 towards daybreak, and presented themselves at the lodgings224 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 and seventy-seven men killed, and the reparation of the breaches225 commenced, had just gone with twenty 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, towards 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 cane227, and gilt228 cuffs229. 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 plowed230 so near him. They also saw, amidst this terrible fire, which filled the air with whistling hisses231, officers handling the shovel232, soldiers rolling barrows, and vast fascines, rising by being either carried or dragged by from ten to twenty men, cover the front of the trench196 reopened to the center by this extraordinary effort of the general. In three hours, all was 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 in proper order. 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 soothing233 words, carried him into the trench, amidst the enthusiastic applause of the regiments234. From that time it was no longer a question of valor235 — the army was delirious236; two companies stole away to the advanced posts, which they instantly destroyed.
When their comrades, restrained with great difficulty by D’Artagnan, saw them lodged237 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 checking his army — to take the place. He directed all his force to the two breaches, where 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 echelons238. 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 to silence the fire, which was unceasing, sent a fresh column, which penetrated like a very wedge; and he soon perceived upon the ramparts, through the fire, the terrified flight of the besieged, pursued by the besiegers.
At this moment the general, breathing feely and full of joy, heard a voice behind him, saying, “Monsieur, if you please, from M. Colbert.”
He broke the seal of the letter, which contained these words:
“MONSIEUR D’ARTAGNAN:— The king commands me to inform you that he has nominated you marechal of France, as a reward for your magnificent 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 standing173 with a radiant countenance239 and sparkling eye. He looked up to watch the progress of his troops upon the walls, still enveloped240 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, whilst you warriors241 are drawing the sword to defend the king, I am moving the pacific arts to ornament242 a present worthy243 of you. I commend myself to your friendship, monsieur le marechal, and beg you to believe in 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 marechal was going to look at it, a loud explosion resounded from the ramparts, and called his attention towards the city. “It is strange,” said D’Artagnan, “that I don’t yet see the king’s flag on the walls, or hear the drums beat the chamade.” He launched three hundred fresh men, under a high-spirited officer, and ordered another breach226 to be made. Then, more tranquilly244, he turned towards 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, whilst the fleur-delised baton, escaping from the broken box, came rolling under the powerless hand of the marechal. D’Artagnan endeavored to raise himself. It was thought he had been knocked down without being wounded. A terrible cry broke from the group of terrified officers; the marechal was covered with blood; the pallor of death ascended245 slowly to his noble countenance. Leaning upon the arms held out on all sides to receive him, he was able once more to turn his eyes towards the place, and to distinguish the white flag at the crest246 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 baton, ornamented247 with its fleurs-delis, he cast on it his eyes, which had no longer the power of looking upwards248 towards Heaven, and fell back, murmuring strange words, which appeared to the soldiers cabalistic — words which had formerly represented so many things on earth, and which none but the dying man any longer comprehended:
“Athos — Porthos, farewell till we meet again! Aramis, adieu forever!”
Of the four valiant249 men whose history we have related, there now remained but one. Heaven had taken to itself three noble souls. 14
Footnotes
1 “He is patient because he is eternal.” is how the Latin translates. It is from St. Augustine. This motto was sometimes applied to the Papacy, but not to the Jesuits.
2 In the five-volume edition, Volume 4 ends here.
3 It is possible that the preceding conversation is an obscure allegorical allusion to the Fronde, or perhaps an intimation that the Duc was the father of Mordaunt, from Twenty Years After, but a definite interpretation250 still eludes251 modern scholars.
4 The dictates252 of such a service would require Raoul to spend the rest of his life outside of France, hence Athos’s and Grimaud’s extreme reactions.
5 Dumas here, and later in the chapter, uses the name Roncherat. Roncherolles is the actual name of the man.
6 In some editions, “in spite of Milady” reads “in spite of malady”.
7 “Pie” in this case refers to magpies253, the prey for the falcons.
