been on instagram with homophobic historians for over a year now and lwkneuinely just found out that most of my people were HERE hiding deep inside this app, which ive been avoiding for almost a decade nowđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽšđĽš hi guys
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I did start this right before the beginning of June, but⌠I had lots of personal problems, so it did prohibit me from having energy to draw for a while đ but hey, Iâm done now!
Maxime
(I had my boyfriend help me with the posing here and he sketched it for me, so, I thank him a lot for making my life a ton easier :3)
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DâArtagnan was astounded by the terrible confidence of Athos; yet many things appeared very obscure to him in this half revelation. In the first place it had been made by a man quite drunk to one who was half drunk; and yet, in spite of the incertainty which the vapor of three or four bottles of Burgundy carries with it to the brain, DâArtagnan, when awaking on the following morning, had all the words of Athos as present to his memory as if they then fell from his mouthâthey had been so impressed upon his mind. All this doubt only gave rise to a more lively desire of arriving at a certainty, and he went into his friendâs chamber with a fixed determination of renewing the conversation of the preceding evening; but he found Athos quite himself againâthat is to say, the most shrewd and impenetrable of men. Besides which, the Musketeer, after having exchanged a hearty shake of the hand with him, broached the matter first.
âI was pretty drunk yesterday, DâArtagnan,â said he, âI can tell that by my tongue, which was swollen and hot this morning, and by my pulse, which was very tremulous. I wager that I uttered a thousand extravagances.â
While saying this he looked at his friend with an earnestness that embarrassed him.
âNo,â replied DâArtagnan, âif I recollect well what you said, it was nothing out of the common way.â
âAh, you surprise me. I thought I had told you a most lamentable story.â And he looked at the young man as if he would read the bottom of his heart.
âMy faith,â said DâArtagnan, âit appears that I was more drunk than you, since I remember nothing of the kind.â
Athos did not trust this reply, and he resumed; âyou cannot have failed to remark, my dear friend, that everyone has his particular kind of drunkenness, sad or gay. My drunkenness is always sad, and when I am thoroughly drunk my mania is to relate all the lugubrious stories which my foolish nurse inculcated into my brain. That is my failingâa capital failing, I admit; but with that exception, I am a good drinker.â
Athos spoke this in so natural a manner that DâArtagnan was shaken in his conviction.
âIt is that, then,â replied the young man, anxious to find out the truth, âit is that, then, I remember as we remember a dream. We were speaking of hanging.â
âAh, you see how it is,â said Athos, becoming still paler, but yet attempting to laugh; âI was sure it was soâthe hanging of people is my nightmare.â
âYes, yes,â replied DâArtagnan. âI remember now; yes, it was aboutâstop a minuteâyes, it was about a woman.â
âThatâs it,â replied Athos, becoming almost livid; âthat is my grand story of the fair lady, and when I relate that, I must be very drunk.â
âYes, that was it,â said DâArtagnan, âthe story of a tall, fair lady, with blue eyes.â
âYes, who was hanged.â
âBy her husband, who was a nobleman of your acquaintance,â continued DâArtagnan, looking intently at Athos.
âWell, you see how a man may compromise himself when he does not know what he says,â replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders as if he thought himself an object of pity. âI certainly never will get drunk again, DâArtagnan; it is too bad a habit.â
DâArtagnan remained silent; and then changing the conversation all at once, Athos said:
âBy the by, I thank you for the horse you have brought me.â
âIs it to your mind?â asked DâArtagnan.
âYes; but it is not a horse for hard work.â
âYou are mistaken; I rode him nearly ten leagues in less than an hour and a half, and he appeared no more distressed than if he had only made the tour of the Place St. Sulpice.â
âAh, you begin to awaken my regret.â
âRegret?â
âYes; I have parted with him.â
âHow?â
âWhy, here is the simple fact. This morning I awoke at six oâclock. You were still fast asleep, and I did not know what to do with myself; I was still stupid from our yesterdayâs debauch. As I came into the public room, I saw one of our Englishman bargaining with a dealer for a horse, his own having died yesterday from bleeding. I drew near, and found he was bidding a hundred pistoles for a chestnut nag. âPardieu,â said I, âmy good gentleman, I have a horse to sell, too.â âAy, and a very fine one! I saw him yesterday; your friendâs lackey was leading him.â âDo you think he is worth a hundred pistoles?â âYes! Will you sell him to me for that sum?â âNo; but I will play for him.â âWhat?â âAt dice.â No sooner said than done, and I lost the horse. Ah, ah! But please to observe I won back the equipage,â cried Athos.
DâArtagnan looked much disconcerted.
âThis vexes you?â said Athos.
