CHAPTER CVII.
PROMISES.
Scarcely had D'Artagnan re-entered his apartment with his two friends,than one of the soldiers of the fort came to inform him that thegovernor was seeking for him. The bark which Raoul had perceived at sea,and which appeared so eager to gain the port, came to Sainte-Margueritewith an important dispatch for the captain of the musketeers. On openingit, D'Artagnan recognized the writing of the king: "I should think,"said Louis XIV., "you will have completed the execution of my orders,Monsieur d'Artagnan; return then immediately to Paris, and join me atthe Louvre."
"There is the end of my exile!" cried the musketeer with joy; "God bepraised, I am no longer a jailer!" And he showed the letter to Athos.
"So then you must leave us?" replied the latter, in a melancholy tone.
"Yes; but to meet again, dear friend, seeing that Raoul is old enoughnow to go alone with M. de Beaufort, and who will prefer his fathergoing back in company with M. d'Artagnan, to forcing him to travel twohundred leagues solitarily to reach home at La Fere; would you not,Raoul?"
"Certainly," stammered the latter, with an expression of tender regret.
"No, no, my friend," interrupted Athos, "I will never quit Raoul tillthe day his vessel shall have disappeared on the horizon. As long as heremains in France, he shall not be separated from me."
"As you please, dear friend; but we will, at least, leaveSainte-Marguerite together; take advantage of the bark which will conveyme back to Antibes."
"With all my heart; we cannot too soon be at a distance from this fort,and from the spectacle which saddened us so just now."
The three friends quitted the little isle, after paying their respectsto the governor, and by the last flashes of the departing tempest theytook their farewell of the white walls of the fort. D'Artagnan partedfrom his friends that same night, after having seen fire set to thecarriage upon the shore by the orders of Saint-Mars, according to theadvice the captain had given him. Before getting on horseback, and afterleaving the arms of Athos: "My friends," said he, "you bear too muchresemblance to two soldiers who are abandoning their post. Somethingwarns me that Raoul will require being supported by you in his rank.Will you allow me to ask permission to go over into Africa with ahundred good muskets? The king will not refuse me, and I will take youwith me."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Raoul, pressing his hand with emotion,"thanks for that offer, which would give us more than we wish, eitherMonsieur le Comte or I. I, who am young, stand in need of labor of mindand fatigue of body; Monsieur le Comte wants the profoundest repose. Youare his best friend. I recommend him to your care. In watching over him,you will hold both our souls in your hands."
"I must go; my horse is all in a fret," said D'Artagnan, with whom themost manifest sign of a lively emotion was the change of ideas in aconversation. "Come, comte, how many days longer has Raoul to stayhere?"
"Three days at most."
"And how long will it take you to reach home?"
"Oh! a considerable time," replied Athos. "I shall not like the idea ofbeing separated too quickly from Raoul. Time will travel too fast ofitself to require me to aid it by distance. I shall only makehalf-stages."
"And why so, my friend? Nothing is more dull than traveling slowly; andhostelry life does not become a man like you."
"My friend, I came hither on post-horses; but I wish to purchase twoanimals of a superior kind. Now, to take them home fresh, it would notbe prudent to make them travel more than seven or eight leagues a day."
"Where is Grimaud?"
"He arrived yesterday morning, with Raoul's appointments; and I haveleft him to sleep."
"That is, never to come back again," D'Artagnan suffered to escape him."Till we meet again, then, dear Athos--and if you are diligent, well, Ishall embrace you the sooner." So saying, he put his foot in thestirrup, which Raoul held.
"Farewell!" said the young man, embracing him.
"Farewell!" said D'Artagnan, as he got into his saddle.
His horse made a movement which divided the cavalier from his friends.This scene had taken place in front of the house chosen by Athos, nearthe gates of Antibes, whither D'Artagnan, after his supper, had orderedhis horses to be brought. The road began to extend there, white andundulating in the vapors of the night. The horse eagerly respired thesalt, sharp perfume of the marshes. D'Artagnan put him into a trot; andAthos and Raoul sadly turned toward the house. All at once they heardthe rapid approach of a horse's steps, and at first believed it to beone of those singular repercussions which deceive the ear at every turnin a road. But it was really the return of the horseman. They uttered acry of joyous surprise; and the captain, springing to the ground like ayoung man, seized within his arms the two beloved heads of Athos andRaoul. He held them long embraced thus, without speaking a word, orsuffering the sigh which was bursting his breast to escape him. Then, asrapidly as he had come back, he set off again, with a sharp applicationof his spurs to the sides of his fiery horse.