8 Anne of Austria did not die until 1666, and Dumas sets the current year as 1665.
9 Madame de Montespan would oust254 Louise from the king’s affections by 1667.
10 De Guiche would not return to court until 1671.
11 Madame did die of poison in 1670, shortly after returning from the mission described later. The Chevalier de Lorraine had actually been ordered out of France in 1662.
12 This particular campaign did not actually occur until 1673.
13 Jean–Paul Oliva was the actual general of the Jesuits from 1664–1681.
14 In earlier editions, the last line reads, “Of the four valiant men whose history we have related, there now no longer remained but one single body; God had resumed the souls.” Dumas made the revision in later editions.
The End
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chamber
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meditates
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descended
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eloquently
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previously
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coffin
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8
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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9
palls
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| n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 )；墓衣；棺罩；深色或厚重的覆盖物v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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11
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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12
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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13
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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14
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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15
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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17
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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18
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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19
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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20
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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21
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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22
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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23
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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24
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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25
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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26
vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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27
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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28
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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29
sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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30
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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31
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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32
heliotrope
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| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
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33
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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34
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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35
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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36
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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37
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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38
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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39
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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40
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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41
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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42
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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43
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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44
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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45
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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46
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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47
alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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48
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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49
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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50
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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51
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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52
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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53
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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54
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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55
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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56
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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57
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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58
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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59
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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60
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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61
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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62
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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63
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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64
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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65
expiated
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| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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67
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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68
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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69
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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70
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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71
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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72
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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73
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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74
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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75
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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76
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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77
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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78
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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80
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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81
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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82
falcons
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| n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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83
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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84
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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85
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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86
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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87
watchfully
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| 警惕地，留心地 | |
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88
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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89
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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90
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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91
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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92
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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93
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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94
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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95
frets
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| 基质间片； 品丝（吉他等指板上定音的）( fret的名词复数 ) | |
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96
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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97
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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98
banishing
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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99
banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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100
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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101
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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102
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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104
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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105
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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106
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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107
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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108
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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109
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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110
apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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111
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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112
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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113
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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114
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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115
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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116
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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117
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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118
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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119
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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120
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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121
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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122
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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123
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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124
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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125
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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126
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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127
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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128
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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129
hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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130
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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131
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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132
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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133
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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134
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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135
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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137
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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138
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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139
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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140
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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141
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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142
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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143
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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144
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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145
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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146
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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147
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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148
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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149
retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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150
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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151
imminence
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| n.急迫，危急 | |
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152
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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153
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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154
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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155
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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156
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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157
embroiling
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| v.使（自己或他人）卷入纠纷( embroil的现在分词 ) | |
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158
embroil
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| vt.拖累；牵连；使复杂 | |
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159
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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160
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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161
cannons
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| n.加农炮，大炮，火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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162
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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163
counselors
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| n.顾问( counselor的名词复数 )；律师；（使馆等的）参赞；（协助学生解决问题的）指导老师 | |
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164
counselor
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| n.顾问，法律顾问 | |
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165
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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166
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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167
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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168
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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169
displease
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| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
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170
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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171
suavely
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172
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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173
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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174
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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175
maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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176
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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177
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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178
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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179
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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180
recapitulating
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| v.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的现在分词 ) | |
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181
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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182
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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183
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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184
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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185
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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186
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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187
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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188
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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189
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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190
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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191
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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192
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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193
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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194
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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195
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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196
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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197
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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198
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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199
baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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200
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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201
condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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202
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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204
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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205
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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206
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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207
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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208
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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209
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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210
elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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211
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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212
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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213
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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214
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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215
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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216
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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218
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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219
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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220
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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221
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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222
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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223
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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224
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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225
breaches
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| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
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226
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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227
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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228
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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229
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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230
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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231
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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232
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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233
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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234
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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235
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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236
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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237
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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238
echelons
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| n.（机构中的）等级，阶层( echelon的名词复数 )；（军舰、士兵、飞机等的）梯形编队 | |
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239
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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240
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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241
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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242
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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243
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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244
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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245
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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246
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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247
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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249
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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250
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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251
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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252
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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253
magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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254
oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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