Chapter XXXIII. Promises.
Scarcely had D'Artagnan re-entered his apartment with his two friends,when one of the soldiers of the fort came to inform him that thegovernor was seeking him. The bark which Raoul had perceived at sea, andwhich appeared so eager to gain the port, came to Sainte-Marguerite withan important dispatch for the captain of the musketeers. On opening it,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 will prefer his father goingback in company with M. d'Artagnan, to forcing him to travel two hundredleagues solitarily to reach home at La Fere; will 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 disappears on the horizon. As long as he remains inFrance 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 that will conveyme back to Antibes."
"With all my heart; we cannot too soon be at a distance from this fort,and from the spectacle that shocked 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 friend 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 are holding both our souls in your hands."
"I must go; my horse is all in a fret," said D'Artagnan, with whomthe most manifest sign of a lively emotion was the change of ideasin conversation. "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 ideaof being separated too quickly from Raoul. Time will travel too fastof itself 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 have lefthim 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, I shallembrace you the sooner." So saying, he put his foot in the stirrup,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 branch off there, white andundulating in the vapors of the night. The horse eagerly respired thesalt, sharp perfume of the marshes. D'Artagnan put him to a trot; andAthos and Raoul sadly turned towards the house. All at once they heardthe rapid approach of a horse's steps, and first believed it to be oneof those singular repercussions which deceive the ear at every turn ina road. But it was really the return of the horseman. They uttered acry of joyous surprise; and the captain, springing to the ground likea young 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!"
"An evil omen!" on his side, said D'Artagnan to himself, making up forlost time. "I could not smile upon them. An evil omen!"
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 father and son to live together, appeared to goby with double rapidity, like some swift stream that flows towardseternity. Athos and Raoul returned to Toulon, which began to be filledwith the noise of carriages, with the noise of arms, the noise ofneighing horses. The trumpeters sounded their spirited marches; thedrummers signalized their strength; the streets were overflowingwith soldiers, servants, and tradespeople. The Duc de Beaufort waseverywhere, superintending the embarkation with the zeal and interest ofa good captain. He encouraged the humblest of his companions; he scoldedhis lieutenants, even those of the highest rank. Artillery, provisions,baggage, he insisted upon seeing all himself. He examined the equipmentof every soldier; assured himself of the health and soundness of everyhorse. It was plain that, light, boastful, egotistical, in his hotel,the gentleman became the soldier again--the high noble, a captain--inface of the responsibility he had accepted. And yet, it must be admittedthat, whatever was the care with which he presided over the preparationsfor departure, it was easy to perceive careless precipitation, and theabsence of all the precaution that make the French soldier the firstsoldier in the world, because, in that world, he is the one mostabandoned to his own physical and moral resources. All things havingsatisfied, or appearing to have satisfied, the admiral, he paid hiscompliments to Raoul, and gave the last orders for sailing, which wasordered the next morning at daybreak. He invited the comte had his sonto dine with him; but they, under a pretext of service, kept themselvesapart. Gaining their hostelry, situated under the trees of the greatPlace, they took their repast in haste, and Athos led Raoul to therocks which dominate the city, vast gray mountains, whence the view isinfinite and embraces a liquid horizon which appears, so remote is it,on a level with the rocks themselves. The night was fine, as it alwaysis in these happy climes. The moon, rising behind the rocks, unrolleda silver sheet on the cerulean carpet of the sea. In the roadsteadsmaneuvered silently the vessels which had just taken their rank tofacilitate the embarkation. The sea, loaded with phosphoric light,opened beneath the hulls of the barks that transported the baggage andmunitions; every dip of the prow plowed up this gulf of white flames;from every oar dropped liquid diamonds. The sailors, rejoicing in thelargesses of the admiral, were heard murmuring their slow and artlesssongs. Sometimes the grinding of the chains was mixed with the dullnoise of shot falling into the holds. Such harmonies, such a spectacle,oppress the heart like fear, and dilate it like hope. All this lifespeaks of death. Athos had seated himself with his son, upon the moss,among the brambles of the promontory. Aro
und their heads passed andrepassed large bats, carried along by the fearful whirl of their blindchase. The feet of Raoul were over the edge of the cliff, bathed in thatvoid which is peopled by vertigo, and provokes to self-annihilation.When the moon had risen to its fullest height, caressing with lightthe neighboring peaks, when the watery mirror was illumined in its fullextent, and the little red fires had made their openings in the blackmasses of every ship, Athos, collecting all his ideas and all hiscourage, said:
"God has made all these things that we see, Raoul; He has made usalso,--poor atoms mixed up with this monstrous universe. We shine likethose fires and those stars; we sigh like those waves; we suffer likethose great ships, which are worn out in plowing the waves, in obeyingthe wind that urges them towards an end, as the breath of God blows ustowards a port. Everything likes to live, Raoul; and everything seemsbeautiful to 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 missed, 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 ours. Youhave sought a secluded life; that is a great happiness, but you havelost your strength thereby. We four, more weaned from those delicateabstractions that constitute your joy, furnished much more resistancewhen misfortune presented itself."
"I have not interrupted you, monsieur, to tell you that I had a friend,and that that friend is M. de 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 it 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 that spring incessantlyfrom the fair tree of youth; so that at this moment I repent of nothaving made 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 onlyhave inclinations; it is the constancy natural to my character, whichwith other creatures is but habit. I believed that I should always be asI was; I thought God had cast me in a path quite clear, quite straight,bordered with fruits and flowers. I had ever watching over me yourvigilance and strength. I believed myself to be vigilant and strong.Nothing prepared me; I fell once, and that once deprived me of couragefor the whole of my life. It is quite true that I wrecked myself. Oh,no, monsieur! you are nothing in my past but happiness--in my future buthope! No, I have no reproach to make against life such as you made itfor 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 last long."
