to his others. He now called himself Du Vallon de Bracieux
de Pierrefonds, and resided on his new estate.
The travelers were therefore obliged to stay at the hotel
until the next day; the horses had done ten leagues that day
and needed rest. It is true they might have taken others,
but there was a great forest to pass through and Planchet,
as we have seen, had no liking for forests after dark.
There was another thing that Planchet had no liking for and
that was starting on a journey with a hungry stomach.
Accordingly, D'Artagnan, on awaking, found his breakfast
waiting for him. It need not be said that Planchet in
resuming his former functions resumed also his former
humility and was not ashamed to make his breakfast on what
was left by D'Artagnan.
It was nearly eight o'clock when they set out again. Their
course was clearly defined: they were to follow the road
toward Compiegne and on emerging from the forest turn to the
right.
The morning was beautiful, and in this early springtime the
birds sang on the trees and the sunbeams shone through the
misty glades, like curtains of golden gauze.
In other parts of the forest the light could scarcely
penetrate through the foliage, and the stems of two old oak
trees, the refuge of the squirrel, startled by the
travelers, were in deep shadow.
There came up from all nature in the dawn of day a perfume
of herbs, flowers and leaves, which delighted the heart.
D'Artagnan, sick of the closeness of Paris, thought that
when a man had three names of his different estates joined
one to another, he ought to be very happy in such a
paradise; then he shook his head, saying, "If I were Porthos
and D'Artagnan came to make me such a proposition as I am
going to make to him, I know what I should say to it."
As to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was
happy as a hunting-hound in his old master's company.
At the extremity of the wood D'Artagnan perceived the road
that had been described to him, and at the end of the road
he saw the towers of an immense feudal castle.
"Oh! oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the
ancient branch of Orleans. Can Porthos have negotiated for
it with the Duc de Longueville?"
"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "here's land in good condition;
if it belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."
"Zounds!" cried D'Artagnan, "don't call him Porthos, nor
even Vallon; call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou
wilt knell out damnation to my mission otherwise."
As he approached the castle which had first attracted his
eye, D'Artagnan was convinced that it could not be there
that his friend dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if
built yesterday, were open and broken. One might have
fancied that some giant had cleaved them with blows from a
hatchet.
On arriving at the extremity of the castle D'Artagnan found
himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the
foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered
houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some
with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as
their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the
beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four
stately, gilded weather-cocks. D'Artagnan no longer doubted
that this was Porthos's pleasant dwelling place.
The road led straight up to the chateau which, compared to
its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the
coterie of the Duc d'Enghein would have been beside a knight
in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. D'Artagnan
spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by
Planchet at the same pace.
In ten minutes D'Artagnan reached the end of an alley
regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an
iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt.
In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green
and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding
on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two
footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A
considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered
homage to their lord.
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "can this be the Seigneur
du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! how he has
shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!"
"This cannot be Monsieur Porthos," observed Planchet
replying, as it were, to his master's thoughts. "Monsieur
Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five."
"Nevertheless," said D'Artagnan, "the people are bowing very
low to this person."
As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse -- to the man of
importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to
recognize the features of this individual.
"Jesu!" cried Planchet, "can it be?"
At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and
with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed
in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion
visage, and the eloquent smile of -- Musqueton.
It was indeed Musqueton -- Musqueton, as fat as a pig,
rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living,
who, recognizing D'Artagnan and acting very differently from
the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached
the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the
assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which
eclipsed the former luminary.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan! Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried Musqueton,
his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring
with joy; "Monsieur d'Artagnan! oh! what joy for my lord and
master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!"
"Thou good Musqueton! where is thy master?"
"You stand upon his property!"
"But how handsome thou art -- how fat! thou hast prospered
and grown stout!" and D'Artagnan could not restrain his
astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the
once famished one.
"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Musqueton.
"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"
"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet -- art thou there?" cried
Musqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.
"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see
if thou wert grown proud."
"Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst
not have thought so hadst thou known Musqueton well."
"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and
extending his arms to Musqueton, the two servants embraced
with an emotion which touched those who were present and
made them suppose that Planchet was a great lord in
disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of
Musqueton.
"And now, sir," resumed Musqueton, when he had rid himself
of Planchet, who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind
his friend's fat back, "now, sir, allow me to leave you, for
I could not permit my master to hear of your arrival from
any but myself; he would never forgive me for not having
preceded you."
"This dear friend," said D'Artagnan, carefully avoiding to
utter either the former name borne by Porthos or his new
one, "then he has not forgotten me?"
"Forgotten -- he!" cried Musqueton; "there's not a day, sir,
that we don't expect to hear that you were made marshal
either instead of Monsieur de Gassion, or of Monsieur de
Bassompierre."
On D'Artagnan's lips there played one of those rare and
melancholy smiles which seemed to emanate from the depth of
his soul -- the last trace of youth and happiness that had
survived life's disillusions.
"And you -- fellows," resumed Musqueton, "stay near Monsieur
le Comte d'Artagnan and pay him every attention in your
power whilst I go to prepare my lord for his visit."
