Александр Дюма
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
Chapter LI. A Passion
The day of his arrival, on returning from the Palais Royal, Athos, as we have seen, went straight to his hotel in the Rue Saint-Honore. He there found the Vicomte de Bragelonne waiting for him in his chamber, chatting with Grimaud. It was not an easy thing to talk with this old servant. Two men only possessed the secret, Athos and D'Artagnan. The first succeeded, because Grimaud sought to make him speak himself; D'Artagnan, on the contrary, because he knew how to make Grimaud talk. Raoul was occupied in making him describe the voyage to England, and Grimaud had related it in all its details, with a limited number of gestures and eight words, neither more nor less. He had, at first, indicated by an undulating movement of his hand, that his master and he had crossed the sea. "Upon some expedition?" Raoul had asked.
Grimaud by bending down his head had answered, "Yes."
"When monsieur le comte incurred much danger?" asked Raoul.
"Neither too much nor too little," was replied by a shrug of the shoulders.
"But still, what sort of danger?" insisted Raoul.
Grimaud pointed to the sword; he pointed to the fire and to a musket that was hanging on the wall.
"Monsieur le comte had an enemy there, then?" cried Raoul.
"Monk," replied Grimaud.
"It is strange," continued Raoul, "that monsieur le comte persists in considering me a novice, and not allowing me to partake the honor and danger of his adventure."
Grimaud smiled. It was at this moment Athos came in. The host was lighting him up the stairs, and Grimaud, recognizing the step of his master, hastened to meet him, which cut short the conversation. But Raoul was launched on the sea of interrogatories, and did not stop. Taking both hands of the comte, with warm, but respectful tenderness, – "How is it, monsieur," said he, "that you have set out upon a dangerous voyage without bidding me adieu, without commanding the aid of my sword, of myself, who ought to be your support, now I have the strength; whom you have brought up like a man? Ah! monsieur, can you expose me to the cruel trial of never seeing you again?"
"Who told you, Raoul," said the comte, placing his cloak and hat in the hands of Grimaud, who had unbuckled his sword, "who told you that my voyage was a dangerous one?"
"I," said Grimaud.
"And why did you do so?" said Athos, sternly.
Grimaud was embarrassed; Raoul came to his assistance, by answering for him. "It is natural, monsieur, that our good Grimaud should tell me the truth in what concerns you. By whom should you be loved an supported, if not by me?"
Athos did not reply. He made a friendly motion to Grimaud, which sent him out of the room; he then seated himself in a fauteuil, whilst Raoul remained standing before him.
"But it is true," continued Raoul, "that your voyage was an expedition, and that steel and fire threatened you?"
"Say no more about that, vicomte," said Athos, mildly. "I set out hastily, it is true: but the service of King Charles II. required a prompt departure. As to your anxiety, I thank you for it, and I know that I can depend on you. You have not wanted for anything, vicomte, in my absence, have you?"
"No, monsieur, thank you."
"I left orders with Blaisois to pay you a hundred pistoles, if you should stand in need of money."
"Monsieur, I have not seen Blaisois."
"You have been without money, then?"
"Monsieur, I had thirty pistoles left from the sale of the horses I took in my last campaign, and M. le Prince had the kindness to allow me to win two hundred pistoles at his play-table three months ago."
"Do you play? I don't like that, Raoul."
"I never play, monsieur; it was M. le Prince who ordered me to hold his cards at Chantilly-one night when a courier came to him from the king. I won, and M. le Prince commanded me to take the stakes."
"Is that a practice in the household, Raoul?" asked Athos with a frown.
"Yes, monsieur; every week M. le Prince affords, upon one occasion or another, a similar advantage to one of his gentlemen. There are fifty gentlemen in his highness's household; it was my turn."
"Very well! You went into Spain, then?"
"Yes, monsieur, I made a very delightful and interesting journey."
"You have been back a month, have you not?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And in the course of that month?"
"In that month-"
"What have you done?"
"My duty, monsieur."
"Have you not been home, to La Fere?"
Raoul colored. Athos looked at him with a fixed but tranquil expression.
"You would be wrong not to believe me," said Raoul. "I feel that I colored, and in spite of myself. The question you did me the honor to ask me is of a nature to raise in me much emotion. I color, then, because I am agitated, not because I meditate a falsehood."
"I know, Raoul, you never lie."
"No, monsieur."
"Besides, my young friend, you would be wrong; what I wanted to say-"
"I know quite well, monsieur. You would ask me if I have not been to Blois?"
"Exactly so."
