Chapter LIX. The Bulletin.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　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, school-boy's hand, - "agreat misfortune has struck us amidst a great triumph. The king losesone of the bravest of soldiers. I lose a friend. You lose M. deBragelonne. He has died gloriously, so gloriously that I have not thestrength to weep as I could wish. Receive my sad compliments, my dearcomte. Heaven distributes trials according to the greatness of ourhearts. This is an immense one, but not above your courage. Your goodfriend,"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 against tenderness,could not help starting on reading the name of Raoul, the name of thatbeloved boy who had become a shade now - like his father."In the morning," said the prince's secretary, "monseigneur commanded theattack. Normandy and Picardy had taken positions in the rocks dominatedby the heights of the mountain, upon the declivity of which were raisedthe bastions of Gigelli."The cannon opened the action; the regiments marched full of resolution;the pikemen with pikes elevated, the musket-bearers with their weaponsready. The prince followed attentively the march and movements of thetroops, so as to be able to sustain them with a strong reserve. Withmonseigneur were the oldest captains and his aides-de-camp. M. leVicomte de Bragelonne had received orders not to leave his highness. Inthe meantime the enemy's cannon, which at first thundered with littlesuccess against the masses, began to regulate their fire, and the balls,better directed, killed several men near the prince. The regimentsformed in column, and, advancing against the ramparts, were ratherroughly handled. There was a sort of hesitation in our troops, who foundthemselves ill-seconded by the artillery. In fact, the batteries whichhad been established the evening before had but a weak and uncertain aim,on account of their position. The upward direction of the aim lessenedthe justness of the shots as well as their range."Monseigneur, comprehending the bad effect of this position on the siegeartillery, commanded the frigates moored in the little road to commence aregular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered himself at onceto 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 seashore, 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 duke,'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 mouthwaters for death; but, by the soul of Henry IV., I have promised yourfather to bring you back alive; and, please the Lord, I mean to keep myword.'"Monseigneur de Bragelonne colored, and replied, in a lower voice,'Monseigneur, pardon me, I beseech you. I have always had a desire tomeet good opportunities; and it is so delightful to distinguish ourselvesbefore our general, particularly when that general is M. le Duc deBeaufort.'"Monseigneur was a little softened by this; and, turning to the officerswho surrounded him, gave different orders. The grenadiers of the tworegiments got near enough to the ditches and intrenchments to launchtheir grenades, which had but small 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 opened fire. Then the Arabs, finding themselves seriouslyinjured by the balls from the fleet, and beholding the destruction andthe ruin of their walls, uttered the most fearful cries. Their horsemendescended the mountain at a gallop, bent over their saddles, and rushedfull tilt upon the columns of infantry, which, crossing their pikes,stopped this mad assault. Repulsed by the firm attitude of thebattalion, the Arabs threw themselves with fury towards 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 with thefurious Arabs. It was then M. de Bragelonne was able to satisfy theinclination he had so clearly shown from the commencement of the action.He fought near the prince with the valor of a Roman, and killed threeArabs with his small sword. But it was evident that his bravery did notarise from that sentiment of pride so natural to all who fight. It wasimpetuous, affected, even forced; he sought to glut, intoxicate himselfwith strife and carnage. He excited himself to such a degree thatmonseigneur called to him to stop. He must have heard the voice ofmonseigneur, because we who were close to him heard it. He did not,however, stop, but continued his course to the intrenchments. As M. deBragelonne was a well-disciplined officer, this disobedience to theorders of monseigneur very much surprised everybody, and M. de Beaufortredoubled his earnestness, crying, 'Stop, Bragelonne! Where are yougoing? Stop,' repeated monseigneur, '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 towards the palisades."'Stop, Bragelonne!' repeated the prince, in a very loud voice, 'stop! inthe 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 saw cause to conclude thatthe vicomte was no longer master of his horse, and had watched himprecede the first grenadiers, his highness cried, 'Musketeers, kill hishorse! A hundred pistoles for the man who kills his horse!' But whocould expect to hit the beast without at least wounding his rider? Noone dared the attempt. At length one presented himself; he was a sharp-shooter of the regiment of Picardy, named Luzerne, who took aim at theanimal, fired, and hit him in the quarters, for we saw the blood reddenthe hair of the horse. Instead of falling, the cursed jennet wasirritated, and carried him on more furiously than ever. Every Picardwho saw this unfortunate young man rushing on to meet certain death,shouted in the loudest manner, 'Throw yourself off, monsieur le vicomte!