The Vicomte de Bragelonne

by Alexandre Dumas

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  HAMPTON COURT.

  The revelation of which we have been witnesses, that Montalais made toLa Valliere, in a preceding chapter, very naturally makes us return tothe principal hero of this tale, a poor wandering knight, roving aboutat the king's caprice. If our reader will be good enough to follow us,we will, in his company, cross that strait more stormy than theEuripus--that which separates Calais from Dover; we will speed acrossthat green and fertile country, with its numerous little streams;through Maidstone, and many other villages and towns, each prettier thanthe other; and finally arrive at London. From thence, like bloodhoundsfollowing a track, after having ascertained that Raoul had made hisfirst stay at Whitehall, his second at St. James's, and having learnedthat he had been warmly received by Monk, and introduced into the bestsociety of Charles II.'s court, we will follow him to one of CharlesII.'s summer residences, near the town of Kingston, at Hampton Court,situated on the Thames. This river is not, at that spot, the boastfulhighway which bears upon its broad bosom its thousands of travelers; norare its waters black and troubled as those of Cocytus, as it boastfullyasserts, "I, too? am the sea." No; at Hampton Court it is a soft andmurmuring stream, with moss-grown banks, reflecting, in its broadmirror, the willows and beeches which ornament its sides, and on whichmay occasionally be seen a light bark indolently reclining among thetall reeds, in a little creek formed of alders and forget-me-nots. Thesurrounding county on all sides seemed smiling in happiness and wealth;the brick cottages, from whose chimneys the blue smoke was slowlyascending in wreaths, peeped forth from the belts of green holly whichenvironed them; children dressed in red frocks appeared and disappearedamid the high grass, like poppies bowed by the gentle breath of thepassing breeze. The sheep, ruminating with closed eyes, lay lazily aboutunder the shadow of the stunted aspens; while, far and near, thekingfisher, clad in emerald and gold, skimmed swiftly along the surfaceof the water, like a magic ball, heedlessly touching, as he passed, theline of his brother angler, who sat watching, in his boat, the fish asthey rose to the surface of the sparkling stream.

  High above this paradise of dark shadows and soft light arose the palaceof Hampton Court, which had been built by Wolsey--a residence which thehaughty cardinal had been obliged, timid courtier that he was, to offerto his master, Henry VIII., who had frowned with envy and feelings ofcupidity at the aspect of the new palace. Hampton Court, with its brickwalls, its large windows, its handsome iron gates, as well as itscurious bell-turrets, its retired covered walks, and interior fountains,like those of the Alhambra, was a perfect bower of roses, jasmine, andclematis. Every sense, of sight and smell particularly, was gratified,and formed a most charming framework for the picture of love whichCharles II. unrolled among the voluptuous paintings of Titian, ofPordenone, and of Vandyck: the same Charles whose father's portrait--themartyr king--was hanging in his gallery, and who could show upon thewainscots of the various apartments the holes made by the balls of thepuritanical followers of Cromwell, on the 24th August, 1648, at the timethey had brought Charles I. prisoner to Hampton Court. There it was thatthe king, intoxicated with pleasure and amusement, held his court--hewho, a poet in feeling, thought himself justified in redeeming, by awhole day of voluptuousness, every minute which had been formerly passedin anguish and misery. It was not the soft greensward of HamptonCourt--so soft that it almost resembled the richest velvet in thethickness of its texture--nor was it the beds of flowers, with theirvariegated hues, which encircled the foot of every tree, with rose-treesmany feet in height, embracing most lovingly their trunks--nor even theenormous lime-trees, whose branches swept the earth like willows,offering a ready concealment for love or reflection beneath the shadeof their foliage--it was none of these things for which Charles II.loved his palace of Hampton Court. Perhaps it might have been thatbeautiful sheet of water, which the cool breeze rippled like the wavyundulations of Cleopatra's hair; waters bedecked with cresses and whitewater-lilies, with hardy bulbs, which, half unfolding themselves beneaththe sun's warm rays, reveal the golden-colored germs which lie concealedin their milk-white covering; murmuring waters, on the bosom of whichthe black swans majestically floated, and the restless waterfowl, withtheir tender broods covered with silken down, darted restlessly in everydirection, in pursuit of the insects among the flags, or the frogs intheir mossy retreats. Perhaps it might have been the enormous hollies,with their dark and tender green foliage; or the bridges which unitedthe banks of the canals in their embrace; or the fawns browsing in theendless avenues of the park; or the numberless birds which hopped aboutthe gardens, or flew from branch to branch, amid the dense foliage ofthe trees.