"I have not been there; I have not even seen the person to whom you allude."
Raoul's voice trembled as he pronounced these words. Athos, a sovereign judge in all matters of delicacy, immediately added, "Raoul, you answer me with a painful feeling; you are unhappy."
"Very, monsieur; you have forbidden me to go to Blois, or to see Mademoiselle de la Valliere again." Here the young man stopped. That dear name, so delightful to pronounce, made his heart bleed, although so sweet upon his lips.
"And I have acted rightly, Raoul." Athos hastened to reply. "I am neither an unjust nor a barbarous father; I respect true love; but I look forward for you to a future-an immense future. A new reign is about to break upon us like a fresh dawn. War calls upon a young king full of chivalric spirit. What is wanting to assist this heroic ardor is a battalion of young and free lieutenants who would rush to the fight with enthusiasm, and fall, crying: 'Vive le Roi!' instead of 'Adieu, my dear wife.' You understand that, Raoul. However brutal my reasoning may appear, I conjure you, then, to believe me, and to turn away your thoughts from those early days of youth in which you took up this habit of love-days of effeminate carelessness, which soften the heart and render it incapable of consuming those strong bitter draughts called glory and adversity. Therefore, Raoul, I repeat to you, you should see in my counsel only the desire of being useful to you, only the ambition of seeing you prosper. I believe you capable of becoming a remarkable man. March alone, and you will march better, and more quickly."
"You have commanded, monsieur," replied Raoul, "and I obey."
"Commanded!" cried Athos. "Is it thus you reply to me? I have commanded you! Oh! you distort my words as you misconceive my intentions. I do not command you; I request you."
"No, monsieur, you have commanded," said Raoul, persistently; "had you requested me, your request is even more effective than your order. I have not seen Mademoiselle de la Valliere again."
"But you are unhappy! you are unhappy!" insisted Athos.
Raoul made no reply.
"I find you pale; I find you dull. The sentiment is strong, then?"
"It is a passion," replied Raoul.
"No-a habit."
"Monsieur, you know I have traveled much, that I have passed two years far away from her. A habit would yield to an absence of two years, I believe; whereas, on my return, I loved not more, that was impossible, but as much. Mademoiselle de la Valliere is for me the one lady above all others; but you are for me a god upon earth-to you I sacrifice everything."
"You are wrong," said Athos; "I have no longer any right over you. Age has emancipated you; you no longer even stand in need of my consent. Besides, I will not refuse my consent after what you have told me. Marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere, if you like."
Raoul was startled, but suddenly: "You are very kind, monsieur," said he; "and your concession excites my warmest gratitude, but I will not accept it."
"Then you now refuse?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I will not oppose you in anything, Raoul."
"But you have at the bottom of your heart an idea against this marriage: it is not your choice."
"That is true."
"That is sufficient to make me resist: I will wait."
"Beware, Raoul! What you are now saying is serious."
"I know it is, monsieur; as I said, I will wait."
"Until I die?" said Athos, much agitated.
"Oh! monsieur," cried Raoul, with tears in his eyes, "is it possible that you should wound my heart thus? I have never given you cause of complaint!"
"Dear boy, that is true," murmured Athos, pressing his lips violently together to conceal the emotion of which he was no longer master. "No, I will no longer afflict you; only I do not comprehend what you mean by waiting. Will you wait till you love no longer?"
"Ah! for that! – no, monsieur. I will wait till you change your opinion."
"I should wish to put the matter to a test, Raoul; I should like to see if Mademoiselle de la Valliere will wait as you do."
"I hope so, monsieur."
"But, take care, Raoul! suppose she did not wait? Ah, you are young, so confiding, so loyal! Women are changeable."
"You have never spoken ill to me of women, monsieur; you have never had to complain of them; why should you doubt of Mademoiselle de la Valliere?"
"That is true," said Athos, casting down his eyes; "I have never spoken ill to you of women; I have never had to complain of them; Mademoiselle de la Valliere never gave birth to a suspicion; but when we are looking forward, we must go even to exceptions, even to improbabilities! If, I say, Mademoiselle de la Valliere should not wait for you?"
"How, monsieur?"
"If she turned her eyes another way."
"If she looked favorably upon another, do you mean, monsieur?" said Raoul, pale with agony.
"Exactly."
"Well, monsieur, I would kill him," said Raoul, simply, "and all the men whom Mademoiselle de la Valliere should choose, until one of them had killed me, or Mademoiselle de la Valliere had restored me her heart."
Athos started. "I thought," resumed he, in an agitated voice, "that you called my just now your god, your law in this world."
