Chapter LX. The Last Canto of the Poem.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　On the morrow, all the noblesse of the provinces, of the environs, andwherever messengers had carried the news, might have been seen arrivingin detachments. D'Artagnan had shut himself up, without being willing tospeak to anybody. Two such heavy deaths falling upon the captain, soclosely after the death of Porthos, for a long time oppressed that spiritwhich had hitherto been so indefatigable and invulnerable. ExceptGrimaud, who entered his chamber once, the musketeer saw neither servantsnor guests. He supposed, from the noises in the house, and the continualcoming and going, that preparations were being made for the funeral ofthe comte. He wrote to the king to ask for an extension of his leave ofabsence. Grimaud, as we have said, had entered D'Artagnan's apartment,had seated himself upon a joint-stool near the door, like a man whomeditates profoundly; then, rising, he made a sign to D'Artagnan tofollow him. The latter obeyed in silence. Grimaud descended to thecomte's bed-chamber, showed the captain with his finger the place of theempty bed, and raised his eyes eloquently towards Heaven."Yes," replied D'Artagnan, "yes, good Grimaud - now with the son he lovedso much!"Grimaud left the chamber, and led the way to the hall, where, accordingto the custom of the province, the body was laid out, previously to beingput away forever. D'Artagnan was struck at seeing two open coffins inthe hall. In reply to the mute invitation of Grimaud, he approached, andsaw in one of them Athos, still handsome in death, and, in the other,Raoul with his eyes closed, his cheeks pearly as those of the Palls ofVirgil, with a smile on his violet lips. He shuddered at seeing thefather and son, those two departed souls, represented on earth by twosilent, melancholy bodies, incapable of touching each other, howeverclose they might be."Raoul here!" murmured he. "Oh! Grimaud, why did you not tell me this?"Grimaud shook his head, and made no reply; but taking D'Artagnan by thehand, he led him to the coffin, and showed him, under the thin winding-sheet, the black wounds by which life had escaped. The captain turnedaway his eyes, and, judging it was useless to question Grimaud, who wouldnot answer, he recollected that M. de Beaufort's secretary had writtenmore than he, D'Artagnan, had had the courage to read. Taking up therecital of the affair which had cost Raoul his life, he found thesewords, which ended the concluding paragraph of the letter:"Monseigneur le duc has ordered that the body of monsieur le vicomteshould be embalmed, after the manner practiced by the Arabs when theywish their dead to be carried to their native land; and monsieur le duchas appointed relays, so that the same confidential servant who broughtup the young man might take back his remains to M. le Comte de la Fere.""And so," thought D'Artagnan, "I shall follow thy funeral, my dear boy -I, already old - I, who am of no value on earth - and I shall scatterdust upon that brow I kissed but two months since. God has willed it tobe so. Thou hast willed it to be so, thyself. I have no longer theright even to weep. Thou hast chosen death; it seemed to thee apreferable gift to life."At length arrived the moment when the chill remains of these twogentlemen were to be given back to mother earth. There was such anaffluence of military and other people that up to the place of thesepulture, which was a little chapel on the plain, the road from the citywas filled with horsemen and pedestrians in mourning. Athos had chosenfor his resting-place the little inclosure of a chapel erected by himselfnear the boundary of his estates. He had had the stones, cut in 1550,brought from an old Gothic manor-house in Berry, which had sheltered hisearly youth. The chapel, thus rebuilt, transported, was pleasing to theeye beneath its leafy curtains of poplars and sycamores. It wasministered in every Sunday, by the cure of the neighboring bourg, to whomAthos paid an allowance of two hundred francs for this service; and allthe vassals of his domain, with their families, came thither to hearmass, without having any occasion to go to the city.Behind the chapel extended, surrounded by two high hedges of hazel, elderand white thorn, and a deep ditch, the little inclosure - uncultivated,though gay in its sterility; because the mosses there grew thick, wildheliotrope and ravenelles there mingled perfumes, while from beneath anancient chestnut issued a crystal spring, a prisoner in its marblecistern, and on the thyme all around alighted thousands of bees from theneighboring plants, whilst chaffinches and redthroats sang cheerfullyamong the flower-spangled hedges. It was to this place the sombercoffins were carried, attended by a silent and respectful crowd. Theoffice of the dead being celebrated, the last adieux paid to the nobledeparted, the assembly dispersed, talking, along the roads, of thevirtues and mild death of the father, of the hopes the son had given, andof his melancholy end upon the arid coast of Africa.Little by little, all noises were extinguished, like the lampsilluminating the humble nave. The minister bowed for the last time tothe altar and the still fresh graves; then, followed by his assistant, heslowly took the road back to the presbytery. D'Artagnan, left alone,perceived that night was coming on. He had forgotten the hour, thinkingonly of the dead. He arose from the oaken bench on which he was seatedin the chapel, and wished, as the priest had done, to go and bid a lastadieu to the double grave which contained his two lost friends.A woman was praying, kneeling on the moist earth. D'Artagnan stopped atthe door of the chapel, to avoid disturbing her, and also to endeavor tofind out who was the pious friend who performed this sacred duty with somuch zeal and perseverance. The unknown had hidden her face in herhands, which were white as alabaster. From the noble simplicity of hercostume, she must be a woman of distinction. Outside the inclosure wereseveral horses mounted by servants; a travelling carriage was in waitingfor this lady. D'Artagnan in vain