- off! - off! throw yourself off!' M. de Bragelonne was an officer muchbeloved in the army. Already had the vicomte arrived within pistol-shotof the ramparts, when a discharge was poured upon him that enshrouded himin fire and smoke. We lost sight of him; the smoke dispersed; he was onfoot, upright; his horse was killed."The vicomte was summoned to surrender by the Arabs, but he made them anegative sign with his head, and continued to march towards thepalisades. This was a mortal imprudence. Nevertheless the entire armywas pleased that he would not retreat, since ill-chance had led him sonear. He marched a few paces further, and the two regiments clappedtheir hands. It was at this moment the second discharge shook the walls,and the Vicomte de Bragelonne again disappeared in the smoke; but thistime the smoke 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 painful sighs. He then cried aloud,seeing the Arabs running like white phantoms among the mastic-trees,'Grenadiers! lancers! will you let them take that noble body?'"Saying these words and waving his sword, he himself rode towards theenemy. The regiments, rushing in his steps, ran in their turn, 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 utterly destroyed. At three o'clock the fire of the Arabsceased; the hand-to-hand fight lasted two hours; it was a massacre. Atfive o'clock we were victorious at all points; the enemy had abandonedhis positions, and M. le duc ordered the white flag to be planted on thesummit of the little mountain. It was then we had time to think of M. deBragelonne, who had eight large wounds in his body, through which almostall his blood had welled away. Still, however, he had breathed, whichafforded inexpressible joy to monseigneur, who insisted on being presentat the first dressing of the wounds and the consultation of thesurgeons. There were two among them who declared M. de Bragelonne wouldlive. Monseigneur threw his arms around their necks, and promised them athousand 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 by hiscountenance a contradiction, which gave rise to reflection, particularlyin one of the secretaries when he had heard what follows. The thirdsurgeon was the brother of Sylvain de Saint-Cosme, the most learned ofthem all. He probed the wounds in his turn, and said nothing. M. deBragelonne fixed his eyes steadily upon the skillful surgeon, and seemedto interrogate his every movement. The latter, upon being questioned bymonseigneur, replied that he saw plainly three mortal wounds out ofeight, but so strong was the constitution of the wounded, so rich was hein youth, and so merciful was the goodness of God, that perhaps M. deBragelonne might recover, particularly if he did not move in theslightest manner. Frere Sylvain added, turning towards his assistants,'Above everything, do not allow him to move, even a finger, or you willkill him;' and we all left the tent in very low spirits. That secretaryI have mentioned, on leaving the tent, thought he perceived a faint andsad smile glide over the lips of M. de Bragelonne when the duke said tohim, in a cheerful, kind voice, 'We will save you, vicomte, we will saveyou yet.'"In the evening, when it was believed the wounded youth had taken somerepose, one of the assistants entered his tent, but rushed out againimmediately, uttering loud cries. We all ran up in disorder, M. le ducwith us, and the assistant pointed to the body of M. de Bragelonne uponthe ground, at the foot of his bed, bathed in the remainder of hisblood. It appeared that he had suffered some convulsion, some delirium,and that he had fallen; that the fall had accelerated his end, accordingto the prognosis of Frere Sylvain. We raised the vicomte; he was coldand dead. He held a lock of fair hair in his right hand, and that handwas tightly pressed 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 hiseyes towards the chamber of the chateau, in which Athos slept in eternalsleep, "They kept their words with each other," said he, in a low voice;"now I believe them to be happy; they must be reunited." And he returnedthrough the parterre with slow and melancholy steps. All the village -all the neighborhood - were filled with grieving neighbors relating toeach other the double catastrophe, and making preparations for thefuneral.