THE ANCESTORS OF PORTHOS.
When D'Artagnan had quitted Aramis and Porthos, the latter returned to
the principal fort to converse with the greater liberty. Porthos, still
thoughtful, was a constraint upon Aramis, whose mind had never felt
itself more free.
"Dear Porthos," said he, suddenly, "I will explain D'Artagnan's idea to
you."
"What idea, Aramis?"
"An idea to which we shall owe our liberty within twelve hours."
"Ah! indeed!" said Porthos, much astonished. "Let us see it."
"Did you remark, in the scene our friend had with the officer, that
certain orders restrained him with regard to us?"
"Yes; I did remark that."
"Well! D'Artagnan is going to give in his resignation to the king, and
during the confusion which will result from his absence, we will get
away, or rather you will get away, Porthos, if there is a possibility of
flight only for one."
Here Porthos shook his head and replied: "We will escape together,
Aramis, or we will remain here together."
"You are a generous heart," said Aramis, "only your melancholy
uneasiness afflicts me."
"I am not uneasy," said Porthos.
"Then you are angry with me."
"I am not angry with you."
"Then why, my friend, do you put on such a dismal countenance?"
"I will tell you: I am making my will." And while saying these words,
the good Porthos looked sadly in the face of Aramis.
"Your will!" cried the bishop. "What then! do you think yourself lost?"
"I feel fatigued. It is the first time, and there is a custom in our
family."
"What is it, my friend?"
"My grandfather was a man twice as strong as I am."
"Indeed!" said Aramis: "then your grandfather must have been Samson
himself."
"No; his name was Antoine. Well! he was about my age, when setting out
one day for the chase, he felt his legs weak, he who had never known
this before."
"What was the meaning of that fatigue, my friend?"
"Nothing good, as you will see: for having set out, complaining still of
the weakness of his legs, he met a wild boar, which made head against
him; he missed him with his arquebuse, and was ripped up by the beast,
and died directly."
"There is no reason in that why you should alarm yourself, dear
Porthos."
"Oh! you will see. My father was as strong again as I am. He was a rough
soldier under Henry III. and Henry IV.; his name was not Antoine, but
Gaspard, the same as M. de Coligny. Always on horseback, he had never
known what lassitude was. One evening, as he rose from table, his legs
failed him."
"He had supped heartily, perhaps," said Aramis, "and that was why he
staggered."
"Bah! A friend of M. de Bassompierre, nonsense! No, no, he was
astonished at feeling this lassitude, and said to my mother, who laughed
at him, 'Would not one believe I was going to meet with a wild boar, as
the late M. de Valon, my father, did?
"Well?" said Aramis.
"Well! having this weakness, my father insisted upon going down into the
garden, instead of going to bed; his foot slipped on the first stair:
the staircase was steep: my father fell against a stone angle in which
an iron hinge was fixed. The hinge opened his temple; and he lay dead
upon the spot."
Aramis raised his eyes to his friend: "These are two extraordinary
circumstances," said he; "let us not infer that there may succeed a
third. It is not becoming in a man of your strength to be superstitious,
my brave Porthos. Besides, when were your leg's seen to fail? Never have
you been so firm, so superb: why, you could carry a house on your
shoulders."
"At this moment," said Porthos, "I feel myself pretty active; but at
times I vacillate, I sink; and lately this phenomenon, as you say, has
occurred four times. I will not say that this frightens me, but it
annoys me. Life is an agreeable thing. I have money; I have fine
estates; I have horses that I love; I have also friends I love:
D'Artagnan, Athos, Raoul and you."
The admirable Porthos did not even take the trouble to dissimulate to
Aramis the rank he gave him in his friendship. Aramis pressed his hand:
"We will still live many years," said he, "to preserve in the world
specimens of rare men. Trust yourself to me, my friend; we have no reply
from D'Artagnan, that is a good sign. He must have given orders to get
the vessels together and clear the seas. On my part, I have just issued
directions that a bark should be rolled upon rollers to the mouth of the
great cavern of Locmaria, which you know, where we have so often laid
wait for the foxes."
"Yes, and which terminates at the little creek by a trench which we
discovered the day that splendid fox escaped that way."
"Precisely. In case of misfortunes, a bark is to be concealed for us in
that cavern; indeed, it must be there by this time. We will wait for a
favorable moment, and, during the night, to sea!"
"That is a good idea; what shall we gain by it?"
"We shall gain by it--that nobody knows that grotto, or rather its
issue, except ourselves and two or three hunters of the island; we shall
gain by it--that if the island is occupied, the scouts, seeing no bark
upon the shore, will never imagine we can escape, and will cease to
watch."
"I understand."
"Well! the legs?"
"Oh! excellent, just now."
"You see then, plainly, that everything conspires to give us quietude
and hope. D'Artagnan will clear the sea and make us free. No more royal
fleet or descent to be dreaded. Vive Dieu! Porthos, we have still half a
century of good adventures before us, and if I once touch Spanish
ground, I swear to you," added the bishop with a terrible energy, "that
your brevet of duke is not such a chance as it is said to be."
"We will live in hope," said Porthos, a little enlivened by the
renovated warmth of his companion.
All at once a cry resounded in their ears:--"To arms! to arms!"
This cry, repeated by a hundred voices, brought, to the chamber where
the two friends were conversing, surprise to the one, and uneasiness to
the other. Aramis opened the window: he saw a crowd of people running
with flambeaux. Women were seeking places of safety, the armed
population were hastening to their posts.
"The fleet! the fleet!" cried a soldier, who recognized Aramis.
"The fleet?" repeated the latter.
"Within half cannon-shot," continued the soldier.
"To arms!" cried Aramis.
"To arms!" repeated Porthos, formidably. And both rushed forth toward
the mole, to place themselves within the shelter of the batteries.
Boats, laden with soldiers, were seen approaching; they took three
directions, for the purpose of landing at three points at once.
"What must be done?" said an officer of the guard.
"Stop them; and if they persist, fire!" said Aramis.
Five minutes after, the cannonade commenced. These were the shots that
D'Artagnan had heard as he landed in France. But the boats were too near
the mole to allow the cannon to aim correctly. They landed, and the
combat commenced hand to hand.
"What's the matter, Porthos?" said Aramis to his friend.
"Nothing! nothing!--only my legs; it is really incomprehensible!--they
will be better when we charge." In fact, Porthos and Aramis did charge
with such vigor; they so thoroughly animated their men, that the
royalists reembarked precipitately, without gaining anything but the
wounds they carried away.
"Eh! but, Porthos," cried Aramis, "we must have a prisoner, quick!
quick!" Porthos bent over the stair of the mole, and seized by the nape
of the neck one of the officers of the royal army who was waiting to
embark till all his people should be in the boat. The arm of the giant
lifted up his prey, which served him as a buckler, as he recovered
himself, without a shot being fired at him.
"Here is a prisoner for you," said Porthos coolly to Aramis.
"Well!" cried the latter, laughing, "have you not calumniated your
legs?"
"It was not with my legs I took him," said Porthos, "it was with my
arms!"