THE EPITAPH OF PORTHOS.
Aramis, silent, icy, trembling like a timid child, arose
shivering from the stone. A Christian does not walk upon tombs. But
though capable of standing, he was not capable of walking. It might be
said that something of dead Porthos had just died within him. His
Bretons surrounded him: Aramis yielded to their kind exertions, and the
three sailors, lifting him up, carried him into the canoe. Then, having
laid him down upon the bench near the rudder, they took to their oars,
preferring to get off by rowing to hoisting a sail, which might betray
them.
Of all that leveled surface of the ancient grotto of Locmaria, of all
that flattened shore, one single little hillock attracted their eyes.
Aramis never removed his from it; and, at a distance out in the sea, in
proportion as the shore receded, the menacing and proud mass of rock
seemed to draw itself up, as formerly Porthos used to draw himself up,
and raise a smiling and invincible head toward heaven, like that of the
honest and valiant friend, the strongest of the four, and yet the first
dead. Strange destiny of these men of brass! The most simple of heart
allied to the most crafty; strength of body guided by subtlety of mind;
and in the decisive moment, when vigor alone could save mind and body, a
stone, a rock, a vile and material weight, triumphed over vigor, and
falling upon the body, drove out the mind.
Worthy Porthos! born to help other men, always ready to sacrifice
himself for the safety of the weak, as if God had only given him
strength for that purpose: when dying he only thought he was carrying
out the conditions of his compact with Aramis, a compact, however, which
Aramis alone had drawn up, and which Porthos had only known to suffer by
its terrible solidarity. Noble Porthos! of what good are the chateaux
overflowing with sumptuous furniture, the forests overflowing with game,
the lakes overflowing with fish, the cellars overflowing with wealth! Of
what good are the lackeys in brilliant liveries, and in the midst of
them Mousqueton, proud of the power delegated by thee! Oh! noble
Porthos! careful heaper up of treasures, was it worth while to labor to
sweeten and gild life, to come upon a desert shore, to the cries of sea
birds, and lay thyself, with broken bones, beneath a cold stone! Was it
worth while, in short, noble Porthos, to heap so much gold, and not have
even the distich of a poor poet engraven upon thy monument! Valiant
Porthos! He still, without doubt, sleeps, lost, forgotten, beneath the
rock which the shepherds of the heath take for the gigantic abode of a
dolmen. And so many twining branches, so many mosses, caressed by the
bitter wind of the ocean, so many vivacious lichens have soldered the
sepulcher to the earth, that the passenger will never imagine that such
a block of granite can ever have been supported by the shoulders of one
man.
Aramis, still pale, still icy, his heart upon his lips, Aramis looked,
even till, with the last ray of daylight, the shore faded on the
horizon. Not a word escaped his lips, not a sigh rose from his deep
breast. The superstitious Bretons looked at him trembling. The silence
was not of a man, it was of a statue. In the meantime, with the first
gray lines that descended from the heavens, the canoe had hoisted its
little sail, which swelling with the kisses of the breeze, and carrying
them rapidly from the coast, made brave way with its head toward Spain,
across the terrible gulf of Gascony, so rife with tempests. But scarcely
half an hour after the sail had been hoisted, the rowers became
inactive, reclining upon their benches, and making an eye-shade with
their hands, pointed out to each other a white spot which appeared on
the horizon, as motionless as is in appearance a gull rocked by the
insensible respiration of the waves. But that which might have appeared
motionless to the ordinary eyes was moving at a quick rate to the
experienced eye of the sailor; that which appeared stationary on the
ocean was cutting a rapid way through it. For some time, seeing the
profound torpor in which their master was plunged, they did not dare to
rouse him, and satisfied themselves with exchanging their conjectures in
a low, disturbed voice. Aramis, in fact, so vigilant, so active--Aramis,
whose eye, like that of a lynx, watched without ceasing, and saw better
by night than by day--Aramis seemed to sleep in the despair of his soul.
An hour passed thus, during which daylight gradually disappeared, but
during which also the sail in view gained so swiftly on the bark that
Goenne, one of the three sailors, ventured to say aloud:
"Monseigneur, we are being chased!"