And mounting his horse Musqueton rode off down the avenue on
the grass at a hand gallop.
"Ah, there! there's something promising," said D'Artagnan.
"No mysteries, no cloak to hide one's self in, no cunning
policy here; people laugh outright, they weep for joy here.
I see nothing but faces a yard broad; in short, it seems to
me that nature herself wears a holiday garb, and that the
trees, instead of leaves and flowers, are covered with red
and green ribbons as on gala days."
"As for me," said Planchet, "I seem to smell, from this
place, even, a most delectable perfume of fine roast meat,
and to see the scullions in a row by the hedge, hailing our
approach. Ah! sir, what a cook must Monsieur Pierrefonds
have, when he was so fond of eating and drinking, even
whilst he was only called Monsieur Porthos!"
"Say no more!" cried D'Artagnan. "If the reality corresponds
with appearances I am lost; for a man so well off will never
change his happy condition, and I shall fail with him, as I
have already done with Aramis."
11
How D'Artagnan, in discovering the Retreat of Porthos,
perceives that Wealth does not necessarily produce
Happiness.
D'Artagnan passed through the iron gate and arrived in front
of the chateau. He alighted as he saw a species of giant on
the steps. Let us do justice to D'Artagnan. Independently of
every selfish wish, his heart palpitated with joy when he
saw that tall form and martial demeanor, which recalled to
him a good and brave man.
He ran to Porthos and threw himself into his arms; the whole
body of servants, arranged in a semi-circle at a respectful
distance, looked on with humble curiosity. Musqueton, at the
head of them, wiped his eyes. Porthos linked his arm in that
of his friend.
"Ah! how delightful to see you again, dear friend!" he
cried, in a voice which was now changed from a baritone into
a bass, "you've not then forgotten me?"
"Forget you! oh! dear Du Vallon, does one forget the
happiest days of flowery youth, one's dearest friends, the
dangers we have dared together? On the contrary, there is
not an hour we have passed together that is not present to
my memory."
"Yes, yes," said Porthos, trying to give to his mustache a
curl which it had lost whilst he had been alone. "Yes, we
did some fine things in our time and we gave that poor
cardinal a few threads to unravel."
And he heaved a sigh.
"Under any circumstances," he resumed, "you are welcome, my
dear friend; you will help me to recover my spirits;
to-morrow we will hunt the hare on my plain, which is a
superb tract of land, or pursue the deer in my woods, which
are magnificent. I have four harriers which are considered
the swiftest in the county, and a pack of hounds which are
unequalled for twenty leagues around."
And Porthos heaved another sigh.
"But, first," interposed D'Artagnan, "you must present me to
Madame du Vallon."
A third sigh from Porthos.
"I lost Madame du Vallon two years ago," he said, "and you
find me still in affliction on that account. That was the
reason why I left my Chateau du Vallon near Corbeil, and
came to my estate, Bracieux. Poor Madame du Vallon! her
temper was uncertain, but she came at last to accustom
herself to my little ways and understand my little wishes."
"So you are free now, and rich?"
"Alas!" groaned Porthos, "I am a widower and have forty
thousand francs a year. Let us go to breakfast."
"I shall be happy to do so; the morning air has made me
hungry."
"Yes," said Porthos; "my air is excellent."
They went into the chateau; there was nothing but gilding,
high and low; the cornices were gilt, the mouldings were
gilt, the legs and arms of the chairs were gilt. A table,
ready set out, awaited them.
"You see," said Porthos, "this is my usual style."
"Devil take me!" answered D'Artagnan, "I wish you joy of it.
The king has nothing like it."
"No," answered Porthos, "I hear it said that he is very
badly fed by the cardinal, Monsieur de Mazarin. Taste this
cutlet, my dear D'Artagnan; 'tis off one of my sheep."
"You have very tender mutton and I wish you joy of it." said
D'Artagnan.
"Yes, the sheep are fed in my meadows, which are excellent
pasture."
"Give me another cutlet."
"No, try this hare, which I had killed yesterday in one of
my warrens."
"Zounds! what a flavor!" cried D'Artagnan; "ah! they are fed
on thyme only, your hares."
"And how do you like my wine?" asked Porthos; "it is
pleasant, isn't it?"
"Capital!"
"It is nothing, however, but a wine of the country."
"Really?"
"Yes, a small declivity to the south, yonder on my hill,
gives me twenty hogsheads."
"Quite a vineyard, hey?"
Porthos sighed for the fifth time -- D'Artagnan had counted
his sighs. He became curious to solve the problem.
"Well now," he said, "it seems, my dear friend, that
something vexes you; you are ill, perhaps? That health,
which ---- "
"Excellent, my dear friend; better than ever. I could kill
an ox with a blow of my fist."
"Well, then, family affairs, perhaps?"
"Family! I have, happily, only myself in the world to care
for."
"But what makes you sigh?"
"My dear fellow," replied Porthos, "to be candid with you, I
am not happy."
"You are not happy, Porthos? You who have chateau, meadows,
mountains, woods -- you who have forty thousand francs a