  It might well have been any of these charms, for Hampton Court possessedthem all; and possessed, too, almost forests of white roses, whichclimbed and trailed along the lofty trellises, showering down upon theground their snowy leaves rich with odorous perfumes. But no; whatCharles II. most loved in Hampton Court was the charming figures who,when mid-day was passed, flitted to and fro along the broad terraces ofthe gardens. Like Louis XIV., he had had their wealth of beautiespainted for his cabinet by one of the great artists of the period--anartist who well knew the secret of transferring to canvas a ray of lightwhich had escaped from their beaming eyes laden with love and love'sdelights.

  The day of our arrival at Hampton Court is almost as clear and bright asa summer's day in France; the atmosphere is laden with the deliciousperfume of the geraniums, sweet-peas, seringas, and heliotrope, whichare scattered in profusion around. It is past mid-day, and the king,having dined after his return from hunting, paid a visit to LadyCastlemaine, the lady who was reputed at the time to hold his heart inbondage; and, with this proof of his devotion discharged, he was readilypermitted to pursue his infidelities until evening arrived. Love andamusement ruled the whole court. It was the period when ladies wouldseriously interrogate their ruder companions as to their opinion upon afoot more or less captivating, according to whether it wore a pink orgreen silk-stocking; for it was the period when Charles II. had declaredthat there was no hope of safety for a woman who wore greensilk-stockings, because Miss Lucy Stewart wore them of that color. Whilethe king is endeavoring in all directions to inculcate others with hispreferences on this point, we will ourselves bend our steps toward anavenue of beech-trees opposite the terrace, and listen to theconversation of a young girl in a dark-colored dress, who is walkingwith another of about her own age dressed in lilac and dark blue. Theycrossed a beautiful lawn, in the middle of which arose a fountain, withthe figure of a syren executed in bronze, and strolled on, talking asthey went, toward the terrace, along which, looking out upon the park,and interspersed at frequent intervals, were erected summer-houses,various in form and ornaments. These summer-houses were nearly alloccupied. The two young women passed on, the one blushing deeply, whilethe other seemed dreamily silent. At last, having reached the end of theterrace which looks on the river, and finding there a cool retreat, theysat down close to each other.

  "Where are we going, Stewart?" said the younger to her companion.

  "My dear Grafton, we are going where you yourself led the way."

  "I?"

  "Yes, you; to the extremity of the palace, toward that seat yonder,where the young Frenchman is seated, wasting his time and sighs andlamentations."

  Miss Mary Grafton hurriedly said, "No, no; I am not going there."

  "Why not?"

  "Let us go back, Stewart."

  "Nay, on the contrary, let us go on and have an explanation."

  "About what?"

  "About how it happens that the Vicomte de Bragelonne always accompaniesyou in all your walks, as you invariably accompany him in his."

  "And you conclude either that he loves me or that I love him?"

  "Why not?--he is a most agreeable and charming companion--No one hearsme, I hope," said Lucy Stewart, as she turned round with a smile, whichindicated, moreover, that her uneasiness on the subject was not extreme.

  "No, no," said Mary, "the king is
engaged in his summer-house with theDuke of Buckingham."

  "Oh! apropos of the duke; Mary, it seems he has shown you greatattention since his return from France; how is your own heart in thatdirection?"

  Mary Grafton shrugged her shoulders with seeming indifference.

  "Well, well, I will ask Bragelonne about that," said Stewart, laughing;"let us go and find him at once."

  "What for?"

  "I wish to speak to him."

  "Not yet; one word before you do; come, Stewart, you who know so many ofthe king's secrets, tell me why M. de Bragelonne is in England?"

  "Because he was sent as an envoy from one sovereign to another."

  "That may be; but, seriously, although politics do not much concern us,we know enough to be satisfied that M. de Bragelonne has no mission ofany serious import here."

  "Well, then, listen," said Stewart, with assumed gravity, "for your sakeI am going to betray a state secret. Shall I tell you the nature of theletter which King Louis XIV. gave M. de Bragelonne for King Charles II.?I will; these are the very words, 'My brother, the bearer of this is agentleman attached to my court, and the son of one whom you regard mostwarmly. Treat him kindly, I beg, and try and make him like England.'"

  "Did it say that?"

  "Word for word--or something very like it. I will not answer for theform; but the substance I am sure of."

  "Well, and what conclusion do you, or rather what conclusion does theking, draw from that?"

  "That the king of France has his own reasons for removing M. deBragelonne, and for getting him married--somewhere else than in France."