sought to make out what caused herdelay. She continued praying, and frequently pressed her handkerchief toher face, by which D'Artagnan perceived she was weeping. He beheld herstrike her breast with the compunction of a Christian woman. He heardher several times exclaim as from a wounded heart: "Pardon! pardon!" Andas she appeared to abandon herself entirely to her grief, as she threwherself down, almost fainting, exhausted by complaints and prayers,D'Artagnan, touched by this love for his so much regretted friends, madea few steps towards the grave, in order to interrupt the melancholycolloquy of the penitent with the dead. But as soon as his step soundedon the gravel, the unknown raised her head, revealing to D'Artagnan aface aflood with tears, a well-known face. It was Mademoiselle de laValliere! "Monsieur d'Artagnan!" murmured she."You!" replied the captain, in a stern voice, "you here! - oh! madame, Ishould better have liked to see you decked with flowers in the mansion ofthe Comte de la Fere. You would have wept less - and they too - and I!""Monsieur!" said she, sobbing."For it was you," added this pitiless friend of the dead, - "it was youwho sped these two men to the grave.""Oh! spare me!""God forbid, madame, that I should offend a woman, or that I should makeher weep in vain; but I must say that the place of the murderer is notupon the grave of her victims." She wished to reply."What I now tell you," added he, coldly, "I have already told the king."She clasped her hands. "I know," said she, "I have caused the death ofthe Vicomte de Bragelonne.""Ah! you know it?""The news arrived at court yesterday. I have traveled during the nightforty leagues to come and ask pardon of the comte, whom I supposed to bestill living, and to pray God, on the tomb of Raoul, that he would sendme all the misfortunes I have merited, except a single one. Now,monsieur, I know that the death of the son has killed the father; I havetwo crimes to reproach myself with; I have two punishments to expect fromHeaven.""I will repeat to you, mademoiselle," said D'Artagnan, "what M. deBragelonne said of you, at Antibes, when he already meditated death: 'Ifpride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising her. Iflove has produced her error, I pardon her, but I swear that no one couldhave loved her as I have done.'""You know," interrupted Louise, "that of my love I was about to sacrificemyself; you know whether I suffered when you met me lost, dying,abandoned. Well! never have I suffered so much as now; because then Ihoped, desired, - now I have no longer anything to wish for; because thisdeath drags all my joy into the tomb; because I can no longer dare tolove without remorse, and I feel that he whom I love - oh! it is butjust! - will repay me with the tortures I have made others undergo."D'Artagnan made no reply; he was too well convinced that she was notmistaken."Well, then," added she, "dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, do not overwhelm meto-day, I again implore you! I am like the branch torn from the trunk,I no longer hold to anything in this world - a current drags me on, Iknow not whither. I love madly, even to the point of coming to tell it,wretch that I am, over the ashes of the dead, and I do not blush for it -I have no remorse on this account. Such love is a religion. Only, ashereafter you will see me alone, forgotten, disdained; as you will see mepunished, as I am destined to be punished, spare me in my ephemeralhappiness, leave it to me for a few days, for a few minutes. Now, evenat the moment I am speaking to you, perhaps it no longer exists. My God!this double murder is perhaps already expiated!"While she was speaking thus, the sound of voices and of horses drew theattention of the captain. M. de Saint-Aignan came to seek La Valliere."The king," he said, "is a prey to jealousy and uneasiness." Saint-Aignan did not perceive D'Artagnan, half concealed by the trunk of achestnut-tree which shaded the double grave. Louise thanked Saint-Aignan, and dismissed him with a gesture. He rejoined the party outsidethe inclosure."You see, madame," said the captain bitterly to the young woman, - "yousee your happiness still lasts."The young woman raised her head with a solemn air. "A day will come,"said she, "when you will repent of having so misjudged me. On that day,it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been unjust towardsme. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you yourself will be the firstto pity my sufferings. Do not reproach me with my fleeting happiness,Monsieur d'Artagnan; it costs me dear, and I have not paid all my debt."Saying these words, she again knelt down, softly and affectionately."Pardon me the last time, my affianced Raoul!" said she. "I have brokenour chain; we are both destined to die of grief. It is thou whodepartest first; fear nothing, I shall follow thee. See, only, that Ihave not been base, and that I have come to bid thee this last adieu.The Lord is my witness, Raoul, that if with my life I could have redeemedthine, I would have given that life without hesitation. I could not givemy love. Once more, forgive me, dearest, kindest friend."She strewed a few sweet flowers on the freshly sodded earth; then, wipingthe tears from her eyes, the heavily stricken lady bowed to D'Artagnan,and disappeared.The captain watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and carriage,then crossing his arms upon his swelling chest, "When will it be my turnto depart?" said he, in an agitated voice. "What is there left for manafter youth, love, glory, friendship, strength, and wealth havedisappeared? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed all Ihave named; this moss, under which repose Athos and Raoul, who possessedmuch more!"He hesitated for a moment, with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up,"Forward! still forward!" said he. "When it is time, God will tell me,as he foretold the others."He touched the earth, moistened with the evening dew, with the ends ofhis fingers, signed himself as if he had been at the benitier inchurch, and retook alone - ever alone - the road to Paris.