The Vicomte de Bragelonne
Page 134
CHAPTER CXXXIII.
THE BULLETIN.
The Duc de Beaufort wrote to Athos. The letter destined for the livingonly reached the dead. God had changed the address.
"MY DEAR COMTE," wrote the prince in his large, bad school-boy's hand--"a great misfortune has struck us amid a great triumph. The king loses one of the bravest of soldiers. I lose a friend. You lose M. de Bragelonne. He has died gloriously, and so gloriously that I have not the strength to weep as I could wish. Receive my sad compliments, my dear comte. Heaven distributes trials according to the greatness of our hearts. This is an immense one, but not above your courage. Your good friend,
"LE DUC DE BEAUFORT."
The letter contained a relation written by one of the prince'ssecretaries. It was the most touching recital, and the most true, ofthat dismal episode which unraveled two existences. D'Artagnan,accustomed to battle emotions, and with a heart armed againsttenderness, could not help starting on reading the name of Raoul, thename of that beloved boy who had become, as his father had, a shade.
"In the morning," said the prince's secretary, "monseigneur commandedthe attack. Normandy and Picardy had taken position in the gray rocksdominated by the heights of the mountain, upon the declivity of whichwere raised the bastions of Gigelli.
"The cannon beginning to fire, opened the action; the regiments marchedfull of resolution; the pikemen had their pikes elevated, the bearers ofmuskets had their weapons ready. The prince followed attentively themarch and movements of the troops, so as to be able to sustain themwith a strong reserve. With monseigneur were the oldest captains and hisaides-de-camp. M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne had received orders not toleave his highness. In the meantime the enemy's cannon, which at firsthad thundered with little success against the masses, had regulated itsfire, and the balls, better directed, had killed several men near theprince. The regiments formed in column and which were advancing againstthe ramparts were rather roughly handled. There was a sort of hesitationin our troops, who found themselves ill-seconded by the artillery. Infact, the batteries which had been established the evening before hadbut a weak and uncertain aim, on account of their position. Thedirection from low to high lessened the justness of the shots as well astheir range.
"Monseigneur, comprehending the bad effect of this position of the siegeartillery, commanded the frigates moored in the little road to commencea regular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered himself atonce to carry this order. But monseigneur refused to acquiesce in thevicomte's request. Monseigneur was right, for he loved and wished tospare the young nobleman. He was quite right, and the event took uponitself to justify his foresight and refusal; for scarcely had thesergeant charged with the message solicited by M. de Bragelonne gainedthe sea-shore, when two shots from long carbines issued from the enemy'sranks and laid him low. The sergeant fell, dyeing the sand with hisblood; observing which, M. de Bragelonne smiled at monseigneur, who saidto him, 'You see, vicomte, I have saved your life. Report that, someday, to M. le Comte de la Fere, in order that, learning it from you, hemay thank me.' The young nobleman smiled sadly, and replied to the duc,'It is true, monseigneur, that but for your kindness I should have beenkilled, where the poor sergeant has fallen, and should be at rest.' M.de Bragelonne made this reply in such a tone that monseigneur answeredhim warmly. 'Vrai Dieu! young man, one would say that your mouth watersfor death; but, by the soul of Henry IV., I have promised your father tobring you back alive; and, please the Lord, I will keep my word."
"Monsieur de Bragelonne colored, and replied in a lower voice,'Monseigneur, pardon me, I beseech you; I have always had the desire togo to meet good opportunities; and it is so delightful to distinguishourselves before our general, particularly when that general is M. leDuc de Beaufort."
"Monseigneur was a little softened by this; and, turning to the officerswho surrounded him, gave his different orders. The grenadiers of the tworegiments got near enough to the ditches and the intrenchments to launchtheir grenades, which had but little effect. In the meanwhile, M.d'Estrees, who commanded the fleet, having seen the attempt of thesergeant to approach the vessels, understood that he must act withoutorders, and open his fire. Then the Arabs, finding themselves seriouslyinjured by the balls from the fleet, and beholding the destruction andthe ruins of their bad walls, uttered the most fearful cries. Theirhorsemen descended the mountain at the gallop, bent over their saddles,and rushed full tilt upon the columns of infantry, which, crossing theirpikes, stopped this mad assault. Repulsed by the firm attitude of thebattalion, the Arabs threw themselves with great fury toward the_etat-major_, which was not on its guard at that moment.
"The danger was great; monseigneur drew his sword; his secretaries andpeople imitated him; the officers of the suite engaged in combat withthe furious Arabs. It was then M. de Bragelonne was able to satisfy theinclination he had manifested from the commencement of the action. Hefought near the prince with the valor of a Roman, and killed three Arabswith his small sword. But it was evident that his bravery did not arisefrom one of those sentiments of pride natural to all who fight. It wasimpetuous, affected, forced even; he sought to intoxicate himself withnoise and carnage. He heated himself to such a degree that monseigneurcalled out to him to stop. He must have heard the voice of monseigneur,because we who were close to him heard it. He did not, however, stop,but continued his course toward the entrenchments. As M. de Bragelonnewas a well-disciplined officer, this disobedience to the orders ofmonseigneur very much surprised everybody, and M. de Beaufort redoubledhis earnestness, crying, 'Stop, Bragelonne! Where are you going? Stop,'repeated monsiegneur, 'I command you!'
"We all, imitating the gesture of M. le Duc, we all raised our hands. Weexpected that the cavalier would turn bridle; but M. de Bragelonnecontinued to ride toward the palisades.
"'Stop, Bragelonne!' repeated the prince, in a very loud voice; 'stop!in the name of your father!'
