Chapter XXXVII. Hampton Court.
The revelation we have witnessed, that Montalais made to La Valliere,in a preceding chapter, very naturally makes us return to the principalhero of this tale, a poor wandering knight, roving about at the king'scaprice. If our readers will be good enough to follow us, we will, inhis company, cross that strait, more stormy than the Euripus, whichseparates Calais from Dover; we will speed across that green and fertilecountry, with its numerous little streams; through Maidstone, and manyother villages and towns, each prettier than the other; and, finally,arrive at London. From thence, like bloodhounds following a track, afterhaving ascertained that Raoul had made his first stay at Whitehall,his second at St. James's, and having learned that he had been warmlyreceived by Monk, and introduced to the best society of Charles II.'scourt, we will follow him to one of Charles II.'s summer residences nearthe lively little village of Kingston, at Hampton Court, situated on theThames. The river is not, at that spot, the boastful highway which bearsupon its broad bosom its thousands of travelers; nor are its watersblack and troubled as those of Cocytus, as it boastfully asserts, "I,too, am cousin of the old ocean." No, at Hampton Court it is a softand murmuring stream, with moss-fringed banks, reflecting, in its broadmirror, the willows and beeches which ornament its sides, and on whichmay occasionally be seen a light bark indolently reclining among thetall reeds, in a little creek formed of alders and forget-me-nots. Thesurrounding country on all sides smiled in happiness and wealth; thebrick cottages from whose chimneys the blue smoke was slowly ascendingin wreaths, peeped forth from the belts of green holly which environedthem; children dressed in red frocks appeared and disappeared amidstthe high grass, like poppies bowed by the gentler breath of the passingbreeze. The sheep, ruminating with half-closed eyes, lay lazily aboutunder the shadow of the stunted aspens, while, far and near, thekingfishers, plumed with emerald and gold, skimmed swiftly along thesurface of the water, like a magic ball heedlessly touching, as hepassed, the line of his brother angler, who sat watching in his boatthe fish as they rose to the surface of the sparkling stream. High abovethis paradise of dark shadows and soft light, rose the palace of HamptonCourt, built by Wolsey--a residence the haughty cardinal had beenobliged, timid courtier that he was, to offer to his master, HenryVIII., who had glowered with envy and cupidity at the magnificentnew home. Hampton Court, with its brick walls, its large windows, itshandsome iron gates, as well as its curious bell turrets, its retiredcovered walks, and interior fountains, like those of the Alhambra, wasa perfect bower of roses, jasmine, and clematis. Every sense, sight andsmell particularly, was gratified, and the reception-rooms formed a verycharming framework for the pictures of love which Charles II. unrolledamong the voluptuous paintings of Titian, of Pordenone and of Van Dyck;the same Charles whose father's portrait--the martyr king--was hangingin his gallery, and who could show upon the wainscots of the variousapartments the holes made by the balls of the puritanical followers ofCromwell, when on the 24th of August, 1648, at the time they had broughtCharles I. prisoner to Hampton Court. There it was that the king,intoxicated with pleasure and adventure, held his court--he, who, a poetin feeling, thought himself justified in redeeming, by a whole day ofvoluptuousness, every minute which had been formerly passed in anguishand misery. It was not the soft green sward of Hampton Court--so softthat it almost resembled the richest velvet in the thickness of itstexture--nor was it the beds of flowers, with their variegated hueswhich encircled the foot of every tree with rose-trees many feet inheight, embracing most lovingly their trunks--nor even the enormouslime-trees, whose branches swept the earth like willows, offering aready concealment for love or reflection beneath the shade of theirfoliage--it was none of these things for which Charles II. loved hispalace of Hampton Court. Perhaps it might have been that beautiful sheetof water, which the cool breeze rippled like the wavy undulations ofCleopatra's hair, waters bedecked with cresses and white water-lilies,whose chaste bulbs coyly unfolding themselves beneath the sun's warmrays, reveal the golden gems which lie concealed within their milkypetals--murmuring waters, on the bosom of which black swans majesticallyfloated, and the graceful water-fowl, with their tender broods coveredwith silken down, darted restlessly in every direction, in pursuitof the insects among the reeds, or the fogs in their mossy retreats.Perhaps it might have been the enormous hollies, with their dark andtender green foliage; or the bridges uniting the banks of the canals intheir embrace; or the fawns browsing in the endless avenues of the park;or the innumerable birds that hopped about the gardens, or flew frombranch to branch, amidst the emerald foliage.
