Ten Years Later

by Alexandre Dumas

  The passage from Belle-Isle to Sarzeau was made rapidly enough, thanksto one of those little corsairs of which D'Artagnan had been told duringhis voyage, and which, shaped for fast sailing and destined for thechase, were sheltered at that time in the roadstead of Loc-Maria, whereone of them, with a quarter of its war-crew, performed duty betweenBelle-Isle and the continent. D'Artagnan had an opportunity ofconvincing himself that Porthos, though engineer and topographer, wasnot deeply versed in affairs of state. His perfect ignorance, with anyother, might have passed for well-informed dissimulation. But D'Artagnanknew too well all the folds and refolds of his Porthos, not to finda secret if there were one there; like those regular, minute oldbachelors, who know how to find, with their eyes shut, each book on theshelves of their library and each piece of linen in their wardrobe.So if he had found nothing, our cunning D'Artagnan, in rolling andunrolling his Porthos, it was because, in truth, there was nothing to befound.

  "Be it so," said D'Artagnan, "I shall get to know more at Vannes in halfan hour than Porthos has discovered at Belle-Isle in two months. Only,in order that I may know something, it is important that Porthos shouldnot make use of the only stratagem I leave at his disposal. He must notwarn Aramis of my arrival." All the care of the musketeer was then, forthe moment, confined to the watching of Porthos. And let us hasten tosay, Porthos did not deserve all this mistrust. Porthos thought of noevil. Perhaps, on first seeing him, D'Artagnan had inspired him with alittle suspicion, but almost immediately D'Artagnan had reconquered inthat good and brave heart the place he had always occupied, and not theleast cloud darkened the large eye of Porthos, fixed from time to timewith tenderness on his friend.

  On landing, Porthos inquired if his horses were waiting, and soonperceived them at the crossing of the road that winds round Sarzeau, andwhich, without passing through that little city, leads towards Vannes.These horses were two in number, one for M. de Vallon, and one for hisequerry; for Porthos had an equerry since Mouston was only able to usea carriage as a means of locomotion. D'Artagnan expected that Porthoswould propose to send forward his equerry upon one horse to bringback another, and he--D'Artagnan--had made up his mind to oppose thisproposition. But nothing D'Artagnan had expected happened. Porthossimply told the equerry to dismount and await his return at Sarzeau,whilst D'Artagnan would ride his horse; which was arranged.

  "Eh! but you are quite a man of precaution, my dear Porthos," saidD'Artagnan to his friend, when he found himself in the saddle, upon theequerry's horse.

  "Yes, but this is a kindness on the part of Aramis. I have not my studhere, and Aramis has placed his stables at my disposal."

  "Good horses for bishop's horses, mordioux!" said D'Artagnan. "It istrue, Aramis is a bishop of a peculiar kind."

  "He is a holy man!" replied Porthos, in a tone almost nasal, and withhis eyes raised towards heaven.

  "Then he is much changed," said D'Artagnan; "you and I have known himpassably profane."

  "Grace has touched him," said Porthos.

  "Bravo," said D'Artagnan, "that redoubles my desire to see my dear oldfriend." And he spurred his horse, which sprang off into a more rapidpace.

  "Peste!" said Porthos, "if we go on at this rate, we shall only take onehour instead of two."

  "To go how far, do you say, Porthos?"

  "Four leagues and a half."

  "That will be a good pace."

  "I could have embarked you on the canal, but the devil take rowers andboat-horses! The first are like tortoises; the second like snails; andwhen a man is able to put a good horse between his knees, that horse isbetter than rowers or any other means."

  "You are right; you above all, Porthos, who always look magnificent onhorseback."

  "Rather heavy, my friend; I was weighed the other day."

  "And what do you weigh?"

  "Three hundred-weight!" said Porthos, proudly.

  "Bravo!"

  "So that you must perceive, I am forced to choose horses whose loins arestraight and wide, otherwise I break them down in two hours."

  "Yes, giant's horses you must have, must you not?"

  "You are very polite, my friend," replied the engineer, withaffectionate majesty.

  "As a case in point," replied D'Artagnan, "your horse seems to sweatalready."

  "Dame! It is hot! Ah, ah! do you see Vannes now?"

  "Yes, perfectly. It is a handsome city, apparently."

  "Charming, according to Aramis, at least, but I think it black; butblack seems to be considered handsome by artists: I am sorry for it."