  "So that, then, in consequence of this letter--"

  "King Charles received M. de Bragelonne, as you are aware, in the mostdistinguished and friendly manner; the handsomest apartments inWhitehall were allotted to him; and as you are the most valuable andprecious person in his court, inasmuch as you have rejected hisheart--nay, do not blush--he wished you to take a fancy to thisFrenchman, and he was desirous to confer upon him so costly a prize. Andthis is the reason why you, the heiress of three hundred thousandpounds, a future duchess, and one so beautiful and so good, have beenthrown in Bragelonne's way, in all the promenades and parties ofpleasure to which he was invited. In fact, it was a plot--a kind ofconspiracy."

  Mary Grafton smiled with that charming expression which was habitual toher, and, pressing her companion's arm, said: "Thank the king, Lucy."

  "Yes, yes, but the Duke of Buckingham is jealous, so take care."

  Hardly had she pronounced these words than the duke appeared from one ofthe pavilions on the terrace, and, approaching the two girls, with asmile, said: "You are mistaken, Miss Lucy; I am not jealous; and theproof, Miss Mary, is yonder, in the person of M. de Bragelonne himself,who ought to be the cause of my jealousy, but who is dreaming in pensivesolitude. Poor fellow! Allow me to leave you for a few minutes, while Iavail myself of those few minutes to converse with Miss Lucy Stewart, towhom I have something to say." And then, bowing to Lucy, he added: "Willyou do me the honor to accept my hand, in order that I may lead you tothe king, who is waiting for us?" With these words, Buckingham, stillsmiling, took Miss Stewart's hand, and led her away. When by herself,Mary Grafton, her head gently inclined toward her shoulder, with thatindolent gracefulness of action which distinguishes young English girls,remained for a moment with her eyes fixed on Raoul, but as if uncertainwhat to do. At last, after first blushing violently, and then turningdeadly pale, thus revealing the internal combat which assailed herheart, she seemed to make up her mind to adopt a decided course, and,with a tolerably firm step, advanced toward the seat on which Raoul wasreclining, buried in the profoundest meditation, as we have alreadysaid. The sound of Miss Mary's steps, though they could be hardly heardupon the green sward, awakened Raoul from his musing attitude: he turnedround, perceived the young girl, and walked forward to meet thecompanion whom his happy destiny had thrown in his way.

  "I have been sent to you, monsieur," said Mary Grafton; "will you acceptme?"

  "To whom is my gratitude due, for so great a happiness?" inquired Raoul.

  "To the Duke of Buckingham," replied Mary, affecting a gayety she didnot really feel.

  "To the Duke of Buckingham, do you say?--he who so passionately seeksyour charming society! Am I really to believe you are serious,mademoiselle?"

  "The fact is, monsieur, you perceive that everything seems to conspireto make us pass the best, or rather the longest, part of our daystogether. Yesterday, it was the king who desired me to beg you to seatyourself next to me at dinner; to-day, it is the Duke of Buckingham whobegs me to come and place myself near to you on this seat."

  "And he has gone away in order to leave us together?" asked Raoul, withsome embarrassment.

  "Look yonder, at the turning of that path; he is just out of sight, withMiss Stewart. Are these polite attentions usual in France, Monsieur leComte?"

  "I cannot very precisely' say what people do in France, mademoiselle,for I can hardly be called a Frenchman. I have resided in manycountries, and almost always as a soldier; and then, I have spent a longperiod of my life in the country. I am almost a savage."

  "You do not like your residence in England, I fear."

  "I scarcely know," said Raoul, inattentively, and sighing deeply at thesame time.

  "What! you do not know."

  "Forgive me," said Raoul, shaking his head, and collecting his thoughts,"I did not hear you."

  "Oh!" said the young girl, sighing in her turn, "how wrong the duke wasto send me here!"

  "Wrong!" said Raoul, "perhaps so; for I am but a rude, uncouthcompanion, and my society annoys you. The duke was, indeed, very wrongto send you."

  "It is precisely," replied Mary Grafton, in a clear, calm voice,"because your society does not annoy me, that the duke was wrong to sendme to you."

  It was now Raoul's turn to blush. "But," he resumed, "how happens it,that the Duke of Buckingham should send you to me: and why should youhave come? the duke loves you, and you love him."

  "No," replied Mary, seriously, "the duke does not love me, because he isin love with the Duchesse d'Orleans; and, as for myself, I have noaffection for the duke."

  Raoul looked at the young girl with astonishment.

  "Are you a friend of the Duke of Buckingham?" she inquired.

  "The duke has honored me by calling me so ever since we met in France."