It might well have been any of these charms--for Hampton Court had themall; and possessed, too, almost forests of white roses, which climbedand trailed along the lofty trellises, showering down upon the groundtheir snowy leaves rich with soft perfumery. But no, what Charles II.most loved in Hampton Court were the charming figures who, when middaywas past, flitted to and fro along the broad terraces of the gardens;like Louis XIV., he had their wealth of beauties painted for his galleryby one of the great artists of the period--an artist who well knew thesecret of transferring to canvas the rays of light which escaped frombeaming eyes heavy laden with love and love's delights.
The day of our arrival at Hampton Court is almost as clear and brightas a summer's day in France; the atmosphere is heavy with the deliciousperfume of geraniums, sweet-peas, seringas, and heliotrope scattered inprofusion around. It is past midday, and the king, having dined afterhis return from hunting, paid a visit to Lady Castlemaine, the lady whowas reputed at the time to hold his heart in bondage; and this proofof his devotion discharged, he was readily permitted to pursue hisinfidelities until evening arrived. Love and amusement ruled the entirecourt; it was the period when ladies would seriously interrogatetheir ruder companions as to their opinions upon a foot more orless captivating, according to whether it wore a pink or lilac silkstocking--for it was the period when Charles II. had declared that therewas no hope of safety for a woman who wore green silk stockings, becauseMiss Lucy Stewart wore them of that color. While the king is endeavoringin all directions to inculcate others with his preferences on thispoint, we will ourselves bend our steps towards an avenue of beech-treesopposite the terrace, and listen to the conversation of a young girl ina dark-colored dress, who is walking with another of about her own agedressed in blue. They crossed a beautiful lawn, from the center of whichsprang a fountain, with the figure of a siren executed in bronze, andstrolled on, talking as they went, towards the terrace, along which,looking out upon the park and interspersed at frequent intervals, wereerected summer-houses, diverse in form and ornament; these summer-houseswere nearly all occupied; the two young women passed on, the oneblushing deeply, while the other seemed dreamily silent. At last, havingreached the end of the terrace which looks on the river, and findingthere a cool retreat, they sat down close to each other.
"Where are we going?" said the younger to her companion.
"My dear, we are going where you yourself led the way."
"I?"
"Yes, you; to the extremity of the palace, towards that seat yonder,where the young Frenchman is seated, wasting his time in sighs andlamentations."
Miss Mary Grafton hurriedly said, "No, no; I am not going there."
"Why not?"
"Let us go back, Lucy."
"Nay, on the contrary, let us go on, and have an explanation."
"What about?"
"About how it happens that the Vicomte de Bragelonne always accompaniesyou in all your walks, as you invariably accompany him in his."
"And you conclude either that he loves me, or that I love him?"
"Why not?--he is a most agreeable and charming companion.--No one hearsme, I hope," said Lucy Stewart, as she turned round with a smile, whichindicated, moreover, that her uneasiness on the subject was not extreme.
"No, no," said Mary, "the king is engaged in his summer-house with theDuke of Buckingham."
"Oh! _a propos_ of the duke, Mary, it seems he h
as shown you greatattention since his return from France; how is your own heart in thatdirection?"
Mary Grafton shrugged her shoulders with seeming indifference.
"Well, well, I will ask Bragelonne about it," said Stewart, laughing;"let us go and find him at once."
"What for?"
"I wish to speak to him."
"Not yet, one word before you do: come, come, you who know so many ofthe king's secrets, tell me why M. de Bragelonne is in England?"
"Because he was sent as an envoy from one sovereign to another."
"That may be; but, seriously, although politics do not much concern us,we know enough to be satisfied that M. de Bragelonne has no mission ofserious import here."
"Well, then, listen," said Stewart, with assumed gravity, "for your sakeI am going to betray a state secret. Shall I tell you the nature of theletter which King Louis XIV. gave M. de Bragelonne for King Charles II.?I will; these are the very words: 'My brother, the bearer of this is agentleman attached to my court, and the son of one whom you regard mostwarmly. Treat him kindly, I beg, and try and make him like England.'"
"Did it say that!"
"Word for word--or something very like it. I will not answer for theform, but the substance I am sure of."
"Well, and what conclusion do you, or rather what conclusion does theking, draw from that?"
"That the king of France has his own reasons for removing M. deBragelonne, and for getting him married anywhere else than in France."