"Oh!" said Raoul, trembling, "you would forbid me the duel?"
"Suppose I did forbid it, Raoul?"
"You would not forbid me to hope, monsieur; consequently you would not forbid me to die."
Athos raised his eyes toward the vicomte. He had pronounced these words with the most melancholy look. "Enough," said Athos, after a long silence, "enough of this subject, upon which we both go too far. Live as well as you are able, Raoul, perform your duties, love Mademoiselle de la Valliere; in a word, act like a man, since you have attained the age of a man; only do not forget that I love you tenderly, and that you profess to love me."
"Ah! monsieur le comte!" cried Raoul, pressing the hand of Athos to his heart.
"Enough, dear boy, leave me; I want rest. A propos, M. d'Artagnan has returned from England with me; you owe him a visit."
"I will pay it, monsieur, with great pleasure. I love Monsieur d'Artagnan exceedingly."
"You are right in doing so; he is a worthy man and a brave cavalier."
"Who loves you dearly."
"I am sure of that. Do you know his address?"
"At the Louvre, I suppose, or wherever the king is. Does he not command the musketeers?"
"No; at present M. d'Artagnan is absent on leave; he is resting for awhile. Do not, therefore, seek him at the posts of his service. You will hear of him at the house of a certain Planchet."
"His former lackey?"
"Exactly; turned grocer."
"I know; Rue des Lombards?"
"Somewhere thereabouts, or Rue des Arcis."
"I will find it, monsieur-I will find it."
"You will say a thousand kind things to him, on my part, and ask him to come and dine with me before I set out for La Fere."
"Yes, monsieur."
"Good-might, Raoul!"
"Monsieur, I see you wear an order I never saw you wear before; accept my compliments."
"The Fleece! – that is true. A bauble, my boy, which no longer amuses an old child like myself. Good-night, Raoul!"
Chapter LII. D'Artagnan's Lesson
Raoul did not meet with D'Artagnan the next day, as he had hoped. He only met with Planchet, whose joy was great at seeing the young man again, and who contrived to pay him two or three little soldierly compliments, savoring very little of the grocer's shop. But as Raoul was returning the next day from Vincennes at the head of fifty dragoons confided to him by Monsieur le Prince, he perceived, in La Place Baudoyer, a man with his nose in the air, examining a house as we examine a horse we have a fancy to buy. This man, dressed in a citizen costume buttoned up like a military pourpoint, a very small hat on his head, but a long shagreen-mounted sword by his side, turned his head as soon as he heard the steps of the horses, and left off looking at the house to look at the dragoons. It was simply M. d'Artagnan; D'Artagnan on foot; D'Artagnan with his hands behind him, passing a little review upon the dragoons, after having reviewed the buildings. Not a man, not a tag, not a horse's hoof escaped his inspection. Raoul rode at the side of his troop; D'Artagnan perceived him the last. "Eh!" said he, "Eh! Mordioux!"
"I was not mistaken!" cried Raoul, turning his horse towards him.
"Mistaken-no! Good-day to you," replied the ex-musketeer; whilst Raoul eagerly pressed the hand of his old friend. "Take care, Raoul," said D'Artagnan, "the second horse of the fifth rank will lose a shoe before he gets to the Pont Marie; he has only two nails left in his off fore-foot."
"Wait a minute, I will come back," said Raoul.
"Can you quit your detachment?"
"The cornet is there to take my place."
"Then you will come and dine with me?"
"Most willingly, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Be quick, then; leave your horse, or make them give me one."
"I prefer coming back on foot with you."
Raoul hastened to give notice to the cornet, who took his post; he then dismounted, gave his horse to one of the dragoons, and with great delight seized the arm of M. d'Artagnan, who had watched him during all these little evolutions with the satisfaction of a connoisseur.
"What, do you come from Vincennes?" said he.
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
"And the cardinal?"
"Is very ill; it is even reported he is dead."
"Are you on good terms with M. Fouquet?" asked D'Artagnan, with a disdainful movement of the shoulders, proving that the death of Mazarin did not affect him beyond measure.
"With M. Fouquet?" said Raoul; "I do not know him."
"So much the worse! so much the worse! for a new king always seeks to get good men in his employment."
"Oh! the king means no harm," replied the young man.
"I say nothing about the crown," cried D'Artagnan; "I am speaking of the king-the king, that is M. Fouquet, if the cardinal is dead. You must contrive to stand well with M. Fouquet, if you do not wish to molder away all your life as I have moldered. It is true you have, fortunately, other protectors."