Aramis made no reply; the ship still gained upon them. Then, of their
own accord, two of the sailors, by the direction of the patron Yves,
lowered the sail, in order that that single point, which appeared above
the surface of the waters, should cease to be a guide to the eye of the
enemy who was pursuing them. On the part of the ship in sight, on the
contrary, two more small sails were run up at the extremities of the
masts. Unfortunately, it was the time of the finest and longest days of
the year, and the moon, in all her brilliancy, succeeded to this
inauspicious daylight. The balancelle, which was pursuing the little
bark before the wind, had then still half an hour of twilight, and a
whole night almost as light as day.
"Monseigneur! monseigneur! we are lost!" said the patron; "look! they
see us although we have lowered our sail."
"That is not to be wondered at," murmured one of the sailors, "since
they say that, by the aid of the devil, the people of the cities have
fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as
near, by night as well as by day."
Aramis took a telescope from the bottom of the boat, arranged it
silently, and passing it to the sailor: "Here," said he, "look!" The
sailor hesitated.
"Don't be alarmed," said the bishop, "there is no sin in it; and if
there is any sin, I will take it upon myself."
The sailor lifted the glass to his eye and uttered a cry. He believed
that the vessel, which appeared to be distant about cannon-shot, had
suddenly and at a single bound cleared the distance. But, on withdrawing
the instrument from his eye, he saw that, except the way which the
balancelle had been able to make during that short instant, it was still
at the same distance.
"So," murmured the sailor, "they can see us as we see them."
"They see us," said Aramis, and sank again into his impassibility.
"How--they see us!" said the patron Yves, "impossible!"
"Well, patron, look yourself," said the sailor. And he passed to him the
glass.
"Monseigneur assures me that the devil has nothing to do with this?"
asked the patron.
Aramis shrugged his shoulders.
The patron lifted the glass to his eye. "Oh! monseigneur," said he, "it
is a miracle--they are there; it seems as if I were going to touch them.
Twenty-five men at least! Ah! I see the captain forward. He holds a
glass like this, and is looking at us. Ah! he turns round, and gives an
order; they are rolling a piece of cannon forward--they are charging
it--they are pointing it.--Miséricorde! they are firing at us!"
And by a mechanical movement, the patron took the glass off, and the
objects, sent back to the horizon, appeared again in their true aspect.
The vessel was still at the distance of nearly a league, but the
maneuver announced by the patron was not less real. A light cloud of
smoke appeared under the sails, more blue than they, and spreading like
a flower opening; then, at about a mile from the little canoe, they saw
the ball take the crown off two or three waves, dig a white furrow in
the sea, and disappear at the end of that furrow, as inoffensive as the
stone with which, at play, a boy makes ducks and drakes. That was at
once a menace and a warning.
"What is to be done?" asked the patron.
"They will sink us!" said Goenne, "give us absolution, monseigneur!" And
the sailors fell on their knees before him.
"You forget that they can see you," said he.
"That is true!" said the sailors, ashamed of their weakness. "Give us
your orders, monseigneur, we are ready to die for you."
"Let us wait," said Aramis.
"How--let us wait?"
"Yes; do you not see, as you just now said, that if we endeavor to fly
they will sink us?"
"But, perhaps," the patron ventured to say, "perhaps, by the favor of
the night we could escape them."
"Oh!" said Aramis, "they have, little doubt, some Greek fire to lighten
their own course and ours likewise."
At the same moment, as if the little vessel wished to reply to the
appeal of Aramis, a second cloud of smoke mounted slowly to the heavens,
and from the bosom of that cloud sparkled an arrow of flame, which
described its parabola like a rainbow, and fell into the sea, where it
continued to burn, illuminating a space of a quarter of a league in
diameter.
The Bretons looked at each other in terror. "You see plainly," said
Aramis, "it will be better to wait for them."