"So that, then, in consequence of this letter--"
"King Charles received M. de Bragelonne, as you are aware, in themost distinguished and friendly manner; the handsomest apartments inWhitehall were allotted to him; and as you are the most valuableand precious person in his court, inasmuch as you have rejected hisheart,--nay, do not blush,--he wished you to take a fancy to thisFrenchman, and he was desirous to confer upon him so costly a prize.And this is the reason why you, the heiress of three hundred thousandpounds, a future duchess, so beautiful, so good, have been thrown inBragelonne's way, in all the promenades and parties of pleasure to whichhe was invited. In fact it was a plot,--a kind of conspiracy."
Mary Grafton smiled with that charming expression which was habitual toher, and pressing her companion's arm, said: "Thank the king, Lucy."
"Yes, yes, but the Duke of Buckingham is jealous, so take care."
Hardly had she pronounced these words, when the duke appeared from oneof the pavilions on the terrace, and, approaching the two girls, witha smile, said, "You are mistaken, Miss Lucy; I am not jealous; and theproof, Miss Mary, is yonder, in the person of M. de Bragelonne himself,who ought to be the cause of my jealousy, but who is dreaming in pensivesolitude. Poor fellow! Allow me to leave you for a few minutes, while Iavail myself of those few minutes to converse with Miss Lucy Stewart, towhom I have something to say." And then, bowing to Lucy, he added, "Willyou do me the honor to accept my hand, in order that I may lead you tothe king, who is waiting for us?" With these words, Buckingham, stillsmiling, took Miss Stewart's hand, and led her away. When by herself,Mary Grafton, her head gently inclined towards her shoulder, with thatindolent gracefulness of action which distinguishes young English girls,remained for a moment with her eyes fixed on Raoul, but as if uncertainwhat to do. At last, after first blushing violently, and then turningdeadly pale, thus revealing the internal combat which assailed herheart, she seemed to make up her mind to adopt a decided course, andwith a tolerably firm step, advanced towards the seat on which Raoulwas reclining, buried in the profoundest meditation, as we have alreadysaid. The sound of Miss Mary's steps, though they could hardly be heardupon the green sward, awakened Raoul from his musing attitude; heturned round, perceived the young girl, and walked forward to meet thecompanion whom his happy destiny had thrown in his way.
"I have been sent to you, monsieur," said Mary Grafton; "will you takecare of me?"
"To whom is my gratitude due, for so great a happiness?" inquired Raoul.
"To the Duke of Buckingham," replied Mary, affecting a gayety she didnot really feel.
"To the Duke of Buckingham, do you say?--he who so passionatelyseeks your charming society! Am I really to believe you are serious,mademoiselle?"
"The fact is, monsieur, you perceive, that everything seems to conspireto make us pass the best, or rather the longest, part of our daystogether. Yesterday it was the king who desired me to beg you to seatyourself next to me at dinner; to-day, it is the Duke of Buckingham whobegs me to come and place myself near you on this seat."
"And he has gone away in order to leave us together?" asked Raoul, withsome embarrassment.
"Look yonder, at the turning of that path; he is just out of sight, withMiss Stewart. Are these polite attentions usual in France, monsieur levicomte?"
"I cannot very precisely say what people do in France, mademoiselle, forI can hardly be called a Frenchman. I have resided in many countries,and almost always as a soldier; and then, I have spent a long period ofmy life in the country. I am almost a savage."
"You do not like your residence in England, I fear."
"I scarcely know," said Raoul, inattentively, and sighing deeply at thesame time.
"What! you do not know?"
"Forgive me," said Raoul, shaking his head, and collecting his thoughts,"I did not hear you."
"Oh!" said the young girl, sighing in her turn, "how wrong the duke wasto send me here!"
"Wrong!" said Raoul, "perhaps so; for I am but a rude, uncouthcompanion, and my society annoys you. The duke did, indeed, very wrongto send you."
"It is precisely," replied Mary Grafton, in a clear, calm voice,"because your society does not annoy me, that the duke was wrong to sendme to you."
It was now Raoul's turn to blush. "But," he resumed, "how happens itthat the Duke of Buckingham should send you to me; and why did you come?the duke loves you, and you love him."
"No," replied Mary, seriously, "the duke does not love me, because heis in love with the Duchesse d'Orleans; and, as for myself, I have noaffection for the duke."
Raoul looked at the young lady with astonishment.
"Are you a friend of the Duke of Buckingham?" she inquired.
"The duke has honored me by calling me so ever since we met in France."
"You are simple acquaintances, then?"