"Alas!" said the comte, in a low voice, "alas! alas!"
"Evil presage!" on his side said D'Artagnan to himself, making up forlost time. "I could not smile upon them. An evil presage!"
The next day Grimaud was on foot again. The service commanded by M. deBeaufort was happily accomplished. The flotilla, sent to Toulon by theexertions of Raoul, had set out, dragging after it in little nutshells,almost invisible, the wives and friends of the fishermen and smugglersput in requisition for the service of the fleet. The time, so short,which remained for the father and the son to live together, appeared tohave doubled in rapidity, as the swiftness of everything increases whichinclines toward mixing with the gulf of eternity.
Athos and Raoul returned to Toulon, which began to be filled with thenoise of carriages, with the noise of arms, with the noise of neighinghorses. The trumpeters sounded their spirited marches; the drummerssignalized their strength; the streets were overflowing with soldiers,servants, and tradespeople. The Duc de Beaufort was everywhere,superintending the embarkation with the zeal and interest of a goodcaptain. He encouraged even the most humble of his companions; hescolded his lieutenants, even those of the highest rank. Artillery,provisions, baggage, he insisted upon seeing all himself. He examinedthe equipment of every soldier; he assured himself of the health andsoundness of every horse. It was plain that, light, boastful, andegotistical, in his hotel, the gentleman became the soldier again--thehigh noble, a captain--in face of the responsibility he had accepted.And yet, it must be admitted that, whatever was the care with which hepresided over the preparations for departure, it was easy to perceivecareless precipitation, and the absence of all the precaution which makethe French soldier the first soldier in the world, because, in thatworld, he is the one most abandoned to his own physical and moralresources. All things having satisfied, or appearing to have satisfied,the admiral, he paid his compliments to Raoul, and gave the last ordersfor sailing, which was ordered the next morning at daybreak. He invitedthe comte and his son to dine with him; but they, under a pretext of theservice, kept themselves apart. Gaining their hostelry, situated underthe trees of the great Place, they took their repast in haste, andAthos led Raoul to the rocks which dominate the city, vast graymountains, whence the view is infinite, and embraces a liquid horizon,which appears, so remote is it, on a level with the rocks themselves.
The night was fine, as it always is in these happy climates. The moon,rising behind the rocks, unrolled, like a silver sheet, upon the bluecarpet of the sea. In the road, maneuvered silently the vessels whichhad just taken their rank to facilitate the embarkation. The sea, loadedwith phosphoric light, opened beneath the hulls of the barks whichtransported the baggage and munitions; every dip of the prow plowed upthis gulf of white flames; and from every oar dropped liquid diamonds.The sailors, rejoicing in the largesses of the admiral, were heardmurmuring their slow and artless songs. Sometimes, the grinding of thechains was mixed with the dull noise of shot falling into the holds.These harmonies, and this spectacle, opp
ress the heart like fear, anddilate it like hope. All this life speaks of death. Athos had seatedhimself with his son, upon the moss, among the brambles of thepromontory. Around their heads passed and repassed large bats, carriedalong in the fearful whirl of their blind chase. The feet of Raoul wereacross the edge of the cliff, and bathed in that void which is peopledby vertigo and provokes to annihilation. When the moon had risen to itsfull height, caressing with its light the neighboring peaks, when thewatery mirror was illumined in its full extent, and the little red fireshad made their openings in the black masses of every ship, Athoscollected all his ideas, and all his courage, and said:
"God has made all that we see, Raoul; He has made us, also--poor atomsmixed up with this great universe. We shine like those fires and thosestars; we sigh like those waves; we suffer like those great ships whichare worn out in plowing the waves, in obeying the wind which urges themtoward an end, as the breath of God blows us toward a port. Everythinglikes to live, Raoul; and everything is beautiful in living things."