The oars dropped from the hands of the sailors, and the bark, ceasing to
make way, rocked motionless on the summits of the waves. Night came on,
but the vessel still approached nearer. It might be said it redoubled
its speed with the darkness. From time to time, as a bloody-necked
vulture rears its head out of its nest, the formidable Greek fire darted
from its sides, and cast its flame into the ocean like an incandescent
snow. At last it came within musket-shot. All the men were on deck, arms
in hand; the cannoneers were at their guns, the matches were burning. It
might be thought they were about to board a frigate and to combat a crew
superior in number to their own, and not to take a canoe manned by four
people.
"Surrender!" cried the commander of the balancelle, with the aid of his
speaking trumpet.
The sailors looked at Aramis. Aramis made a sign with his head. The
patron Yves waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was like
striking their flag. The vessel came on like a racehorse. It launched a
fresh Greek fire which fell within twenty paces of the little canoe, and
threw a stronger light upon them than the most ardent ray of the sun
could have done.
"At the first sign of resistance," cried the commander of the
balancelle, "fire!" And the soldiers brought their muskets to the
present.
"Did not we say we surrendered?" said the patron Yves.
"Living! living! captain!" cried some highly exalted soldiers, "they
must be taken living!"
"Well, yes--living," said the captain. Then turning toward the Bretons,
"Your lives are all safe, my friends!" cried he, "except the Chevalier
d'Herblay."
Aramis started imperceptibly. For an instant his eye was fixed upon the
depths of the ocean enlightened by the last flashes of the Greek fire,
flashes which ran along the sides of the waves, played upon their crests
like plumes, and rendered still more dark, more mysterious and more
terrible the abysses they covered.
"Do you hear, monseigneur?" said the sailors.
"Yes."
"What are your orders?"
"Accept!"
"But you, monseigneur?"
Aramis leaned still more forward, and played with the ends of his long
white fingers with the green water of the sea, to which he turned
smiling as to a friend.
"Accept!" repeated he.
"We accept," repeated the sailors; "but what security have we?"
"The word of a gentleman," said the officer. "By my rank and by my name
I swear, that all but M. le Chevalier d'Herblay shall have their lives
spared. I am lieutenant of the king's frigate the _Pomona_, and my name
is Louis Constant de Pressigny."
With a rapid gesture, Aramis--already bent over the side of the bark
toward the sea--with a rapid gesture, Aramis raised his head, drew
himself up, and with a flashing eye, and a smile upon his lips--"Throw
out the ladder, messieurs," said he, as if the command had belonged to
him. He was obeyed. Then Aramis, seizing the rope-ladder, instead of the
terror which was expected to be displayed upon his countenance, the
surprise of the sailors of the balancelle was great, when they saw him
walk straight up to the commander, with a firm step, look at him
earnestly, make a sign to him with his hand, a mysterious and unknown
sign, at the sight of which the officer turned pale, trembled, and bowed
his head. Without saving a word, Aramis then raised his hand close to
the eyes of the commander, and showed him the collet of a ring which he
wore on the ring-finger of his left hand. And while making this sign,
Aramis, draped in cold, silent, and haughty majesty, had the air of an
emperor giving his hand to be kissed. The commandant, who for a moment
had raised his head, bowed a second time with marks of the most profound
respect. Then stretching his hand out, in his turn toward the poop, that
is to say, toward his own cabin, he drew back to allow Aramis to go
first. The three Bretons, who had come on board after their bishop,
looked at each other, stupefied. The crew were struck with silence. Five
minutes after, the commander called the second lieutenant, who returned
immediately, ordering the head to be put toward Corunna. While the given
order was being executed, Aramis reappeared upon the deck, and took a
seat near the _bastingage_. The night had fallen, the moon had not yet
risen, and yet Aramis looked incessantly toward Belle-Isle. Yves then
approached the captain, who had returned to take his post in the stern,
and said, in a low and humble voice, "What course are we to follow,
captain?"
"We take what course monseigneur pleases," replied the officer.
Aramis passed the night leaning upon the _bastingage_. Yves, on
approaching him the next morning, remarked, that "the night must have
been very humid, for the wood upon which the bishop's head had rested
was soaked with dew." Who knows!--that dew was, perhaps, the first tears
that had ever fallen from the eyes of Aramis!
What epitaph would have been worth that? Good Porthos!