Chapter 60 - Page 2

more or less bitter - sorrowful. The note
of human nature is nothing but one sustained cry. But what are the
sufferings of others compared to those from which I am now suffering?
Does the open wound in another's breast soften the anguish of the gaping
ulcer in our own? Does the blood which is welling from another man's
side stanch that which is pouring from our own? Does the general grief
of our fellow-creatures lessen our own private and particular woe? No,
no, each suffers on his own account, each struggles with his own grief,
each sheds his own tears. And besides," he went on, "what has my life
been up to the present moment? A cold, barren, sterile arena, in which I
have always fought for others, never for myself. Sometimes for a king,
sometimes for a woman. The king has betrayed, the woman disdained me.
Miserable, unlucky wretch that I am! Women! Can I not make all expiate
the crime of one of their sex? What does that need? To have a heart no
longer, or to forget that I ever had one; to be strong, even against
weakness itself; to lean always, even when one feels that the support is
giving way. What is needed to attain, or succeed in all that? To be
young, handsome, strong, valiant, rich. I am, or shall be, all that.
But honor?" he still continued, "and what is honor after all? A theory
which every man understands in his own way. My father tells me: 'Honor
is the consideration of what is due to others, and particularly what is
due to oneself.' But Guiche, and Manicamp, and Saint-Aignan
particularly, would say to me: 'What's honor? Honor consists in studying
and yielding to the passions and pleasures of one's king.' Honor such as
that indeed, is easy and productive enough. With honor like that, I can
keep my post at the court, become a gentleman of the chamber, and accept
the command of a regiment, which may at any time be presented to me.
With honor such as that, I can be duke and peer.

"The stain which that woman has stamped upon me, the grief that has
broken my heart, the heart of the friend and playmate of her childhood,
in no way affects M. de Bragelonne, an excellent officer, a courageous
leader, who will cover himself with glory at the first encounter, and who
will become a hundred times greater than Mademoiselle de la Valliere is
to-day, the mistress of the king - for the king will not marry her - and
the more publicly he will proclaim her as his mistress, the more opaque
will grow the shadow of shame he casts upon her face, in the guise of a
crown; and in proportion as others despise, as I despise her, I shall be
gleaning honors in the field. Alas! we had walked together side by side,
she and I, during the earliest, the brightest, the most angelic portion
of our existence, hand in hand along the