"Monsieur," said Raoul, "we have before us a beautiful spectacle!"
"How good D'Artagnan is!" interrupted. Athos, suddenly, "and what a raregood fortune it is to be supported during a whole life by such a friendas he is! That is what you have wanted, Raoul."
"A friend!" cried Raoul, "I have wanted a friend!"
"M. de Guiche is an agreeable companion," resumed the comte, coldly,"but I believe, in the times in which you live, men are more engaged intheir own interests and their own pleasures than they were in our times.You have sought a secluded life; that is a great happiness, but you havelost your strength in it. We four, more weaned from these delicateabstractions which constitute your joy, we furnished much moreresistance when misfortune presented itself."
"I have not interrupted you, monsieur, to tell you that I had a friend,and that that friend is M. Guiche. Certes, he is good and generous, and,moreover, he loves me. But I have lived under the guardianship ofanother friendship, monsieur, as precious and as strong as that of whichyou speak, since that is yours."
"I have not been a friend for you, Raoul," said Athos.
"Eh! monsieur, and in what respect not?"
"Because I have given you reason to think that life has but one face,because, sad and severe, alas! I have always cut off for you, without,God knows, wishing to do so, the joyous buds which incessantly springfrom the tree of youth; so that at this moment I repent of not havingmade of you a more expansive, dissipated, animated man."
"I know why you say that, monsieur. No, it is not you who have made mewhat I am; it was love which took me at the time when children have onlyinclinations; it is the constancy natural to my character, which withother creatures is but a habit. I believed that I should always be as Iwas; I thought God had cast me in a path quite cleared, quite straight,bordered with fruits and flowers. I had watching over me your vigilanceand your strength. I believed myself to be vigilant and strong. Nothingprepared me; I fell once, and that once deprived me of courage for thewhole of my life. It is quite true that I wrecked myself. Oh, no,monsieur! you are nothing in my past but a happiness--you are nothing inmy future but a hope! No, I have no reproach to make against life, suchas you made it for me; I bless you, and I love you ardently."
"My dear Raoul, your words do me good. They prove to me that you willact a little for me in the time to come."
"I shall only act for you, monsieur."
"Raoul, what I have never hitherto done with respect to you, I willhenceforward do. I will be your friend, not your father. We will live inexpanding ourselves, instead of living and holding ourselves prisoners,when you come back. And that will be soon, will it not?"
"Certainly, monsieur, for such an expedition cannot be long."
"Soon then, Raoul, soon, instead of living moderately upon my income, Iwill give you the capital of my estates. It will suffice for launchingyou into the world till my death; and you will give me, I hope, beforethat time, the consolation of not seeing my race extinct."
"I will do all you shall command," said Raoul, much agitated.
"It is not necessary, Raoul, that your duty as aid-de-camp should leadyou into too hazardous enterprises. You have gone through your ordeal;you are known to be good under fire. Remember that war with the Arabs isa war of snares, ambuscades, and assassinations."
"So it is said, monsieur."
"There is never much glory in falling in an ambuscade. It is a deathwhich always implies a little rashness or want of foresight. Often,indeed, he who falls in it meets with but little pity. They who are notpitied, Raoul, have died uselessly. Still further, the conqueror laughs,and we Frenchmen ought not to allow stupid infidels to triumph over ourfaults. Do you clearly understand what I am saying to you, Raoul? Godforbid I should encourage you to avoid encounters."
"I am naturally prudent, monsieur, and I have very good fortune," saidRaoul, with a smile which chilled the heart of his poor father; "for,"the young man hastened to add, "in twenty combats in which I have been,I have only received one scratch."
"There is in addition," said Athos, "the climate to be dreaded: that isan ugly end, that fever! King Saint-Louis prayed God to send him anarrow or the plague, rather than the fever."
"Oh! monsieur, with sobriety, with reasonable exercise--"
"I have already obtained from M. de Beaufort a promise that hisdispatches shall be sent off every fortnight to France. You, as hisaid-de-camp, will be charged with expediting them, and will be sure notto forget me."
"No, monsieur," said Raoul, almost choked with emotion.