  "You are simple acquaintances, then?"

  "No; for the duke is the most intimate friend of one whom I regard as abrother."

  "The Duc de Guiche?"

  "Yes."

  "He who is in love with Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans."

  "Oh! What is that you are saying?"

  "And who loves him in return," continued the young girl, quietly.

  Raoul bent down his head, and Mary Grafton, sighing deeply, continued,"They are very happy. But, leave me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, for theDuke of Buckingham has given you a very troublesome commission inoffering me as a companion in your promenade. Your heart is elsewhere,and it is with the greatest difficulty you can be charitable enough tolend me your attention. Confess truly; it would be unfair on your part,vicomte, not to confess it."

  "Madame, I do confess it."

  She looked at him steadily. He was so noble and so handsome in hisbearing, his eye revealed so much gentleness, candor, and resolution,that the idea could not possibly enter her mind that he was eitherrudely discourteous, or a mere simpleton. She only perceived, clearlyenough, that he loved another woman, and not herself, with the wholestrength of his heart. "Ah! I now understand you," she said; "you haveleft your heart behind you in France." Raoul bowed. "The duke is awareof your affection."

  "No one knows it," replied Raoul.

  "Why, therefore, do you tell me? Nay, answer me."

  "I cannot."

  "It is for me, then, to anticipate an explanation you do not wish totell me anything, because you are now convinced that I do not love theduke; because you see that I possibly m
ight have loved you; because youare a gentleman of noble and delicate sentiments; and because, insteadof accepting, even were it for the mere amusement of the passing hour, ahand which is almost pressed upon you; and, because instead of meetingmy smiles with a smiling lip, you, who are young, have preferred to tellme, whom men have called beautiful, 'My heart is far away in France.'For this I thank you, Monsieur de Bragelonne; you are, indeed, anoble-hearted, noble-minded man, and I regard you yet more for it. As afriend only. And now let us cease speaking of myself, and talk of yourown affairs. Forget that I have ever spoken to you of myself; tell mewhy you are sad, and why you have become more than usually so duringthese four past days?"

  Raoul was deeply and sensibly moved by her sweet and melancholy tone;and as he could not, at the moment, find a word to say, the young girlagain came to his assistance.

  "Pity me," she said. "My mother was born in France, and I can trulyaffirm that I, too, am French in blood, as well as in feeling; but theheavy atmosphere and characteristic gloom of England seem to weigh likea burden upon me. Sometimes my dreams are golden-hued and full ofwondrous enjoyment, but suddenly a mist arises and overspreads mydreams, and blots them out forever. Such, indeed, is the case at thepresent moment. Forgive me; I have now said enough on that subject: giveme your hand, and relate your griefs to me as to a friend."

  "You say you are French in heart and soul."

  "Yes, not only I repeat it, that my mother was French, but, furtherstill, as my father, a friend of King Charles I., was exiled in France,I, during the trial of that prince, as well as during the Protector'slife, was brought up in Paris; at the restoration of King Charles II.,my poor father returned to England, where he died almost immediatelyafterward; and then the king created me a duchess, and has dowered meaccording to my rank."

  "Have you any relations in France?" Raoul inquired with the deepestinterest.

  "I have a sister there, my senior by seven or eight years, who wasmarried in France, and was early left a widow; her name is Madame deBelliere. Do you know her?" she added, observing Raoul start suddenly.

  "I have heard her name mentioned."

  "She, too, loves with her whole heart; and her last letter informs methat she is happy, and her affection is, I conclude, returned. I toldyou, Monsieur de Bragelonne, that although I possess half of her nature,I do not share her happiness. But let us now speak of yourself: whom doyou love in France?"

  "A young girl, as soft and as pure as a lily."

  "But if she loves you, why are you sad?"

  "I have been told that she has ceased to love me."

  "You do not believe it, I trust?"

  "He who wrote me so does not sign his letter."

  "An anonymous denunciation! some treachery, be assured," said MissGrafton.

  "Stay," said Raoul, showing the young girl a letter which he had readover a thousand times; she took it from his hand and read as follows:

  "Vicomte--You are perfectly right to amuse yourself yonder with the lovely faces of Charles II.'s court, for at Louis XIV.'s court, the castle in which your affections are enshrined is being besieged. Stay in London altogether, poor vicomte, or return without delay to Paris."

  "There is no signature," said Miss Mary.

  "None."

  "Believe it not, then."

  "Very good; but here is a second letter, from my friend De Guiche, whichsays, 'I am lying here wounded and ill. Return, Raoul, oh return!'"