âWell, I must confess it does,â replied DâArtagnan. âThat horse was to have identified us in the day of battle. It was a pledge, a remembrance. Athos, you have done wrong.â
âBut, my dear friend, put yourself in my place,â replied the Musketeer. âI was hipped to death; and still further, upon my honor, I donât like English horses. If it is only to be recognized, why the saddle will suffice for that; it is quite remarkable enough. As to the horse, we can easily find some excuse for its disappearance. Why the devil! A horse is mortal; suppose mine had had the glanders or the farcy?â
DâArtagnan did not smile.
âIt vexes me greatly,â continued Athos, âthat you attach so much importance to these animals, for I am not yet at the end of my story.â
âWhat else have you done.â
âAfter having lost my own horse, nine against tenâsee how nearâI formed an idea of staking yours.â
âYes; but you stopped at the idea, I hope?â
âNo; for I put it in execution that very minute.â
âAnd the consequence?â said DâArtagnan, in great anxiety.
âI threw, and I lost.â
âWhat, my horse?â
âYour horse, seven against eight; a point shortâyou know the proverb.â
âAthos, you are not in your right senses, I swear.â
âMy dear lad, that was yesterday, when I was telling you silly stories, it was proper to tell me that, and not this morning. I lost him then, with all his appointments and furniture.â
âReally, this is frightful.â
âStop a minute; you donât know all yet. I should make an excellent gambler if I were not too hot-headed; but I was hot-headed, just as if I had been drinking. Well, I was not hot-headed thenââ
âWell, but what else could you play for? You had nothing left?â
âOh, yes, my friend; there was still that diamond left which sparkles on your finger, and which I had observed yesterday.â
âThis diamond!â said DâArtagnan, placing his hand eagerly on his ring.
âAnd as I am a connoisseur in such things, having had a few of my own once, I estimated it at a thousand pistoles.â
âI hope,â said DâArtagnan, half dead with fright, âyou made no mention of my diamond?â
âOn the contrary, my dear friend, this diamond became our only resource; with it I might regain our horses and their harnesses, and even money to pay our expenses on the road.â
âAthos, you make me tremble!â cried DâArtagnan.
âI mentioned your diamond then to my adversary, who had likewise remarked it. What the devil, my dear, do you think you can wear a star from heaven on your finger, and nobody observe it? Impossible!â
âGo on, go on, my dear fellow!â said DâArtagnan; âfor upon my honor, you will kill me with your indifference.â
âWe divided, then, this diamond into ten parts of a hundred pistoles each.â
âYou are laughing at me, and want to try me!â said DâArtagnan, whom anger began to take by the hair, as Minerva takes Achilles, in the Iliad.
âNo, I do not jest, mordieu! I should like to have seen you in my place! I had been fifteen days without seeing a human face, and had been left to brutalize myself in the company of bottles.â
âThat was no reason for staking my diamond!â replied DâArtagnan, closing his hand with a nervous spasm.
âHear the end. Ten parts of a hundred pistoles each, in ten throws, without revenge; in thirteen throws I had lost allâin thirteen throws. The number thirteen was always fatal to me; it was on the thirteenth of July thatââ
âVentrebleu!â cried DâArtagnan, rising from the table, the story of the present day making him forget that of the preceding one.
âPatience!â said Athos; âI had a plan. The Englishman was an original; I had seen him conversing that morning with Grimaud, and Grimaud had told me that he had made him proposals to enter into his service. I staked Grimaud, the silent Grimaud, divided into ten portions.â
âWell, what next?â said DâArtagnan, laughing in spite of himself.
âGrimaud himself, understand; and with the ten parts of Grimaud, which are not worth a ducatoon, I regained the diamond. Tell me, now, if persistence is not a virtue?â
âMy faith! But this is droll,â cried DâArtagnan, consoled, and holding his sides with laughter.
âYou may guess, finding the luck turned, that I again staked the diamond.â
âThe devil!â said DâArtagnan, becoming angry again.
âI won back your harness, then your horse, then my harness, then my horse, and then I lost again. In brief, I regained your harness and then mine. Thatâs where we are. That was a superb throw, so I left off there.â
DâArtagnan breathed as if the whole hostelry had been removed from his breast.
âThen the diamond is safe?â said he, timidly.
âIntact, my dear friend; besides the harness of your Bucephalus and mine.â
âBut what is the use of harnesses without horses?â
âI have an idea about them.â
âAthos, you make me shudder.â
âListen to me. You have not played for a long time, DâArtagnan.â
âAnd I have no inclination to play.â
âSwear to nothing. You have not played for a long time, I said; you ought, then, to have a good hand.â
âWell, what then?â
âWell; the Englishman and his companion are still here. I remarked that he regretted the horse furniture very much. You appear to think much of your horse. In your place I would stake the furniture against the horse.â
âBut he will not wish for only one harness.â
âStake both, pardieu! I am not selfish, as you are.â
âYou would do so?â said DâArtagnan, undecided, so strongly did the confidence of Athos begin to prevail, in spite of himself.