"Besides, Raoul, as you are a good Christian, and I am one also, weought to reckon upon a more special protection of God and his guardianangels. Promise me that if anything evil should happen to you on anyoccasion, you will think of me at once."
"First and at once! Oh! yes, monsieur."
"And will call upon me?"
"Instantly."
"You dream of me sometimes, do you not, Raoul?"
"Every night, monsieur. During my early youth I saw you in my dreams,calm and mild, with one hand stretched out over my head, and that it wasthat made me sleep so soundly--_formerly_."
"We love each other too dearly," said the comte, "that from this momentin which we separate, a portion of both our souls should not travel withone and the other of us, and should not dwell where-ever we may dwell.Whenever you may be sad, Raoul, I feel that my heart will be drowned insadness; and when you smile on thinking of me, be assured you will sendme, from however remote a distance, a ray of your joy."
"I will not promise you to be joyous," replied the young man: "but youmay be certain that I will never pass an hour without thinking of you,not one hour, I swear, unless I be dead."
Athos could contain himself no longer: he threw his arm round the neckof his son, and held him embraced with all the powers of his heart. Themoon began to be now eclipsed by twilight; a golden band surrounded thehorizon, announcing the approach of day. Athos threw his cloak over theshoulders of Raoul, and led him back to the city, where burdens andporters were already in motion, like a vast ant-hill. At the extremityof the plateau, which Athos and Bragelonne were quitting, they saw adark shadow moving uneasily backward and forward, as if in indecision orashamed to be seen. It was Grimaud, who, in his anxiety, had tracked hismaster, and was waiting for him.
"Oh! my good Grimaud," cried Raoul, "what do you want? You are come totell us it is time to be gone, have you not?"
"Alone?" said Grimaud, addressing Athos, and pointing to Raoul in a toneof reproach, which showed to what an extent the old man was troubled.
"Oh! you are right!" cried the comte. "No, Raoul, do not go alone; no,he shall not be left alone in a strange land, without some friendly handto support him, some friendly heart to recall to him all he loved!"
"I?" said Grimaud.
"You, yes, you!" cried Raoul, touched to his inmost heart.
"Alas!" said Athos, "you are very old, my good Grimaud."
"So much the better," repli
ed the latter, with an inexpressible depth offeeling and intelligence.
"But the embarkation is begun," said Raoul, "and you are not prepared."
"Yes," said Grimaud, showing the keys of his trunks, mixed with those ofhis young master.
"But," again objected Raoul, "you cannot leave M. le Comte thus alone:M. le Comte, whom you have never quitted?"
Grimaud turned his dimmed eyes upon Athos and Raoul, as if to measurethe strength of both. The comte uttered not a word.
"M. le Comte will prefer my going," said Grimaud.
"I should," said Athos, by an inclination of the head.
At that moment the drums suddenly rolled, and the clarions filled theair with their inspiring notes. The regiments destined for theexpedition began to debouch from the city. They advanced to the numberof five, each composed of forty companies. Royals marched first,distinguished by their white uniform, faced with blue. The ordonnancecolors, quartered crosswise, violet and dead leaf, with a sprinkling ofgolden fleurs-de-lis, left the white-colored flag, with itsfleur-de-lised cross, to dominate over the whole. Musketeers at thewings, with their forked sticks and their muskets on their shoulders;pikemen in the center, with their lances, fourteen feet in length,marched gaily toward the transports, which carried them in detail to theships. The regiments of Picardy, Navarre, Normandy, and Royal Vaisseau,followed after. M. de Beaufort had known well how to select his troops.He himself was seen closing the march, with his staff--it would take afull hour before he could reach the sea. Raoul with Athos turned hissteps slowly toward the beach, in order to take his place when theprince embarked. Grimaud, boiling with the ardor of a young man,superintended the embarkation of Raoul's baggage in the admiral'svessel. Athos, with his arm passed through that of the son he was aboutto lose, absorbed in melancholy meditation, was deaf to the noise aroundhim. An officer came quickly toward them to inform Raoul that M. deBeaufort was anxious to have him by his side.
"Have the kindness to tell the prince," said Raoul, "that I request hewill allow me this hour to enjoy the company of my father."
