In which the Reader, no doubt, will be as astonished as D’Artagnan was
to meet an Old Acquaintance
There is always something in a landing, if it be only from the smallest
sea-boat—a trouble and a confusion which do not leave the mind the
liberty of which it stands in need in order to study at the first
glance the new locality presented to it. The movable bridges, the
agitated sailors, the noise of the water on the pebbles, the cries and
importunities of those who wait upon the shores, are multiplied details
of that sensation which is summed up in one single result—hesitation.
It was not, then, till after standing several minutes on the shore that
D’Artagnan saw upon the port, but more particularly in the interior of
the isle, an immense number of workmen in motion. At his feet
D’Artagnan recognized the five chalands laden with rough stone he had
seen leave the port of Pirial. The smaller stones were transported to
the shore by means of a chain formed by twenty-five or thirty peasants.
The large stones were loaded on trollies which conveyed them in the
same direction as the others, that is to say, towards the works of
which D’Artagnan could as yet appreciate neither the strength nor the
extent. Everywhere was to be seen an activity equal to that which
Telemachus observed on his landing at Salentum. D’Artagnan felt a
strong inclination to penetrate into the interior; but he could not,
under the penalty of exciting mistrust, exhibit too much curiosity. He
advanced then little by little, scarcely going beyond the line formed
by the fishermen on the beach, observing everything, saying nothing,
and meeting all suspicion that might have been excited with a
half-silly question or a polite bow. And yet, whilst his companions
carried on their trade, giving or selling their fish to the workmen or
the inhabitants of the city, D’Artagnan had gained ground by degrees,
and, reassured by the little attention paid to him, he began to cast an
intelligent and confident look upon the men and things that appeared
before his eyes. And his very first glance fell on certain movements of
earth about which the eye of a soldier could not be mistaken. At the
two extremities of the port, in order that their fires should converge
upon the great axis of the ellipsis formed by the basin, in the first
place, two batteries had been raised, evidently destined to receive
flank pieces, for D’Artagnan saw the workmen finishing the platform and
making ready the demi-circumference in wood upon which the wheels of
the pieces might turn to embrace every direction over the epaulement.
By the side of each of these batteries other workmen were strengthening
gabions filled with earth, the lining of another battery. The latter
had embrasures, and the overseer of the works called successively men
who, with cords, tied the saucissons and cut the lozenges and right
angles of turfs destined to retain the matting of the embrasures. By
the activity displayed in these works, already so far advanced, they
might be considered as finished: they were not yet furnished with their
cannons, but the platforms had their gites and their madriers all
prepared; the earth, beaten carefully, was consolidated; and supposing
the artillery to be on the island, in less than two or three days the
port might be completely armed. That which astonished D’Artagnan, when
he turned his eyes from the coast batteries to the fortifications of
the city, was to see that Belle-Isle was defended by an entirely new
system, of which he had often heard the Comte de la Fere speak as a
wonderful advance, but of which he had as yet never seen the
application. These fortifications belonged neither to the Dutch method
of Marollais, nor to the French method of the Chevalier Antoine de
Ville, but to the system of Manesson Mallet, a skillful engineer, who
about six or eight years previously had quitted the service of Portugal
to enter that of France. The works had this peculiarity, that instead
of rising above the earth, as did the ancient ramparts destined to
defend a city from escalades, they, on the contrary, sank into it; and
what created the height of the walls was the depth of the ditches. It
did not take long to make D’Artagnan perceive the superiority of such a
system, which gives no advantage to cannon. Besides, as the fosses were
lower than, or on a level with the sea, these fosses could be instantly
inundated by means of subterranean sluices. Otherwise, the works were
almost complete, and a group of workmen, receiving orders from a man
who appeared to be conductor of the works, were occupied in placing the
last stones. A bridge of planks thrown over the fosses for the greater
convenience of the maneuvers connected with the barrows, joined the
interior to the exterior. With an air of simple curiosity D’Artagnan
asked if he might be permitted to cross the bridge, and he was told
that no order prevented it. Consequently he crossed the bridge, and
advanced towards the group.
This group was superintended by the man whom D’Artagnan had already
remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief. A plan was
lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some
paces from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by his evident
importance first attracted the attention of D’Artagnan, wore a
justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness was scarcely in harmony with
the work he was employed in, that rather necessitated the costume of a
master-mason than of a noble. He was a man of immense stature and great
square shoulders, and wore a hat covered with feathers. He gesticulated
in the most majestic manner, and appeared, for D’Artagnan only saw his
back, to be scolding the workmen for their idleness and want of
strength.
D’Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that moment the man with the
feathers ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed upon his
knees, was following, half-bent, the effort of six workmen to raise a
block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to support
that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under it. The
six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it
to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing, whilst a
seventh got ready against there should be daylight enough beneath it to
slide in the roller that was to support it. But the stone had already
twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient height for
the roller to be introduced. There can be no doubt that every time the
stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to keep their feet
from being crushed by the refalling stone. Every time, the stone,
abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which rendered the
operation more and more difficult. A third effort was followed by no
better success, but with progressive discouragement. And yet, when the
six men were bent towards the stone, the man with the feathers had
himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of command, “Ferme!”
which regulates maneuvers of strength. Then he drew himself up.
“Oh! oh!” said he, “what is all this about? Have I to do with men of
straw? Corne de boeuf! stand on one side, and you shall see how this is
to be done.”
