10

Twenty Years After

by Alexandre Dumas

10, TWENTY YEARS AFTER by Alexandre Dumas
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Monsieur Porthos du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds.



Thanks to what Aramis had told him, D'Artagnan, who knew
already that Porthos called himself Du Vallon, was now aware
that he styled himself, from his estate, De Bracieux; and
that he was, on account of this estate, engaged in a lawsuit
with the Bishop of Noyon. It was, then, in the neighborhood
of Noyon that he must seek that estate. His itinerary was
promptly determined: he would go to Dammartin, from which
place two roads diverge, one toward Soissons, the other
toward Compiegne; there he would inquire concerning the
Bracieux estate and go to the right or to the left according
to the information obtained.

Planchet, who was still a little concerned for his safety
after his recent escapade, declared that he would follow
D'Artagnan even to the end of the world, either by the road
to the right or by that to the left; only he begged his
former master to set out in the evening, for greater
security to himself. D'Artagnan suggested that he should
send word to his wife, so that she might not be anxious
about him, but Planchet replied with much sagacity that he
was very sure his wife would not die of anxiety through not
knowing where he was, while he, Planchet, remembering her
incontinence of tongue, would die of anxiety if she did
know.

This reasoning seemed to D'Artagnan so satisfactory that he
no further insisted; and about eight o'clock in the evening,
the time when the vapors of night begin to thicken in the
streets, he left the Hotel de la Chevrette, and followed by
Planchet set forth from the capital by way of the Saint
Denis gate.

At midnight the two travelers were at Dammartin, but it was
then too late to make inquiries -- the host of the Cygne de
la Croix had gone to bed.

The next morning D'Artagnan summoned the host, one of those
sly Normans who say neither yes nor no and fear to commit
themselves by giving a direct answer. D'Artagnan, however,
gathered from his equivocal replies that the road to the
right was the one he ought to take, and on that uncertain
information he resumed his journey. At nine in the morning
he reached Nanteuil and stopped for breakfast. His host here
was a good fellow from Picardy, who gave him all the
information he needed. The Bracieux estate was a few leagues
from Villars-Cotterets.

D'Artagnan was acquainted with Villars-Cotterets having gone
thither with the court on several occasions; for at that
time Villars-Cotterets was a royal residence. He therefore
shaped his course toward that place and dismounted at the
Dauphin d'Or. There he ascertained that the Bracieux estate
was four leagues distant, but that Porthos was not at
Bracieux. Porthos had, in fact, been involved in a dispute
with the Bishop of Noyon in regard to the Pierrefonds
property, which adjoined his own, and weary at length of a
legal controversy which was beyond his comprehension, he put
an end to it by purchasing Pierrefonds and added that name
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 -- Mousqueton.

It was indeed Mousqueton -- Mousqueton, 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 Mousqueton,
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 Mousqueton! 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 Mousqueton.

"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"

"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet -- art thou there?" cried
Mousqueton, 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 Mousqueton well."

"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and
extending his arms to Mousqueton, 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
Mousqueton.

"And now, sir," resumed Mousqueton, 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 Mousqueton; "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 Mousqueton, "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 Mousqueton 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."