Chapter LV. Porthos's Will.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　At Pierrefonds everything was in mourning. The courts were deserted -the stables closed - the parterres neglected. In the basins, thefountains, formerly so jubilantly fresh and noisy, had stopped ofthemselves. Along the roads around the chateau came a few gravepersonages mounted on mules or country nags. These were rural neighbors,cures and bailiffs of adjacent estates. All these people entered thechateau silently, handed their horses to a melancholy-looking groom, anddirected their steps, conducted by a huntsman in black, to the greatdining-room, where Mousqueton received them at the door. Mousqueton hadbecome so thin in two days that his clothes moved upon him like an ill-fitting scabbard in which the sword-blade dances at each motion. Hisface, composed of red and white, like that of the Madonna of Vandyke, wasfurrowed by two silver rivulets which had dug their beds in his cheeks,as full formerly as they had become flabby since his grief began. Ateach fresh arrival, Mousqueton found fresh tears, and it was pitiful tosee him press his throat with his fat hand to keep from bursting intosobs and lamentations. All these visits were for the purpose of hearingthe reading of Porthos's will, announced for that day, and at which allthe covetous friends of the dead man were anxious to be present, as hehad left no relations behind 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's 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 pricked up his ears.Mousqueton had squatted himself in a corner, the better to weep and thebetter to hear. All at once the folding-doors of the great room, whichhad been shut, were thrown open as if by magic, and a warlike figureappeared upon the threshold, resplendent in the full light of the sun.This was D'Artagnan, who had come alone to the gate, and finding nobodyto hold his stirrup, had tied his horse to the knocker and announcedhimself. The splendor of daylight invading the room, the murmur of allpresent, and, more than all, the instinct of the faithful dog, drewMousqueton from his reverie; he raised his head, recognized the oldfriend of his master, and, screaming with grief, he embraced his knees,watering the floor with his tears. D'Artagnan raised the poor intendant,embraced him as if he had been a brother, and, having nobly saluted theassembly, who all bowed as they whispered to each other his name, he wentand took his seat at the extremity of the great carved oak hall, stillholding by the hand poor Mousqueton, who was suffocating with excess ofwoe, and sank upon the steps. Then the procureur, who, like the rest,was considerably agitated, commenced.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 those enemies of Porthosbrought to earth by his valiant hand; he reckoned up the numbers of them,and said to himself that Porthos had acted wisely, not to enumerate hisenemies or the injuries done to them, or the task would have been toomuch for the reader. Then came the following schedule of his extensivelands:"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, chteaux, forests, plowed lands, formingthree farms."3. The little estate Du Vallon, 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 Berry, 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 of Vannes- " (D'Artagnan shuddered at the dismal remembrance attached to thatname) - 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 towards Mousqueton, who was still lost in grief."2. In twenty horses for saddle and draught, which I have particularly atmy chateau of Pierrefonds, and which are called - Bayard, Roland,Charlemagne, Pepin, Dunois, La Hire, Ogier, Samson, Milo, Nimrod,Urganda, Armida, Flastrade, 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 eight cellarsand 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 more thansix 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 appears to me extremely worthy to succeed thevaliant gentleman of whom I am the friend and very humble servant."Here a sharp sound interrupted the reader. It was D'Artagnan's sword,which, slipping from his baldric, 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, half-way down to his aquiline nose, theluminous edge of which shone like a little crescent moon."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 la Fere,to console him for the grief he seems to suffer, and enable him to addmore luster to his already glorious name."A vague murmur ran through the auditory. The procureur continued,seconded by the flashing eye of D'Artagnan, which, glancing over theassembly, quickly restored the interrupted silence:"On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. le Chevalierd'Artagnan, captain of the king's musketeers, whatever the said Chevalierd'Artagnan may demand of my property. On condition that M. le Vicomte deBragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le Chevalier d'Herblay, my friend,if he should need it in exile. I leave to my intendant Mousqueton all ofmy clothes, of city, war, or chase, to the number of forty-seven suits,in the assurance that he will wear them till they are worn out, for thelove of and in remembrance of his master. Moreover, I bequeath to M. leVicomte de Bragelonne my old servant and faithful friend Mousqueton,already named, providing that the said vicomte shall so act thatMousqueton shall declare, when dying, he has never ceased to be happy."On hearing these words, Mousqueton bowed, pale and trembling; hisshoulders shook convulsively; his countenance, compressed 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 did notknow the way."Mousqueton, my good friend," said D'Artagnan, "go and make yourpreparations. I will take you with me to Athos's 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, and slowlydisappeared.The procureur finished his reading, after which the greater part of thosewho had come to hear the last will of Porthos dispersed by degrees, manydisappointed, but all penetrated with respect. As for D'Artagnan, thusleft alone, after having received the formal compliments of theprocureur, he was lost in admiration of the wisdom of the testator, whohad so judiciously bestowed his wealth upon the most necessitous and themost worthy, with a delicacy that neither nobleman nor courtier couldhave displayed more kindly. When Porthos enjoined Raoul de Bragelonne togive D'Artagnan all that he would ask, he knew well, our worthy Porthos,that D'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 by theexample of D'Artagnan; and that word exile, thrown out by the testator,without apparent intention, was it not the mildest, most exquisitecriticism upon that conduct of Aramis which had brought about the deathof Porthos? But there was no mention of Athos in the testament of thedead. Could the latter for a moment suppose that the son would not offerthe best part to the father? The rough mind of Porthos had fathomed allthese causes, seized all these shades more clearly than law, better thancustom, with more propriety than taste."Porthos had indeed a heart," said D'Artagnan to himself with a sigh. Ashe made this reflection, he fancied he hard a groan in the room abovehim; 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's own chamber, a heap of clothes of all colors and materials,upon which Mousqueton had laid himself down after heaping them all on thefloor together. It was the legacy of the faithful friend. Those clotheswere truly his own; they had been given to him; the hand of Mousquetonwas stretched over these relics, which he was kissing with his lips, withall his face, and covered with his body. D'Artagnan approached toconsole the 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, crawls back to die upon his cloak.