"Soon, then, Raoul, soon, instead of living moderately on 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 may command," said Raoul, much agitated.
"It is not necessary, Raoul, that your duty as aide-de-camp should leadyou into too hazardous enterprises. You have gone through your ordeal;you are known to be a true man under fire. Remember that war with Arabsis a 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 one meets with but little pity. Those who arenot pitied, Raoul, have died to little purpose. Still further, theconqueror laughs, and we Frenchmen ought not to allow stupid infidels totriumph over our faults. Do you clearly understand what I am saying toyou, Raoul? God forbid 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 through which I havebeen, I have only received one scratch."
"There is in addition," said Athos, "the climate to be dreaded: that isan ugly end, to die of 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 hisaide-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 waswhich made me sleep so soundly--formerly."
"We love each other too dearly," said the comte, "that from this moment,in which we separate, a portion of both our souls should not travel withone and the other of us, and should not dwell wherever we may dwell.Whenever you may be sad, Raoul, I feel that my heart will be dissolvedin sadness; and when you smile on thinking of me, be assured you willsend me, from however remote a distance, a vital scintillation of yourjoy."
"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 shall be dead."
Athos could contain himself no longer; he threw his arm round the neckof his son, and held him embraced with all the power of his heart. Themoon began to be now eclipsed by twilight; a golden band surrounded thehorizon, announcing the approach of the day. Athos threw his cloak overthe shoulders 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 a darkshadow moving uneasily backwards and forwards, as if in indecision orashamed to be seen. It was Grimaud, who in his anxiety had tracked hismaster, and was there awaiting 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 shall 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 the inmost heart.
"Alas!" said Athos, "you are very old, my good Grimaud."
"So much the better," replied 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 monsieur le comte thusalone; monsieur le comte, whom you have never quitted?"
Grimaud turned his diamond eyes upon Athos and Raoul, as if to measurethe strength of both. The comte uttered not a word.
"Monsieur le comte prefers my going," said Grimaud.
"I do," said Athos, by an inclination of the head.
At that moment the drums suddenly rolled, and the clarions filledthe air 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 _ordonnance_colors, quartered cross-wise, violet and dead leaf, with a sprinklingof golden _fleurs-de-lis_, left the white-colored flag, with its_fleur-de-lised_ cross, to dominate the whole. Musketeers at the wings,with their forked sticks and their muskets on their shoulders; pikemenin the center, with their lances, fourteen feet in length, marched gaylytowards the transports, which carried them in detail to the ships. Theregiments of Picardy, Navarre, Normandy, and Royal Vaisseau, followedafter. M. de Beaufort had known well how to select his troops. Hehimself was seen closing the march with his staff--it would take a fullhour before he could reach the sea. Raoul with Athos turned his stepsslowly towards the beach, in order to take his place when the princeembarked. Grimaud, boiling with the ardor of a young man, superintendedthe embarkation of Raoul's baggage in the admiral's vessel. Athos, withhis arm passed through that of the son he was about to lose, absorbedin melancholy meditation, was deaf to every noise around him. An officercame quickly towards them to inform Raoul that M. de Beaufort wasanxious 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 aide-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 lessa separation." He carefully brushed the dust from 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 will 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 largesse. 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 on a magnificent white _genet_, whichresponded by graceful curvets to the applause of the women of the city.The duke called Raoul, and held out his hand to the comte. He spoke tohim for some time, with such a kindly expression that the heart of thepoor father even felt a little comforted. It was, however, evident toboth father and son that their walk amounted 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 lastkisses with 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 bitter, everything createddoubts of Providence, nay, at the most, of God. It was customary forthe admiral and his suite to embark last; the cannon waited to announce,with its formidable voice, that the leader had placed his foot on boardhis vessel. Athos, forgetful of both the admiral and the fleet, and ofhis own dignity as a strong man, opened his arms to his son, and pressedhim convulsively to his heart.
"Accompany us on board," said the duke, very much affected; "you willgain a good half-hour."
"No," said Athos, "my farewell has been spoken, I do not wish to voice asecond."
"Then, vicomte, embark--embark quickly!" added the prince, wishingto spare 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. He himself, forgetful ofceremony, jumped into his boat, and pushed it off with a vigorous foot."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 uponthe stem 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 to that distance atwhich 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 asto be always an object in the eye of his father. In vain the cannonthundered, in vain from the ship sounded the long and lordly tumult,responded to by immense acclamations from the shore; in vain did thenoise deafen the ear of the father, the smoke obscured the cherishedobject of his aspirations. Raoul appeared to him to the last moment; andthe imperceptible atom, passing from black to pale, from pale to white,from white to nothing, disappeared for Athos--disappeared very longafter, to all the eyes of the spectators, had disappeared both gallantships and swelling sails. Towards midday, when the sun devoured space,and scarcely the tops of the masts dominated the incandescent limit ofthe sea, Athos perceived a soft aerial shadow rise, and vanish as soonas seen. This was the smoke of a cannon, which M. de Beaufort ordered tobe fired as a last salute to the coast of France. The point was buriedin its turn beneath the sky, and Athos returned with slow and painfulstep to his deserted hostelry.