"No, no," said Athos, "an aid-de-camp ought not thus to quit hisgeneral. Please to tell the prince, monsieur, that the vicomte will joinhim immediately." The officer set off at a gallop.
"Whether we part here or part there," added the comte, "it is no less aseparation." He carefully brushed the dust off his son's coat, andpassed his hand over his hair as they walked along. "But, Raoul," saidhe, "you want money. M. de Beaufort's train will be splendid, and I amcertain it would be agreeable to you to purchase horses and arms, whichare very dear things in Africa. Now, as you are not actually in theservice of the king or M. de Beaufort, and are simply a volunteer, youmust not reckon upon either pay or largesses. But I should not like youto want for anything at Gigelli. Here are two hundred pistoles; if youwould please me, Raoul, spend them."
Raoul pressed the hand of his father, and, at the turning of a street,they saw M. de Beaufort, mounted upon a magnificent white genet, whichreplied by graceful curvets to the applauses of the women of the city.The duc called Raoul and held out his hand to the comte. He spoke to himfor some time, with such a kindly expression, that the heart of the poorfather even felt a little comforted. It was, however, evident to bothfather and son that their walk was directed to nothing less than apunishment. There was a terrible moment--that at which, on quitting thesands of the shore, the soldiers and sailors exchanged the last kisseswith their families and friends; a supreme moment, in which,notwithstanding the clearness of the heavens, the warmth of the sun, ofthe perfumes of the air, and the rich life that was circulating in theirveins, everything appeared black, everything appeared bitter, everythingcreated doubts of a God, while speaking by the mouth, even, of God. Itwas customary for the admiral and his suite to embark the last: thecannon waited to announce, with its formidable voice, that the leaderhad placed his foot on board his vessel. Athos, forgetful of both theadmiral and the fleet, and of his own dignity as a strong man, openedhis arms to his son, and pressed him, convulsively, to his heart.
"Accompany us on board," said the duc, very much affected; "you willgain a good half-hour."
"No," said Athos, "my farewell is spoken. I do not wish to speak asecond."
"Then, vicomte, embark--embark quickly!" added the prince, wishing tospare the tears of these two men, whose hearts were bursting. Andpaternally, tenderly, very much as Porthos might have done, he tookRaoul in his arms and placed him in the boat; the oars of which, at asignal, immediately were dipped in the waves. Himself, forgetful ofceremony, he jumped into his boat, and pushed it off with a vigorousfoot.
"Adieu!" cried Raoul.
Athos replied only by a sign, but he felt something burning on his hand;it was the respectful kiss of Grimaud--the last farewell of the faithfuldog. This kiss given, Grimaud jumped from the step of the mole upon thestem of a two-oared yawl, which had just been taken in tow by a_chaland_ served by twelve galley-oars. Athos seated himself on themole, stunned, deaf, abandoned. Every instant took from him one of thefeatures, one of the shades of the pale face of his son. With his armshanging down, his eyes fixed, his mouth open, he remained confoundedwith Raoul--in one same look, in one same thought, in one same stupor.The sea, by degrees, carried away boats and faces, until at the distanceat which men become nothing but points--loves, nothing but remembrances,Athos saw his son ascend the ladder of the admiral's ship, he saw himlean upon the rail of the deck, and place himself in such a manner as tobe always an object in the eye of his father. In vain the cannonthundered, in vain from the ship sounded a long and loud tumult,responded to by immense acclamations from the shore; in vain did thenoise deafen the ear of the father, and the smoke obscure the cherishedobject of all his aspirations. Raoul appeared to him up to the lastmoment; and the imperceptible atom, passing from black to pale, frompale to white, from white to nothing, disappeared for Athos--disappearedvery long after, for all the eyes of the spectators, had disappearedboth gallant ships and swelling sails. Toward mid-day, when the sundevoured space, and scarcely the tops of the masts dominated theincandescent line of the sea, Athos perceived a soft, aerial shadowrise, and vanish as soon as seen. This was the smoke of a cannon, whichM. de Beaufort ordered to be fired as a last salute to the coast ofFrance. The point was buried in its turn beneath the sky, and Athosreturned painfully and slowly to his hostelry.