"M. le Prince, for instance."
"Worn out! worn out!"
"M. le Comte de la Fere?"
"Athos! Oh! that's different; yes, Athos-and if you have any wish to make your way in England, you cannot apply to a better person; I can even say, without too much vanity, that I myself have some credit at the court of Charles II. There is a king-God speed him!"
"Ah!" cried Raoul, with the natural curiosity of well-born young people, while listening to experience and courage.
"Yes, a king who amuses himself, it is true, but who has had a sword in his hand, and can appreciate useful men. Athos is on good terms with Charles II. Take service there, and leave these scoundrels of contractors and farmers-general, who steal as well with French hands as others have done with Italian hands; leave the little snivelling king, who is going to give us another reign of Francis II. Do you know anything of history, Raoul?"
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
"Do you know, then, that Francis II. had always the earache?"
"No, I did not know that."
"That Charles IV. had always the headache?"
"Indeed!"
"And Henry III. had always the stomach-ache?"
Raoul began to laugh.
"Well, my dear friend, Louis XIV. always has the heart-ache; it is deplorable to see a king sighing from morning till night without saying once in the course of the day, ventre-saint-gris! corboef! or anything to rouse one."
"Was that the reason why you quitted the service, monsieur le chevalier?"
"Yes."
"But you yourself, M. d'Artagnan, are throwing the handle after the axe; you will not make a fortune."
"Who? I?" replied D'Artagnan, in a careless tone; "I am settled-I had some family property."
Raoul looked at him. The poverty of D'Artagnan was proverbial. A Gascon, he exceeded in ill-luck all the gasconnades of France and Navarre; Raoul had a hundred times heard Job and D'Artagnan named together, as the twins Romulus and Remus. D'Artagnan caught Raoul's look of astonishment.
"And has not your father told you I have been in England?"
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
"And that I there met with a very lucky chance?"
"No, monsieur, I did not know that."
"Yes, a very worthy friend of mine, a great nobleman, the viceroy of Scotland and Ireland, has endowed me with an inheritance."
"An inheritance?"
"And a good one, too."
"Then you are rich?"
"Bah!"
"Receive my sincere congratulation."
"Thank you! Look, that is my house."
"Place de Greve?"
"Yes; don't you like this quarter?"
"On the contrary, the look-out over the water is pleasant. Oh! what a pretty old house!"
"The sign Notre Dame; it is an old cabaret, which I have transformed into a private house in two days."
"But the cabaret is still open?"
"Pardieu!"
"And where do you lodge, then?"
"I? I lodge with Planchet."
"You said, just now, 'This is my house.'"
"I said so, because, in fact, it is my house. I have bought it."
"Ah!" said Raoul.
"At ten years' purchase, my dear Raoul; a superb affair; I bought the house for thirty thousand livres; it has a garden which opens to the Rue de la Mortillerie; the cabaret lets for a thousand livres, with the first story; the garret, or second floor, for five hundred livres."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, indeed."
"Five hundred livres for a garret? Why, it is not habitable."
"Therefore no one inhabits it; only, you see, this garret has two windows which look out upon the Place."
"Yes, monsieur."
"Well, then, every time anybody is broken on the wheel or hung, quartered, or burnt, these two windows let for twenty pistoles."
"Oh!" said Raoul, with horror.
"It is disgusting, is it not?" said D'Artagnan.
"Oh!" repeated Raoul.
"It is disgusting, but so it is. These Parisian cockneys are sometimes real anthropophagi. I cannot conceive how men, Christians, can make such speculation.
"That is true."
"As for myself," continued D'Artagnan, "if I inhabited that house, on days of execution I would shut it up to the very keyholes; but I do not inhabit it."
"And you let the garret for five hundred livres?"
"To the ferocious cabaretier, who sub-lets it. I said, then, fifteen hundred livres."
"The natural interest of money," said Raoul, – "five per cent."
"Exactly so. I then have left the side of the house at the back, store-rooms, and cellars, inundated every winter, two hundred livres; and the garden, which is very fine, well planted, well shaded under the walls and the portal of Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais, thirteen hundred livres."
"Thirteen hundred livres! why, that is royal!"