  "Why so, Porthos?"

  "Because I have lately had my chateau of Pierrefonds which was gray withage, plastered white."

  "Humph!" said D'Artagnan, "and white is more cheerful."

  "Yes, but it is less august, as Aramis tells me. Fortunately there aredealers in black as well as white. I will have Pierrefonds replasteredin black; that's all there is about it. If gray is handsome, youunderstand, my friend, black must be superb."

  "Dame!" said D'Artagnan, "that appears logical."

  "Were you never at Vannes, D'Artagnan?"

  "Never."

  "Then you know nothing of the city?"

  "Nothing."

  "Well, look!" said Porthos, raising himself in his stirrups, which madethe fore-quarters of his horse bend sadly--"do you see that corner, inthe sun, yonder?"

  "Yes, I see it plainly."

  "Well, that is the cathedral."

  "Which is called?"

  "Saint-Pierre. Now look again--in the faubourg on the left, do you seeanother cross?"

  "Perfectly well."

  "That is Saint-Paterne, the parish preferred by Aramis."

  "Indeed!"

  "Without doubt. Saint-Paterne, you see, passes for having been the firstbishop of Vannes. It is true that Aramis pretends he was not. But he isso learned that that may be only a paro--a para---"

  "A paradox," said D'Artagnan.

  "Precisely; thank you! my tongue trips, I am so hot."

  "My friend," said D'Artagnan, "continue your interesting description, Ibeg. What is that large white building with many windows?"

  "Oh! that is the college of the Jesuits. Pardieu! you have an apt hand.Do you see, close to the college, a large house with steeples, turrets,built in a handsome Gothic style, as that fool, M. Getard, says?"

  "Yes, that is plainly to be seen. Well?"

  "Well, that is where Aramis resides."

  "What! does he not reside at the episcopal palace?"

  "No, that is in ruins. The palace likewise is in the city, and Aramisprefers the faubourgs. That is why, as I told you, he is partial toSaint-Paterne; Saint-Paterne is in the faubourg. Besides, there are inthis faubourg a mall, a tennis-court, and a house of Dominicans. Look,that where the handsome steeple rises to the heavens."

  "Well?"

  "Next, you see the faubourg is like a separate city, it has its walls,its towers, its ditches; the quay is upon it likewise, and the boatsland at the quay. If our little corsair did not draw eight feet ofwater, we could have come full sail up to Aramis's windows."

  "Porthos, Porthos," cried D'Artagnan, "you are a well of knowledge, aspring of ingenious and profound reflections. Porthos, you no longersurprise me, you confound me."

  "Here we are," said Porthos, turning the conversation with his usualmodesty.

  "And high time we were," thought D'Artagnan, "for Aramis's horse ismelting away like a steed of ice."

  They entered almost at the same instant the faubourg; but scarcely hadthey gone a hundred paces when they were surprised to find the streetsstrewed with leaves and flowers. Against the old walls of Vannes hungthe oldest and the strangest tapestries of France. From over balconiesfell long white sheets stuck all over with bouquets. The streets weredeserted; it was plain the entire population was assembled on one point.The blinds were closed, and the breeze penetrated into the houses underthe hangings, which cast long, black shades between their places ofissue and the walls. Suddenly, at the turning of a street
, chantsstruck the ears of the newly arrived travelers. A crowd in holiday garbappeared through the vapors of incense which mounted to the heavens inblue fleeces, and clouds of rose-leaves fluttered as high as the firststories. Above all heads were to be seen the cross and banners, thesacred symbols of religion. Then, beneath these crosses and banners,as if protected by them, walked a whole world of young girls clothedin white, crowned with corn-flowers. At the two sides of the street,inclosing the cortege, marched the guards of the garrison, carryingbouquets in the barrels of their muskets and on the points of theirlances. This was the procession.

  Whilst D'Artagnan and Porthos were looking on with critical glances,which disguised an extreme impatience to get forward, a magnificent daisapproached preceded by a hundred Jesuits and a hundred Dominicans, andescorted by two archdeacons, a treasurer, a penitent and twelve canons.A singer with a thundering voice--a man certainly picked out from allthe voices of France, as was the drum-major of the imperial guard fromall the giants of the empire--escorted by four other chanters, whoappeared to be there only to serve him as an accompaniment, made the airresound, and the windows of the houses vibrate. Under the dais appeareda pale and noble countenance with black eyes, black hair streaked withthreads of white, a delicate, compressed mouth, a prominent and angularchin. His head, full of graceful majesty, was covered with the episcopalmitre, a headdress which gave it, in addition to the character ofsovereignty, that of asceticism and evangelic meditation.