“Peste!” said D’Artagnan, “will he pretend to raise that rock? that
would be a sight worth looking at.”
The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew back with their ears
down, and shaking their heads, with the exception of the one who held
the plank, who prepared to perform the office. The man with the
feathers went up to the stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the
face lying upon the ground, stiffened his Herculean muscles, and
without a strain, with a slow motion, like that of a machine, he lifted
the end of the rock a foot from the ground. The workman who held the
plank profited by the space thus given him, and slipped the roller
under the stone.
“That’s the way,” said the giant, not letting the rock fall again, but
placing it upon its support.
“Mordioux!” cried D’Artagnan, “I know but one man capable of such a
feat of strength.”
“Hein!” cried the colossus, turning round.
“Porthos!” murmured D’Artagnan, seized with stupor, “Porthos at
Belle-Isle!”
On his part, the man with the feathers fixed his eyes upon the
disguised lieutenant, and, in spite of his metamorphosis, recognized
him. “D’Artagnan!” cried he; and the color mounted to his face. “Hush!”
said he to D’Artagnan.
“Hush!” in his turn, said the musketeer. In fact if Porthos had just
been discovered by D’Artagnan, D’Artagnan had just been discovered by
Porthos. The interest of the particular secret of each struck them both
at the same instant. Nevertheless the first movement of the two men was
to throw their arms around each other. What they wished to conceal from
the bystanders, was not their friendship, but their names. But, after
the embrace, came reflection.
“What the devil brings Porthos to Belle-Isle, lifting stones?” said
D’Artagnan; only D’Artagnan uttered that question in a low voice. Less
strong in diplomacy than his friend, Porthos thought aloud.
“How the devil did you come to Belle-Isle?” asked he of D’Artagnan;
“and what do you want to do here?” It was necessary to reply without
hesitation. To hesitate in his answer to Porthos would have been a
check, for which the self-love of D’Artagnan would never have consoled
itself.
“Pardieu! my friend, I am at Belle-Isle because you are.”
“Ah, bah!” said Porthos, visibly stupefied with the argument, and
seeking to account for it to himself, with the felicity of deduction we
know to be peculiar to him.
“Without doubt,” continued D’Artagnan, unwilling to give his friend
time to recollect himself, “I have been to see you at Pierrefonds.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes.”
“And you did not find me there?”
“No, but I found Mouston.”
“Is he well?”
“Peste!”
“Well, but Mouston did not tell you I was here.”
“Why should he not Have I, perchance, deserved to lose his confidence?”
“No, but he did not know it.”
“Well; that is a reason at least that does not offend my self-love.”
“Then how did you manage to find me?”
“My dear friend, a great noble like you always leaves traces behind him
on his passage; and I should think but poorly of myself, if I were not
sharp enough to follow the traces of my friends.” This explanation,
flattering as it was, did not entirely satisfy Porthos.
“But I left no traces behind me, for I came here disguised,” said
Porthos.
“Ah! You came disguised did you?” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes.”
“And how?”
“As a miller.”
“And do you think a great noble, like you, Porthos, can affect common
manners so as to deceive people?”
“Well, I swear to you, my friend, that I played my part so well that
everybody was deceived.”
“Indeed! so well, that I have not discovered and joined you?”
“Yes; but how did you discover and join me?”
“Stop a bit. I was going to tell you how. Do you imagine Mouston——”
“Ah! it was that fellow, Mouston,” said Porthos, gathering up those two
triumphant arches which served him for eyebrows.
“But stop, I tell you—it was no fault of Mouston’s because he was
ignorant of where you were.”
“I know he was; and that is why I am in such haste to understand——”
“Oh! how impatient you are, Porthos.”
“When I do not comprehend, I am terrible.”
“Well, you will understand. Aramis wrote to you at Pierrefonds, did he
not?”
“Yes.”
“And he told you to come before the equinox.”
“That is true.”
“Well! that is it,” said D’Artagnan, hoping that this reason would
mystify Porthos. Porthos appeared to give himself up to a violent
mental labor.
“Yes, yes,” said he, “I understand. As Aramis told me to come before
the equinox, you have understood that that was to join him. You then
inquired where Aramis was, saying to yourself, ‘Where Aramis is, there
Porthos will be.’ You have learnt that Aramis was in Bretagne, and you
said to yourself, ‘Porthos is in Bretagne.’”
“Exactly. In good truth, Porthos I cannot tell why you have not turned
conjurer. So you understand that arriving at Roche-Bernard, I heard of
the splendid fortifications going on at Belle-Isle. The account raised
my curiosity, I embarked in a fishing boat, without dreaming that you
were here: I came, and I saw a monstrous fine fellow lifting a stone
Ajax could not have stirred. I cried out, ‘Nobody but the Baron de
Bracieux could have performed such a feat of strength.’ You heard me,
you turned round, you recognized me, we embraced; and, ma foi! if you
like, my dear friend, we will embrace again.”
“Ah! now all is explained,” said Porthos; and he embraced D’Artagnan
with so much friendship as to deprive the musketeer of his breath for
five minutes.
“Why, you are stronger than ever,” said D’Artagnan, “and still,
happily, in your arms.” Porthos saluted D’Artagnan with a gracious
smile. During the five minutes D’Artagnan was recovering his breath, he
reflected that he had a very difficult part to play. It was necessary
that he always should question and never reply. By the time his
respiration returned, he had fixed his plans for the campaign.