"No; for the duke is the most intimate friend of one whom I regard as abrother."
"The Duc de Guiche?"
"Yes."
"He who is in love with Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans?"
"Oh! What is that you are saying?"
"And who loves him in return," continued the young girl, quietly.
Raoul bent down his head, and Mary Grafton, sighing deeply, continued,"They are very happy. But, leave me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, for theDuke of Buckingham has given you a very troublesome commission inoffering me as a companion for your promenade. Your heart is elsewhere,and it is with the greatest difficulty you can be charitable enough tolend me your attention. Confess truly; it would be unfair on your part,vicomte, not to admit it."
"Madame, I do confess it."
She looked at him steadily. He was so noble and so handsome in hisbearing, his eyes revealed so much gentleness, candor, and resolution,that the idea could not possibly enter her mind that he was eitherrudely discourteous, or a mere simpleton. She only perceived, clearlyenough, that he loved another woman, and not herself, with the wholestrength of his heart. "Ah! I now understand you," she said; "you haveleft your heart behind you in France." Raoul bowed. "The duke is awareof your affection?"
"No one knows it," replied Raoul.
"Why, therefore, do you tell me? Nay, answer me."
"I cannot."
"It is for me, then, to anticipate an explanation; you do not wish totell me anything, because you are now convinced that I do not love theduke; because you see that I possibly might have loved you; because youare a gentleman of noble and delicate sentiments; and because, insteadof accepting, even were it for the mere am
usement of the passing hour,a hand which is almost pressed upon you; and because, instead of meetingmy smiles with a smiling lip, you, who are young, have preferred to tellme, whom men have called beautiful, 'My heart is over the sea--it is inFrance.' For this, I thank you, Monsieur de Bragelonne; you are, indeed,a noble-hearted, noble-minded man, and I regard you all the more for it,as a friend only. And now let us cease speaking of myself, and talk ofyour own affairs. Forget that I have ever spoken to you of myself, tellme why you are sad, and why you have become more than usually so duringthese past four days?"
Raoul was deeply and sensibly moved by these sweet and melancholy tones;and as he could not, at the moment, find a word to say, the young girlagain came to his assistance.
"Pity me," she said. "My mother was born in France, and I can trulyaffirm that I, too, am French in blood, as well as in feeling; but theleaden atmosphere and characteristic gloom of England seem to weighupon me. Sometimes my dreams are golden-hued and full of wonderfulenjoyments, when suddenly a mist rises and overspreads my fancy,blotting them out forever. Such, indeed, is the case at the presentmoment. Forgive me; I have now said enough on that subject; give me yourhand, and relate your griefs to me as a friend."
"You say you are French in heart and soul?"
"Yes, not only, I repeat it, that my mother was French, but, further, asmy father, a friend of King Charles I., was exiled in France, I, duringthe trial of that prince, as well as during the Protector's life, wasbrought up in Paris; at the Restoration of King Charles II., my poorfather returned to England, where he died almost immediately afterwards;and then the king created me a duchess, and has dowered me according tomy rank.
"Have you any relations in France?" Raoul inquired, with the deepestinterest.
"I have a sister there, my senior by seven or eight years, who wasmarried in France, and was early left a widow; her name is Madame deBelliere. Do you know her?" she added, observing Raoul start suddenly.
"I have heard her name."
"She, too, loves with her whole heart; and her last letters inform meshe is happy, and her affection is, I conclude, returned. I told you,Monsieur de Bragelonne, that although I possess half of her nature, I donot share her happiness. But let us now speak of yourself; whom do youlove in France?"
"A young girl, as soft and pure as a lily."
"But if she loves you, why are you sad?"
"I have been told that she ceases to love me."
"You do not believe it, I trust?"
"He who wrote me so does not sign his letter."
"An anonymous denunciation! some treachery, be assured," said MissGrafton.
"Stay," said Raoul, showing the young girl a letter which he had readover a thousand times; she took it from his hand and read as follows:
"VICOMTE,--You are perfectly right to amuse yourself yonder with thelovely faces of Charles II.'s court, for at Louis XIV.'s court, thecastle in which your affections are enshrined is being besieged. Stay inLondon altogether, poor vicomte, or return without delay to Paris."
"There is no signature," said Miss Mary.
"None."
"Believe it not, then."
"Very good; but here is a second letter, from my friend De Guiche, whichsays, 'I am lying here wounded and ill. Return, Raoul, oh, return!'"