  "Aramis!" cried the musketeer, involuntarily, as this lofty countenancepassed before him. The prelate started at the sound of the voice. Heraised his large black eyes, with their long lashes, and turned themwithout hesitation towards the spot whence the exclamation proceeded.At a glance, he saw Porthos and D'Artagnan close to him. On his part,D'Artagnan, thanks to the keenness of his sight, had seen all, seizedall. The full portrait of the prelate had entered his memory, never toleave it. One thing had particularly struck D'Artagnan. On perceivinghim, Aramis had colored, then he had concentrated under his eyelids thefire of the look of the master, and the indefinable affection ofthe friend. It was evident that Aramis had asked himself thisquestion:--"Why is D'Artagnan with Porthos, and what does he wantat Vannes?" Aramis comprehended all that was passing in the mind ofD'Artagnan, on turning his look upon him again, and seeing that he hadnot lowered his eyes. He knew the acuteness and intelligence of hisfriend, he feared to let him divine the secret of his blush and hisastonishment. He was still the same Aramis, always having a secret toconceal. Therefore, to put an end to his look of an inquisitor which itwas necessary to get rid of at all events, as, at any price, a generalextinguishes a battery which annoys him, Aramis stretched forth hisbeautiful white hand, upon which sparkled the amethyst of the pastoralring; he cut the air with sign of the cross, and poured out hisbenediction upon his two friends. Perhaps thoughtful and absent,D'Artagnan, impious in spite of himself, might not have bent beneaththis holy benediction; but Porthos saw his distraction, and layinghis friendly hand upon the back of his companion, he crushed him downtowards the earth. D'Artagnan was forced to give way; indeed, he waslittle short of being flat on the ground. In the meantime Aramis hadpassed. D'Artagnan, like Antaeus, had only touched the ground, and heturned towards Porthos, almost angry. But there was no mistaking theintention of the brave Hercules; it was a feeling of religious proprietythat had influenced him. Besides, speech with Porthos, instead ofdisguising his thought, always completed it.

  "It is very polite of him," said he, "to have given his benediction tous alone. Decidedly, he is a holy man, and a brave man." Less convincedthan Porthos, D'Artagnan made no reply.

  "Observe, my friend," continued Porthos, "he has seen us; and, insteadof continuing to walk on at the simple pace of the procession, as hedid just now,--see, what a hurry he is in; do you see how the cortegeis increasing its speed? He is eager to join us and embrace us, is thatdear Aramis."

  "That is true," replied D'Artagnan, aloud.--Then to himself:--"It isequally true he has seen me, the fox, and will have time to preparehimself to receive me."

  But the procession had passed; the road was free. D'Artagnan and Porthoswalked straight up to the episcopal palace, which was surrounded by anumerous crowd anxious to see the prelate return. D'Artagnan remarkedthat this crowd was composed principally of citizens and militarymen. He recognized in the nature of these partisans the address of hisfriend. Aramis was not the man to seek for a useless popularity. Hecared very little for being beloved by people who could be of no serviceto him. Women, children, and old men, that is to say, the cortege ofordinary pastors, was not the cortege for him.

  Ten minutes after the two friends had passed the threshold of thepalace, Aramis returned like a triumphant conqueror; the soldierspresented arms to him as to a superior; the citizens bowed to him as toa friend and a patron, rather than as a head of the Church. There wassomething in Aramis resembling those Roman senators who had theirdoors always surrounded by clients. At the foot of the prison, he had aconference of half a minute with a Jesuit, who, in order to speak to himmore secretly, passed his head under the dais. He then re-entered hispalace; the doors closed slowly, and the crowd melted away, whilstchants and prayers were still resounding abroad. It was a magnificentday. Earthly perfumes were mingled with the perfumes of the air and thesea. The city breathed happiness, joy, and strength. D'Artagnanfelt something like the presence of an invisible hand which had,all-powerfully, created this strength, this joy, this happiness, andspread everywhere these perfumes.

  "Oh! oh!" said he, "Porthos has got fat; but Aramis is grown taller."

  CHAPTER 72. The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes