CHAPTER CXXIX.
PORTHOS' WILL.
At Pierrefonds everything was in mourning. The courts were deserted--thestables closed--the parterres neglected. In the basins, the fountains,formerly so spreading, noisy, and sparkling, had stopped of themselves.Along the roads around the chateau came a few grave personages mountedupon mules or farm nags. These were country neighbors, cures, andbailiffs of adjacent estates. All these people entered the chateausilently, gave their nags to a melancholy-looking groom, and directedtheir steps, conducted by a huntsman in black, to the great dining-room,where Mousqueton received them at the door. Mousqueton had become sothin in two days that his clothes moved upon him like sheaths which aretoo large, and in which the blades of swords dance about at each motion.His face, composed of red and white, like that of the Madonna ofVandyke, was furrowed by two silver rivulets which had dug their beds inhis cheeks, as full formerly as they had become flabby since his griefbegan. At each fresh arrival, Mousqueton found fresh tears, and it waspitiful to see him press his throat with his fat hand to keep frombursting into sobs and lamentations. All these visits were for thepurpose of hearing the reading of Porthos' will, announced for that day,and at which all the covetousness and all the friendships connected withthe defunct were anxious to be present, as he had left no relationbehind him.
The visitors took their places as they arrived; and the great room hadjust been closed when the clock struck twelve, the hour fixed for thereading of the important document. Porthos' procureur--and that wasnaturally the successor of Master Coquenard--commenced by slowlyunfolding the vast parchment upon which the powerful hand of Porthos hadtraced his sovereign will. The seal broken--the spectacles put on--thepreliminary cough having sounded--every one opened his ears. Mousquetonhad squatted himself in a corner, the better to weep and the better tohear. All at once the folding-doors of the great room, which had beenshut, were thrown open as if by a prodigy, and a manly figure appearedupon the threshold, resplendent in the full light of the sun. This wasD'Artagnan, who had come alone to the gate, and finding nobody to holdhis stirrup, he had tied his horse to a knocker and announced himself.The splendor of the daylight invading the room, the murmur of allpresent, and, more than all that, the instinct of the faithful dog, drewMousqueton from his reverie; he raised his head, recognized the oldfriend of his master, and, howling with grief, he embraced his knees,watering the floor with his tears. D'Artagnan raised up the poorintendant, embraced him as if he had been a brother, and, having noblysaluted the assembly, who all bowed as they whispered to each other hisname, he went and took his seat at the extremity of the great carved oakhall, still holding by the hand poor Mousqueton, who was suffocating,and sunk down upon the steps. Then the procureur, who, like the rest,was considerably agitated, commenced the reading.
Porthos, after a profession of faith of the most Christian character,asked pardon of his enemies for all the injuries he might have donethem. At this paragraph, a ray of inexpressible pride beamed from theeyes of D'Artagnan. He recalled to his mind the old soldier; all thoseenemies of Porthos brought to the earth by his valiant hand, he reckonedup the numbers of them, and said to himself that Porthos had actedwisely not to detail his enemies or the injuries done to them, or thetask would have been too much for the reader. Then came the followingenumeration:--
"I possess at this present time, by the grace of God:
"1. The domain of Pierrefonds, lands, woods, meadows, waters, andforests, surrounded by good walls.
"2. The domain of Bracieux, chateau, forests, plowed lands, formingthree farms.
"3. The little estate, De Valon, so named because it is in the valley."(Brave Porthos!)
"4. Fifty farms in Touraine, amounting to five hundred acres.
"5. Three mills upon the Cher, bringing in six hundred livres each.
"6. Three fish-pools in Bern, producing two hundred livres a year.
"As to my personal or movable property, so called because it can bemoved, as is so well explained by my learned friend the bishop ofVannes--" (D'Artagnan shuddered at the dismal remembrance attached tothat name)--the procureur continued imperturbably--"they consist--
"1. In goods which I cannot detail here for want of room, and whichfurnish all my chateaux or houses, but of which the list is drawn up bymy intendant."
Every one turned his eyes toward Mousqueton, who was absorbed in hisgrief.
"2. In twenty horses for saddle and draught, which I have particularlyat my chateau of Pierrefonds, and which are called--Bayard, Roland,Charlemagne, Pepin, Dunois, La Hire, Ogier, Samson, Milo, Nimrod,Urganda, Armida, Falstrade, Dalilah, Rebecca, Yolande, Finette,Grisette, Lisette, and Musette.
"3. In sixty dogs, forming six packs, divided as follows: the first, forthe stag: the second, for the wolf; the third, for the wild boar; thefourth, for the hare; and the two others, for setters and protection.
"4. In arms for war and the chase contained in my gallery of arms.
"5. My wines of Anjou, selected for Athos, who liked them formerly; mywines of Burgundy, Champagne, Bordeaux, and Spain, stocking eightcellars and twelve vaults, in my various houses.
"6. My pictures and statues, which are said to be of great value, andwhich are sufficiently numerous to fatigue the sight.
"7. My library, consisting of six thousand volumes, quite new, and havenever been opened.
"8. My silver plate, which is perhaps a little worn, but which ought toweigh from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds, for I had great troublein lifting the coffer that contained it, and could not carry it morethan six times round my chamber.
"9. All these objects, in addition to the table and house linen, aredivided in the residences I liked the best."
Here the reader stopped to take breath. Every one sighed, coughed, andredoubled his attention. The procureur resumed:
"I have lived without having any children, and it is probable I nevershall have any, which to me is a cutting grief. And yet I am mistaken,for I have a son, in common with my other friends: that is M. RaoulAuguste Jules de Bragelonne, the true son of M. le Comte de la Fere.
"This young nobleman has appeared to me worthy to succeed to the threevaliant gentlemen, of whom I am the friend and the very humble servant."
Here a sharp sound interrupted the reader. It was D'Artagnan's sword,which, slipping from his baldrick, had fallen on the sonorous flooring.Every one turned his eyes that way, and saw that a large tear had rolledfrom the thick lid of D'Artagnan on to his aquiline nose, the luminousedge of which shone like a crescent enlightened by the sun.
"This is why," continued the procureur, "I have left all my property,movable or immovable, comprised in the above enumerations, to M. leVicomte Raoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, son of M. le Comte de laFere, to console him for the grief he seems to suffer, and enable him tosupport his name gloriously." A long murmur ran through the auditory.The procureur continued, seconded by the flashing eye of D'Artagnan,which, glancing over the assembly, quickly restored the interruptedsilence:
"On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. leChevalier d'Artagnan, captain of the king's musketeers, whatever thesaid Chevalier d'Artagnan may demand of my property. On condition thatM. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le Chevalierd'Herblay, my friend, if he should need it in exile. I leave to myintendant Mousqueton all my clothes, of city, war, or chase, to thenumber of forty-seven suits, with the assurance that he will wear themtill they are worn out, for the love of, and in remembrance of, hismaster. Moreover, I bequeath to M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne my oldservant and faithful friend Mousqueton, already named, providing thatthe said vicomte shall so act that Mousqueton shall declare when dyinghe has never ceased to be happy."
On hearing these words, Mousqueton bowed, pale and trembling; his largeshoulders shook convulsively; his countenance, impressed by a frightfulgrief, appeared from between his icy hands, and the spectators saw himstagger, and hesitate, as if, though wishing to leave the hall, he didnot know the way.
> "Mousqueton, my good friend," said D'Artagnan, "go and make yourpreparations. I will take you with me to Athos' house, whither I shallgo on leaving Pierrefonds."
Mousqueton made no reply. He scarcely breathed, as if everything in thathall would from that time be foreign. He opened the door, anddisappeared slowly. The procureur finished his reading, after which thegreater part of those who had come to hear the last will of Porthosdispersed by degrees, many disappointed, but all penetrated withrespect. As to D'Artagnan, left alone, after having received the formalcompliments of the procureur, he was lost in admiration of the wisdom ofthe testator, who had so judiciously bestowed his wealth upon the mostnecessitous and the most worthy, with a delicacy that none among themost refined courtiers and the most noble hearts could have displayedmore becomingly. When Porthos enjoined Raoul de Bragelonne to give toD'Artagnan all he would ask, he knew well, did that worthy Porthos, thatD'Artagnan would ask or take nothing; and in case he did demandanything, none but himself could say what. Porthos left a pension toAramis, who, if he should be inclined to ask too much, was checked bythe example of D'Artagnan; and that word _exile_, thrown out by thetestator, without apparent intention, was it not the most mild, the mostexquisite criticism upon that conduct of Aramis which had brought aboutthe death of Porthos. But there was no mention of Athos in the testamentof the dead. Could the latter for a moment suppose that the son wouldnot offer the best part to the father? The rough mind of Porthos hadjudged all these causes, seized all these shades, better than the law,better than custom, better than taste.
"Porthos was a heart," said D'Artagnan to himself, with a sigh. As hemade this reflection, he fancied he heard a groan in the room above him;and he thought immediately of poor Mousqueton, whom he felt it was apleasing duty to divert from his grief. For this purpose he left thehall hastily to seek the worthy intendant, as he had not returned. Heascended the staircase leading to the first story, and perceived, inPorthos' own chamber, a heap of clothes of all colors and all materials,upon which Mousqueton had laid himself down after heaping them together.It was the legacy of the faithful friend. These clothes were truly hisown; they had been given to him; the hand of Mousqueton was stretchedover these relics, which he kissed with all his lips, with all his face,which he covered with his whole body. D'Artagnan approached to consolethe poor fellow.
"My God!" said he, "he does not stir--he has fainted!"
But D'Artagnan was mistaken--Mousqueton was dead! Dead, like the dogwho, having lost his master, comes back to die upon his cloak.