âOn my honor, in one single throw.â
âBut having lost the horses, I am particularly anxious to preserve the harnesses.â
âStake your diamond, then.â
âThis? Thatâs another matter. Never, never!â
âThe devil!â said Athos. âI would propose to you to stake Planchet, but as that has already been done, the Englishman would not, perhaps, be willing.â
âDecidedly, my dear Athos,â said DâArtagnan, âI should like better not to risk anything.â
âThatâs a pity,â said Athos, coolly. âThe Englishman is overflowing with pistoles. Good Lord, try one throw! One throw is soon made!â
âAnd if I lose?â
âYou will win.â
âBut if I lose?â
âWell, you will surrender the harnesses.â
âHave with you for one throw!â said DâArtagnan.
Athos went in quest of the Englishman, whom he found in the stable, examining the harnesses with a greedy eye. The opportunity was good. He proposed the conditionsâthe two harnesses, either against one horse or a hundred pistoles. The Englishman calculated fast; the two harnesses were worth three hundred pistoles. He consented.
DâArtagnan threw the dice with a trembling hand, and turned up the number three; his paleness terrified Athos, who, however, consented himself with saying, âThatâs a sad throw, comrade; you will have the horses fully equipped, monsieur.â
The Englishman, quite triumphant, did not even give himself the trouble to shake the dice. He threw them on the table without looking at them, so sure was he of victory; DâArtagnan turned aside to conceal his ill humor.
âHold, hold, hold!â said Athos, wit his quiet tone; âthat throw of the dice is extraordinary. I have not seen such a one four times in my life. Two aces!â
The Englishman looked, and was seized with astonishment. DâArtagnan looked, and was seized with pleasure.
âYes,â continued Athos, âfour times only; once at the house of Monsieur CrĂŠquy; another time at my own house in the country, in my château atâwhen I had a château; a third time at Monsieur de TrĂŠvilleâs where it surprised us all; and the fourth time at a cabaret, where it fell to my lot, and where I lost a hundred louis and a supper on it.â
âThen Monsieur takes his horse back again,â said the Englishman.
âCertainly,â said DâArtagnan.
âThen there is no revenge?â
âOur conditions said, âNo revenge,â you will please to recollect.â
âThat is true; the horse shall be restored to your lackey, monsieur.â
âA moment,â said Athos; âwith your permission, monsieur, I wish to speak a word with my friend.â
âSay on.â
Athos drew DâArtagnan aside.
âWell, Tempter, what more do you want with me?â said DâArtagnan. âYou want me to throw again, do you not?â
âNo, I would wish you to reflect.â
âOn what?â
âYou mean to take your horse?â
âWithout doubt.â
âYou are wrong, then. I would take the hundred pistoles. You know you have staked the harnesses against the horse or a hundred pistoles, at your choice.â
âYes.â
âWell, then, I repeat, you are wrong. What is the use of one horse for us two? I could not ride behind. We should look like the two sons of Aymon, who had lost their brother. You cannot think of humiliating me by prancing along by my side on that magnificent charger. For my part, I should not hesitate a moment; I should take the hundred pistoles. We want money for our return to Paris.â
âI am much attached to that horse, Athos.â
âAnd there again you are wrong. A horse slips and injures a joint; a horse stumbles and breaks his knees to the bone; a horse eats out of a manger in which a glandered horse has eaten. There is a horse, while on the contrary, the hundred pistoles feed their master.â
âBut how shall we get back?â
âUpon our lackeyâs horses, pardieu. Anybody may see by our bearing that we are people of condition.â
âPretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos caracole on their steeds.â
âAramis! Porthos!â cried Athos, and laughed aloud.
âWhat is it?â asked DâArtagnan, who did not at all comprehend the hilarity of his friend.
âNothing, nothing! Go on!â
âYour advice, then?â
âTo take the hundred pistoles, DâArtagnan. With the hundred pistoles we can live well to the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal of fatigue, remember, and a little rest will do no harm.â
âI rest? Oh, no, Athos. Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my search for that unfortunate woman!â
âWell, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so serviceable to you for that purpose as good golden louis. Take the hundred pistoles, my friend; take the hundred pistoles!â
DâArtagnan only required one reason to be satisfied. This last reason appeared convincing. Besides, he feared that by resisting longer he should appear selfish in the eyes of Athos. He acquiesced, therefore, and chose the hundred pistoles, which the Englishman paid down on the spot.