"What do you intend doing?" inquired the young girl, with a feeling ofoppression at her heart.
"My intention, as soon as I received this letter, was immediately totake my leave of the king."
"When did you receive it?"
"The day before yesterday."
"It is dated Fontainebleau."
"A singular circumstance, do you not think, for the court is now atParis? At all events, I would have set off; but when I mentioned myintention to the king, he began to laugh, and said to me, 'How comesit, monsieur l'amassadeur, that you think of leaving? Has your sovereignrecalled you?' I colored, naturally enough, for I was confused by thequestion; for the fact is, the king himself sent me here, and I havereceived no order to return."
Mary frowned in deep thought, and said, "Do you remain, then?"
"I must, mademoiselle."
"Do you ever receive any letters from her to whom you are so devoted?"
"Never."
"Never, do you say? Does she not love you, then?"
"At least, she has not written to me since my departure, although sheused occasionally to write to me before. I trust she may have beenprevented."
"Hush! the duke is coming."
And Buckingham at that moment was seen at the end of the walk,approaching towards them, alone and smiling; he advanced slowly, andheld out his hands to them both. "Have you arrived at an understanding?"he said.
"About what?"
"About whatever might render you happy, dear Mary, and make Raoul lessmiserable."
"I do not understand you, my lord," said Raoul.
"That is my view of the subject, Miss Mary; do you wish me to mention itbefore M. de Bragelonne?" he added, with a smile.
"If you mean," replied the young girl, haughtily, "that I was notindisposed to love M. de Bragelonne, that is useless, for I have toldhim so myself."
Buckingham reflected for a moment, and, without seeming in any waydiscountenanced, as she expected, he said: "My reason for leaving youwith M. de Bragelonne was, that I thoroughly knew your refined delicacyof feeling, no less than the perfect loyalty of your mind and heart, andI hoped that M. de Bragelonne's cure might be effected by the hands of aphysician such as you are."
"But, my lord, before you spoke of M. de Bragelonne's heart, you spoketo me of your own. Do you mean to effect the cure of two hearts at thesame time?"
"Perfectly true, madame; but you will do me the justice to admit thatI have long discontinued a useless pursuit, acknowledging that my ownwound is incurable."
"My lord," said Mary, collecting herself for a moment before she spoke,"M. de Bragelonne is happy, for he loves and is beloved. He has no needof such a physician as I can be."
"M. de Bragelonne," said Buckingham, "is on the very eve of experiencinga serious misfortune, and he has greater need than ever of sympathy andaffection."
"Explain yourself, my lord," inquired Raoul, anxiously.
"No; gradually I will explain myself; but, if you desire it, I can tellMiss Grafton what you may not listen to yourself."
"My lord, you are putting me to the torture; you know something you wishto conceal from me?"
"I know that Miss Mary Grafton is the most charming object that a heartill at ease could possibly meet with in its way through life."
"I have already told you that the Vicomte de Bragelonne loveselsewhere," said the young girl.
"He is wrong, then."
"Do you assume to know, my lord, that _I_ am wrong?"
"Yes."
"Whom is it that he loves, then?" exclaimed the young girl.
"He loves a lady who is unworthy of him," said Buckingham, with thatcalm, collected manner peculiar to Englishmen.
Miss Grafton uttered a cry, which, together with the remark thatBuckingham had that moment made, spread oover De Bragelonne's features adeadly paleness, arising from the sudden surprise, and also from a vaguefear of impending misfortune. "My lord," he exclaimed, "you have justpronounced words which compel me, without a moment's delay, to seektheir explanation in Paris."
"You will remain here," said Buckingham, "because you have no right toleave; and no one has the right to quit the service of the king for thatof any woman, even were she as worthy of being loved as Mary Graftonis."
"You will tell me all, then?"
"I will, on condition that you will remain."
"I will remain, if you will promise to speak openly and withoutreserve."
Thus far had their conversation proceeded, and Buckingham, in allprobability, was on the point of revealing, not indeed all that hadtaken place, but at least all he was aware of, when one of the king'sattendants appeared at the end of the terrace, and advanced towards thesummer-house where the king w
as sitting with Lucy Stewart. A courierfollowed him, covered with dust from head to foot, and who seemed as ifhe had but a few moments before dismounted from his horse.
"The courier from France! Madame's courier!" exclaimed Raoul,recognizing the princess's livery; and while the attendant and thecourier advanced towards the king, Buckingham and Miss Grafton exchangeda look full of intelligence with each other.
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