"This is the whole history. I strongly suspect some canon of the parish (these canons are all rich as Croesus) – I suspect some canon of having hired the garden to take his pleasure in. The tenant has given the name of M. Godard. That is either a false name or a real name; if true, he is a canon; if false, he is some unknown; but of what consequence is it to me? he always pays in advance. I had also an idea just now, when I met you, of buying a house in the Place Baudoyer, the back premises of which join my garden, and would make a magnificent property. Your dragoons interrupted my calculations. But come, let us take the Rue de la Vannerie: that will lead us straight to M. Planchet's." D'Artagnan mended his pace, and conducted Raoul to Planchet's dwelling, a chamber of which the grocer had given up to his old master. Planchet was out, but the dinner was ready. There was a remains of military regularity and punctuality preserved in the grocer's household. D'Artagnan returned to the subject of Raoul's future.
"Your father brings you up rather strictly?" said he.
"Justly, monsieur le chevalier."
"Oh, yes, I know Athos is just; but close, perhaps?"
"A royal hand, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Well, never want, my boy! If ever you stand in need of a few pistoles, the old musketeer is at hand."
"My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan!"
"Do you play a little?"
"Never."
"Successful with the ladies, then? – Oh! my little Aramis! That, my dear friend, costs even more than play. It is true we fight when we lose; that is a compensation. Bah! that little sniveller, the king, makes winners give him his revenge. What a reign! my poor Raoul, what a reign! When we think that, in my time, the musketeers were besieged in their houses like Hector and Priam in the city of Troy; and the women wept, and then the walls laughed, and then five hundred beggarly fellows clapped their hands and cried, 'Kill! kill!' when not one musketeer was hurt. Mordioux! you will never see anything like that."
"You are very hard upon the king, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan and yet you scarcely know him."
"I! Listen, Raoul. Day by day, hour by hour, – take note of my words, – I will predict what he will do. The cardinal being dead, he will fret; very well, that is the least silly thing he will do, particularly if he does not shed a tear."
"And then?"
"Why, then he will get M. Fouquet to allow him a pension, and will go and compose verses at Fontainebleau, upon some Mancini or other, whose eyes the queen will scratch out. She is a Spaniard, you see, – this queen of ours; and she has, for mother-in-law, Madame Anne of Austria. I know something of the Spaniards of the house of Austria."
"And next?"
"Well, after having torn the silver lace from the uniforms of his Swiss, because lace is too expensive, he will dismount his musketeers, because oats and hay of a horse cost five sols a day."
"Oh! do not say that."
"Of what consequence is it to me? I am no longer a musketeer, am I? Let them be on horseback, let them be on foot, let them carry a larding-pin, a spit, a sword, or nothing-what is it to me?"
"My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, I beseech you speak no more ill of the king. I am almost in his service, and my father would be very angry with me for having heard, even from your mouth, words injurious to his majesty."
"Your father, eh! He is a knight in every bad cause. Pardieu! yes, your father is a brave man, a Caesar, it is true-but a man without perception."
"Now, my dear chevalier," exclaimed Raoul, laughing, "are you going to speak ill of my father, of him you call the great Athos? Truly you are in a bad vein to-day; riches render you as sour as poverty renders other people."
"Pardieu! you are right. I am a rascal and in my dotage; I am an unhappy wretch grown old; a tent-cord untwisted, a pierced cuirass, a boot without a sole, a spur without a rowel; – but do me the pleasure to add one thing."
"What is that, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"Simply say: 'Mazarin was a pitiful wretch.'"
"Perhaps he is dead."
"More the reason-I say was; if I did not hope that he was dead, I would entreat you to say: 'Mazarin is a pitiful wretch.' Come, say so, say so, for love of me."
"Well, I will."
"Say it!"
"Mazarin was a pitiful wretch," said Raoul, smiling at the musketeer, who roared with laughter, as in his best days.
"A moment," said the latter; "you have spoken my first proposition, here is the conclusion of it, – repeat, Raoul, repeat: 'But I regret Mazarin.'"
"Chevalier!"
"You will not say it? Well, then, I will say it twice for you."
"But you would regret Mazarin?"
And they were still laughing and discussing this profession of principles, when one of the shop-boys entered. "A letter, monsieur," said he, "for M. d'Artagnan."
"Thank you; give it me," cried the musketeer.
"The handwriting of monsieur le comte," said Raoul.
"Yes, yes." And D'Artagnan broke the seal.
"Dear friend," said Athos, "a person has just been here to beg me to seek for you, on the part of the king."
"Seek me!" said D'Artagnan, letting the paper fall upon the table. Raoul picked it up, and continued to read aloud: -
"Make haste. His majesty is very anxious to speak to you, and expects you at the Louvre."
"Expects me?" again repeated the musketeer.
"He, he, he!" laughed Raoul.
"Oh, oh!" replied D'Artagnan. "What the devil can this mean?"