"At these words M. de Bragelonne turned round, his countenance expresseda lively grief, but he did not stop; we then concluded that his horsemust have run away with him. When M. le Duc had imagined that thevicomte was not master of his horse, and had seen him precede the firstgrenadiers, his highness cried, 'Musketeers, kill his horse! A hundredpistoles for him who shall kill his horse!' But who could expect to hitthe beast without at least wounding his rider? No one durst venture. Atlength one presented himself; he was a sharpshooter of the regiment ofPicardy, named Luzerne, who took aim at the animal, fired, and hit himin the quarters, for we saw the blood redden the hair of the horse.Instead of falling, the cursed jennet was irritated, and carried him onmore furiously than ever. Every Picard who saw this unfortunate youngman rushing on to meet death, shouted in the loudest manner, 'Throwyourself off, Monsieur le Vicomte!--off!--off!--throw yourself off!' M.de Bragelonne was an officer much beloved in the army. Already had thevicomte arrived within pistol-shot of the ramparts, a discharge waspoured upon him, and enveloped him in its fire and smoke. We lost sightof him; the smoke dispersed; he was on foot, standing; his horse waskilled.
"The vicomte was summoned to surrender by the Arabs, but he made them anegative sign with his head, and continued to march toward thepalisades. This was a mortal imprudence. Nevertheless the whole army waspleased that he would not retreat, since ill chance had led him so near.He marched a few paces further, and the two regiments clapped theirhands. It was at this moment the second discharge shook the walls, andthe Vicomte de Bragelonne again disappeared in the smoke; but this timethe smoke was dispersed in vain, we no longer saw him standing. He wasdown, with his head lower than his legs, among the bushes, and the Arabsbegan to think of leaving their intrenchments to come and cut off hishead or take his body, as is the custom with the infidels. ButMonseigneur le Duc de Beaufort had followed all this with his eyes, andthe sad spectacle drew from him many and painful sighs. He then criedaloud, seeing the Arabs running like white phantoms among themastic-trees, 'Grenadier
s! piqueurs! will you let them take that noblebody?'
"Saying these words and waving his sword, he himself rode toward theenemy. The regiments, rushing in his steps, ran in their turns, utteringcries as terrible as those of the Arabs were wild.
"The combat commenced over the body of M. de Bragelonne, and with suchinveteracy was it fought, that a hundred and sixty Arabs were left uponthe field, by the side of at least fifty of our troops. It was alieutenant from Normandy who took the body of the vicomte on hisshoulders and carried it back to the lines. The advantage was, however,pursued, the regiments took the reserve with them, and the enemy'spalisades were destroyed. At three o'clock the fire of the Arabs ceased;the hand to hand fight lasted two hours; that was a massacre. At fiveo'clock we were victorious on all the points; the enemy had abandonedhis positions, and M. le Duc had ordered the white flag to be plantedupon the culminating point of the little mountain. It was then we hadtime to think of M. de Bragelonne, who had eight large wounds throughhis body, by which almost all his blood had escaped. Still, however, hebreathed, which afforded inexpressible joy to monseigneur, who insistedupon being present at the first dressing of the wounds and at theconsultation of the surgeons. There were two among them who declared M.de Bragelonne would live. Monseigneur threw his arms round their necks,and promised them a thousand louis each if they could save him.
"The vicomte heard these transports of joy, and whether he was indespair, or whether he suffered much from his wounds, he expressed byhis countenance a contradiction, which gave rise to reflection,particularly in one of the secretaries when he had heard what follows.The third surgeon was the brother of Sylvain de Saint-Cosme, the mostlearned of ours. He probed the wounds in his turn, and said nothing. M.de Bragelonne fixed his eyes steadily upon the skillful surgeon, andseemed to interrogate his every movement. The latter, upon beingquestioned by monseigneur, replied that he saw plainly three mortalwounds out of eight, but so strong was the constitution of the wounded,so rich was he in youth, and so merciful was the goodness of God, thatperhaps M. de Bragelonne might recover, particularly if he did not movein the slightest manner. Frere Sylvain added, turning toward hisassistants, 'Above everything, do not allow him to move even a finger,or you will kill him;' and we all left the tent in very low spirits.That secretary I have mentioned, on leaving the tent, thought heperceived a faint and sad smile glide over the lips of M. de Bragelonnewhen the duc said to him, in a cheerful, kind voice, 'We shall save you,vicomte, we shall save you!'
"In the evening, when it was believed the wounded young man had takensome repose, one of the assistants entered his tent, but rushedimmediately out again, uttering loud cries. We all ran up in disorder,M. le Duc with us, and the assistant pointed to the body of M. deBragelonne upon the ground, at the foot of his bed, bathed in theremainder of his blood. It appeared that he had had some convulsion,some febrile movement, and that he had fallen; that the fall hadaccelerated his end, according to the prognostic of Frere Sylvain. Weraised the vicomte; he was cold and dead. He held a lock of fair hair inhis right hand, and that hand was pressed tightly upon his heart."
Then followed the details of the expedition, and of the victory obtainedover the Arabs. D'Artagnan stopped at the account of the death of poorRaoul. "Oh!" murmured he, "unhappy boy! a suicide!"
And turning his eyes toward the chamber of the chateau, in which Athosslept in eternal sleep, "They kept their words with each other," saidhe, in a low voice; "now I believe them to be happy; they must bereunited." And he returned through the parterre with slow and melancholysteps. All the village--all the neighborhood--were filled with grievingneighbors relating to each other the double catastrophe, and makingpreparations for the funeral.