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The Vicomte de Bragelonne ebook

Alexandre Dumas

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Wydawca: KtoCzyta.pl
Kategoria: Powieści przygodowe i historyczne
Język: polski

Opis

The d’Artagnan Romances are a set of three novels by Alexandre Dumas telling the story of the musketeer d’Artagnan from his humble beginnings in Gascony to his death as a marshal of France in the Siege of Maastricht in 1673. It is May 1660 and the fate of nations is at stake. Mazarin plots, Louis XIV is in love, and Raoul de Bragelonne, son of Athos, is intent on serving France and winning the heart of Louise de la Valliere. D’Artagnan, meanwhile, is perplexed by a mysterious stranger, and soon he learns that his old comrades already have great projects in hand. Athos seeks the restoration of Charles II, while Aramis, with Porthos in tow, has a secret plan involving a masked prisoner and the fortification of the island of Belle-Ile. D’Artagnan finds a thread leading him to the French court, the banks of the Tyne, the beaches of Holland, and the dunes of Brittany. „The Vicomte de Bragelonne: Ten Years Later” is the 3rd and largest continuation of the „Musketeer” saga, following „The Three Musketeers” and „Twenty Years After”.

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Contents

Chapter I. The Letter

Chapter II. The Messenger

Chapter III. The Interview

Chapter IV. Father and Son

Chapter V. In which Something will be said of Cropoli

Chapter VI. The Unknown

Chapter VII. Parry

Chapter VIII. What his Majesty King Louis XIV. was at the Age of Twenty-Two

Chapter IX. In which the Unknown of the Hostelry of Les Medici loses his Incognito

Chapter X. The Arithmetic of M. de Mazarin

Chapter XI. Mazarin's Policy

Chapter XII. The King and the Lieutenant

Chapter XIII. Mary de Mancini

Chapter XIV. In which the King and the Lieutenant each give Proofs of Memory

Chapter XV. The Proscribed

Chapter XVI. "Remember!"

Chapter XVII. In which Aramis is sought, and only Bazin is found

Chapter XVIII. In which D'Artagnan seeks Porthos, and only finds Mousqueton

Chapter XIX. What D'Artagnan went to Paris for

Chapter XX. Of the Society which was formed in the Rue des Lombards

Chapter XXI. In which D'Artagnan prepares to travel

Chapter XXII. D'Artagnan travels for the House of Planchet and Company

Chapter XXIII. In which the Author is forced to write a Little History

Chapter XXIV. The Treasure

Chapter XXV. The Marsh

Chapter XXVI. Heart and Mind

Chapter XXVII. The Next Day

Chapter XXVIII. Smuggling

Chapter XXIX. Fear he has placed his Money and that of Planchet in the Sinking Fund

Chapter XXX. The Shares of Planchet and Company rise again to Par

Chapter XXXI. Monk reveals Himself

Chapter XXXII. Athos and D'Artagnan meet once more at the Hostelry of the Corne du Cerf

Chapter XXXIII. The Audience

Chapter XXXIV. Of the Embarrassment of Riches

Chapter XXXV. On the Canal

Chapter XXXVI. How D'Artagnan drew a Country-Seat from a Deal Box

Chapter XXXVII. How D'Artagnan regulated the "Assets" of the Company."

Chapter XXXVIII. the French Grocer had already been established in the Seventeenth Century

Chapter XXXIX. Mazarin's Gaming Party

Chapter XL: An Affair of State

Chapter XLI. The Recital

Chapter XLII. In which Mazarin becomes Prodigal

Chapter XLIII. Guenaud

Chapter XLIV. Colbert

Chapter XLV. Confession of a Man of Wealth

Chapter XLVI. The Donation

Chapter XLVII. How Anne of Austria gave one Piece of Advice to Louis XIV

Chapter XLVIII. Agony

Chapter XLIX. The First Appearance of Colbert

Chapter L: The First Day of the Royalty of Louis XIV

Chapter LI. A Passion

Chapter LII. D'Artagnan's Lesson

Chapter LIII. The King

Chapter LIV. The Houses of M. Fouquet

Chapter LV. The Abbe Fouquet

Chapter LVI. M. de la Fontaine's Wine

Chapter LVII. The Gallery of Saint-Mande

Chapter LVIII. Epicureans

Chapter LIX. A Quarter of an Hour's Delay

Chapter LX. Plan of Battle

Chapter LXI. The Cabaret of the Image-de-Notre-Dame

Chapter LXII. Vive Colbert!

Chapter LXIII. How M. d'Eymeris's Diamond passed into the Hands of M. d'Artagnan

Chapter LXIV. Difference D'Artagnan finds between the Intendant and the Superintendent

Chapter LXV. Philosophy of the Heart and Mind

Chapter LXVI. The Journey

Chapter LXVII. How D'Artagnan became Acquainted with a Poet

Chapter LXVIII. D'Artagnan continues his Investigations

Chapter LXIX. D'Artagnan was to meet an Old Acquaintance

Chapter LXX. Wherein the Ideas of D'Artagnan begin to clear up a little

Chapter LXXI. A Procession at Vannes

Chapter LXXII. The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes

Chapter LXXIII. In which Porthos begins to be sorry for having come with D'Artagnan

Chapter LXXIV. D'Artagnan makes all Speed, Porthos snores, and Aramis counsels

Chapter LXXV. In which Monsieur Fouquet Acts

Chapter I. The Letter

owards the middle of the month of May, in the year 1660, at nine o’clock in the morning, when the sun, already high in the heavens, was fast absorbing the dew from the ramparts of the castle of Blois, a little cavalcade, composed of three men and two pages, re-entered the city by the bridge, without producing any other effect upon the passengers of the quay beyond a first movement of the hand to the head, as a salute, and a second movement of the tongue to express, in the purest French then spoken in France: “There is Monsieur returning from hunting.” And that was all.

Whilst, however, the horses were climbing the steep acclivity which leads from the river to the castle, several shop-boys approached the last horse, from whose saddle-bow a number of birds were suspended by the beak.

On seeing this, the inquisitive youths manifested with rustic freedom their contempt for such paltry sport, and, after a dissertation among themselves upon the disadvantages of hawking, they returned to their occupations; one only of the curious party, a stout, stubby, cheerful lad, having demanded how it was that Monsieur, who, from his great revenues, had it in his power to amuse himself so much better, could be satisfied with such mean diversions.

Do you not know,” one of the standers-by replied, “that Monsieur’s principal amusement is to weary himself?”

The light-hearted boy shrugged his shoulders with a gesture which said as clear as day: “In that case I would rather be plain Jack than a prince.” And all resumed their labors.

In the meanwhile, Monsieur continued his route with an air at once so melancholy and so majestic, that he certainly would have attracted the attention of spectators, if spectators there had been; but the good citizens of Blois could not pardon Monsieur for having chosen their gay city for an abode in which to indulge melancholy at his ease, and as often as they caught a glimpse of the illustrious ennuye, they stole away gaping, or drew back their heads into the interior of their dwellings, to escape the soporific influence of that long pale face, of those watery eyes, and that languid address; so that the worthy prince was almost certain to find the streets deserted whenever he chanced to pass through them.

Now, on the part of the citizens of Blois this was a culpable piece of disrespect, for Monsieur was, after the king–nay, even perhaps, before the king–the greatest noble of the kingdom. In fact, God, who had granted to Louis XIV., then reigning, the honor of being son of Louis XIII., had granted to Monsieur the honor of being son of Henry IV. It was not then, or, at least, it ought not to have been, a trifling source of pride for the city of Blois, that Gaston of Orleans had chosen it as his residence, and held his court in the ancient Castle of the States.

But it was the destiny of this great prince to excite the attention and admiration of the public in a very modified degree wherever he might be. Monsieur had fallen into this situation by habit.

It was not, perhaps, this which gave him that air of listlessness. Monsieur had already been tolerably busy in the course of his life. A man cannot allow the heads of a dozen of his best friends to be cut off without feeling a little excitement; and as, since the accession of Mazarin to power, no heads had been cut off, Monsieur’s occupation was gone, and his morale suffered from it.

The life of the poor prince was then very dull. After his little morning hawking-party on the banks of the Beuvron, or in the woods of Cheverny, Monsieur crossed the Loire, went to breakfast at Chambord, with or without an appetite, and the city of Blois heard no more of its sovereign lord and master till the next hawking-day.

So much for the ennui extra muros; of the ennui of the interior we will give the reader an idea if he will with us follow the cavalcade to the majestic porch of the Castle of the States.

Monsieur rode a little steady-paced horse, equipped with a large saddle of red Flemish velvet, with stirrups in the shape of buskins; the horse was of a bay color; Monsieur’s pourpoint of crimson velvet corresponded with the cloak of the same shade and the horse’s equipment, and it was only by this red appearance of the whole that the prince could be known from his two companions, the one dressed in violet, the other in green. He on the left, in violet, was his equerry; he on the right, in green, was the grand veneur.

One of the pages carried two gerfalcons upon a perch, the other a hunting-horn, which he blew with a careless note at twenty paces from the castle. Every one about this listless prince did what he had to listlessly.

At this signal, eight guards, who were lounging in the sun in the square court, ran to their halberts, and Monsieur made his solemn entry into the castle.

When he had disappeared under the shades of the porch, three or four idlers, who had followed the cavalcade to the castle, after pointing out the suspended birds to each other, dispersed with comments upon what they saw: and, when they were gone, the street, the palace, and the court, all remained deserted alike.

Monsieur dismounted without speaking a word, went straight to his apartments, where his valet changed his dress, and as Madame had not yet sent orders respecting breakfast, Monsieur stretched himself upon a chaise longue, and was soon as fast asleep as if it had been eleven o’clock at night.

The eight guards, who concluded their service for the day was over, laid themselves down very comfortably in the sun upon some stone benches; the grooms disappeared with their horses into the stables, and, with the exception of a few joyous birds, startling each other with their sharp chirping in the tufted shrubberies, it might have been thought that the whole castle was as soundly asleep as Monsieur was.

All at once, in the midst of this delicious silence, there resounded a clear ringing laugh, which caused several of the halberdiers in the enjoyment of their siesta to open at least one eye.

This burst of laughter proceeded from a window of the castle, visited at this moment by the sun, that embraced it in one of those large angles which the profiles of the chimneys mark out upon the walls before mid-day.

The little balcony of wrought iron which advanced in front of this window was furnished with a pot of red gilliflowers, another pot of primroses, and an early rose-tree, the foliage of which, beautifully green, was variegated with numerous red specks announcing future roses.

In the chamber lighted by this window, was a square table, covered with an old large-flowered Haarlem tapestry; in the center of this table was a long-necked stone bottle, in which were irises and lilies of the valley; at each end of this table was a young girl.

The position of these two young people was singular; they might have been taken for two boarders escaped from a convent. One of them, with both elbows on the table, and a pen in her hand, was tracing characters upon a sheet of fine Dutch paper; the other, kneeling upon a chair, which allowed her to advance her head and bust over the back of it to the middle of the table, was watching her companion as she wrote, or rather hesitated to write.

Thence the thousand cries, the thousand railleries, the thousand laughs, one of which, more brilliant than the rest, had startled the birds in the gardens, and disturbed the slumbers of Monsieur’s guards.

We are taking portraits now; we shall be allowed, therefore, we hope, to sketch the two last of this chapter.

The one who was leaning in the chair–that is to say, the joyous, laughing one–was a beautiful girl of from eighteen to twenty, with brown complexion and brown hair, splendid, from eyes which sparkled beneath strongly-marked brows, and particularly from her teeth, which seemed to shine like pearls between her red coral lips. Her every movement seemed the accent of a sunny nature; she did not walk–she bounded.

The other, she who was writing, looked at her turbulent companion with an eye as limpid, as pure, and as blue as the azure of the day. Her hair, of a shaded fairness, arranged with exquisite taste, fell in silky curls over her lovely mantling cheeks; she passed across the paper a delicate hand, whose thinness announced her extreme youth. At each burst of laughter that proceeded from her friend, she raised, as if annoyed, her white shoulders in a poetical and mild manner, but they were wanting in that richfulness of mold that was likewise to be wished in her arms and hands.

Montalais! Montalais!” said she at length, in a voice soft and caressing as a melody, “you laugh too loud–you laugh like a man! You will not only draw the attention of messieurs the guards, but you will not hear Madame’s bell when Madame rings.”

This admonition neither made the young girl called Montalais cease to laugh nor gesticulate. She only replied: “Louise, you do not speak as you think, my dear; you know that messieurs the guards, as you call them, have only just commenced their sleep, and that a cannon would not waken them; you know that Madame’s bell can be heard at the bridge of Blois, and that consequently I shall hear it when my services are required by Madame. What annoys you, my child, is that I laugh while you are writing; and what you are afraid of is that Madame de Saint-Remy, your mother, should come up here, as she does sometimes when we laugh too loud, that she should surprise us, and that she should see that enormous sheet of paper upon which, in a quarter of an hour, you have only traced the words Monsieur Raoul. Now, you are right, my dear Louise, because after these words, ‘Monsieur Raoul’, others may be put so significant and incendiary as to cause Madame Saint-Remy to burst out into fire and flames! Hein! is not that true now?–say.”

And Montalais redoubled her laughter and noisy provocations.

The fair girl at length became quite angry; she tore the sheet of paper on which, in fact, the words “Monsieur Raoul” were written in good characters; and crushing the paper in her trembling hands, she threw it out of the window.

There! there!” said Mademoiselle de Montalais; “there is our little lamb, our gentle dove, angry! Don’t be afraid, Louise–Madame de Saint-Remy will not come; and if she should, you know I have a quick ear. Besides, what can be more permissible than to write to an old friend of twelve years’ standing, particularly when the letter begins with the words ‘Monsieur Raoul’?”

It is all very well–I will not write to him at all,” said the young girl.

Ah, ah! in good sooth, Montalais is properly punished,” cried the jeering brunette, still laughing. “Come, come! let us try another sheet of paper, and finish our dispatch off-hand. Good! there is the bell ringing now. By my faith, so much the worse! Madame must wait, or else do without her first maid of honor this morning.”

A bell, in fact, did ring; it announced that Madame had finished her toilette, and waited for Monsieur to give her his hand, and conduct her from the salon to the refectory.

This formality being accomplished with great ceremony, the husband and wife breakfasted, and then separated till the hour of dinner, invariably fixed at two o’clock.

The sound of this bell caused a door to be opened in the offices on the left hand of the court, from which filed two maitres d’hotel followed by eight scullions bearing a kind of hand-barrow loaded with dishes under silver covers.

One of the maitres d’hotel, the first in rank, touched one of the guards, who was snoring on his bench, slightly with his wand; he even carried his kindness so far as to place the halbert which stood against the wall in the hands of the man stupid with sleep, after which the soldier, without explanation, escorted the viande of Monsieur to the refectory, preceded by a page and the two maitres d’hotel.

Wherever the viande passed, the soldiers ported arms.

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