  "What do you intend doing?" inquired the young girl, with a feeling ofoppression at her heart.

  "My intention, as soon as I received this letter, was immediately totake my leave of the king."

  "When did you receive it?"

  "The day before yesterday."

  "It is dated from Fontainebleau."

  "A singular circumstance, do you not think, for the court is now atParis? At all events, I would have set off; but when I mentioned myintention to the king, he began to laugh, and said to me, 'How comes it,Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, that you think of leaving? Has your sovereignrecalled you?' I colored, naturally enough, for I was confused by thequestion; for the fact is, the king himself sent me here, and I havereceived no order to return."

  Mary frowned in deep thought, and said, "Do you remain, then?"

  "I must, mademoiselle."

  "Do you ever receive any letters from her to whom you are so devoted?"

  "Never."

  "Never, do you say? Does she not love you, then?"

  "At least, she has not written to me since my departure, although sheused occasionally to write to me before. I trust she may have beenprevented."

  "Hush! the duke is here."

  And Buckingham at that moment was seen at the end of the walk,approaching toward them, alone and smiling; he advanced slowly, and heldout his hands to them both. "Have you arrived at an understanding?" hesaid.

  "About what?"

  "About whatever might render you happy, dear Mary, and make Raoul lessmiserable."

  "I do not understand you, my lord," said Raoul.

  "That is my view of the subject, Miss Mary: do you wish me to mention itbefore M. de Bragelonne?" he added with a smile.

  "If you mean," replied the young girl, haughtily, "that I was notindisposed to love M. de Bragelonne, that is useless, for I have toldhim so myself."

  Buckingham reflected for a moment, and, without seeming in any waydiscountenanced, as she expected, he said: "My reason for leaving youwith M. de Bragelonne was, that I thoroughly knew your refined delicacyof feeling, no less than the perfect loyalty of your mind and heart, andI hoped that M. de Bragelonne's cure might be effected by the hands of aphysician such as you are."

  "But, my lord, before you spoke of M. de Bragelonne's heart, you spoketo me of your own. Do you mean me to effect the cure of two hearts atthe same time?"

  "Perfectly true, madame: but you will do me the justice to admit that Ihave long discontinued a useless pursuit, acknowledging that my ownwound is incurable."

  "My lord," said Mary, collecting herself for a moment before she spoke,"M. de Bragelonne is happy, for he loves and is beloved. He has no needof such a physician as I can be."

  "M. de Bragelonne," said Buckingham, "is on the very eve of experiencinga serious misfortune, and he has greater need than ever of sympathy andaffection."

  "Explain yourself, my lord," inquired Raoul anxiously.

  "No; gradually I will explain myself; but, if you desire it, I can tellMiss Grafton what you may not listen to yourself."

  "My lord, you are putting me to the torture; you know something you wishto conceal from me?"

  "I know that Miss Mary Grafton is the most charming object that a heartill at ease could, possibly meet with in its way through life."

  "I have already told you that the Vicomte de Bragelonne loveselsewhere," said the young girl.

  "He is wrong, then."

  "Do you assume to know, my lord, that I am wrong?"

  "Yes."

  "Whom is it that he loves, then?" exclaimed the young girl.

  "He loves a woman who is unworthy of him," said Buckingham, with thatcalm, collected manner peculiar to an Englishman.

  Miss Grafton uttered a cry, which, together with the remark thatBuckingham had that moment made, spread over De Bragelonne's features adeadly paleness, arising from the sudden surprise, and also from a vaguefear of impending misfortune. "My lord," he exclaimed, "You have justpronounced words which compel me, without a moment's delay, to seektheir explanation at Paris."

  "You will remain here," said Buckingham, "because you have no right toleave: and no one has the right to quit the service of the king for thatof any woman, even were she as worthy of being loved as Mary Graftonis."

  "You will tell me all, then?"

  "I will, on condition that you will remain."

  "I will remain, if you will promise to speak openly, and withoutreserve."

  Thus far had their conversation proceeded, and Buckingham, in allprobability, was on the point of reveali
ng, not indeed all that hadtaken place, but at least all he was aware of, when one of the king'sattendants appeared at the end of the terrace, and advanced toward thesummer-house where the king was sitting with Lucy Stewart. A courierfollowed him, covered with dust from head to foot, and who seemed as ifhe had but a few moments before dismounted from his horse.

  "The courier from France! Madame's courier!" exclaimed Raoul,recognizing the princess's livery; and while the attendant and thecourier advanced toward the king, Buckingham and Miss Grafton exchangeda look full of intelligence with each other.