They then determined to depart. Peace with the landlord, in addition to Athosâs old horse, cost six pistoles. DâArtagnan and Athos took the nags of Planchet and Grimaud, and the two lackeys started on foot, carrying the saddles on their heads.
However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in advance of their servants, and arrived at CrèvecĹur. From a distance they perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the horizon.
âHolĂ , Aramis! What the devil are you doing there?â cried the two friends.
âAh, is that you, DâArtagnan, and you, Athos?â said the young man. âI was reflecting upon the rapidity with which the blessings of this world leave us. My English horse, which has just disappeared amid a cloud of dust, has furnished me with a living image of the fragility of the things of the earth. Life itself may be resolved into three words: Erat, est, fuit.â
âWhich meansââ said DâArtagnan, who began to suspect the truth.
âWhich means that I have just been dupedâsixty louis for a horse which by the manner of his gait can do at least five leagues an hour.â
DâArtagnan and Athos laughed aloud.
âMy dear DâArtagnan,â said Aramis, âdonât be too angry with me, I beg. Necessity has no law; besides, I am the person punished, as that rascally horsedealer has robbed me of fifty louis, at least. Ah, you fellows are good managers! You ride on our lackeyâs horses, and have your own gallant steeds led along carefully by hand, at short stages.â
At the same instant a market cart, which some minutes before had appeared upon the Amiens road, pulled up at the inn, and Planchet and Grimaud came out of it with the saddles on their heads. The cart was returning empty to Paris, and the two lackeys had agreed, for their transport, to slake the wagonerâs thirst along the route.
âWhat is this?â said Aramis, on seeing them arrive. âNothing but saddles?â
âNow do you understand?â said Athos.
âMy friends, thatâs exactly like me! I retained my harness by instinct. HolĂ , Bazin! Bring my new saddle and carry it along with those of these gentlemen.â
âAnd what have you done with your ecclesiastics?â asked DâArtagnan.
âMy dear fellow, I invited them to a dinner the next day,â replied Aramis. âThey have some capital wine hereâplease to observe that in passing. I did my best to make them drunk. Then the curate forbade me to quit my uniform, and the Jesuit entreated me to get him made a Musketeer.â
âWithout a thesis?â cried DâArtagnan, âwithout a thesis? I demand the suppression of the thesis.â
âSince then,â continued Aramis, âI have lived very agreeably. I have begun a poem in verses of one syllable. That is rather difficult, but the merit in all things consists in the difficulty. The matter is gallant. I will read you the first canto. It has four hundred lines, and lasts a minute.â
âMy faith, my dear Aramis,â said DâArtagnan, who detested verses almost as much as he did Latin, âadd to the merit of the difficulty that of the brevity, and you are sure that your poem will at least have two merits.â
âYou will see,â continued Aramis, âthat it breathes irreproachable passion. And so, my friends, we return to Paris? Bravo! I am ready. We are going to rejoin that good fellow, Porthos. So much the better. You canât think how I have missed him, the great simpleton. To see him so self-satisfied reconciles me with myself. He would not sell his horse; not for a kingdom! I think I can see him now, mounted upon his superb animal and seated in his handsome saddle. I am sure he will look like the Great Mogul!â
They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged his bill, placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades, and they set forward to join Porthos.
They found him up, less pale than when DâArtagnan left him after his first visit, and seated at a table on which, though he was alone, was spread enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit.
âAh, pardieu!â said he, rising, âyou come in the nick of time, gentlemen. I was just beginning the soup, and you will dine with me.â
âOh, oh!â said DâArtagnan, âMousqueton has not caught these bottles with his lasso. Besides, here is a piquant fricandeau and a fillet of beef.â
âI am recruiting myself,â said Porthos, âI am recruiting myself. Nothing weakens a man more than these devilish strains. Did you ever suffer from a strain, Athos?â
âNever! Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue FĂŠrou, I received a sword wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen days produced the same effect.â
âBut this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?â said Aramis.
âNo,â said Porthos, âI expected some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who have just sent me word they could not come. You will take their places and I shall not lose by the exchange. HolĂ , Mousqueton, seats, and order double the bottles!â
âDo you know what we are eating here?â said Athos, at the end of ten minutes.
âPardieu!â replied DâArtagnan, âfor my part, I am eating veal garnished with shrimps and vegetables.â
âAnd I some lamb chops,â said Porthos.
âAnd I a plain chicken,â said Aramis.
âYou are all mistaken, gentlemen,â answered Athos, gravely; âyou are eating horse.â
âEating what?â said DâArtagnan.
âHorse!â said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust.
Porthos alone made no reply.
âYes, horse. Are we not eating a horse, Porthos? And perhaps his saddle, therewith.â
âNo, gentlemen, I have kept the harness,â said Porthos.
âMy faith,â said Aramis, âwe are all alike. One would think we had tipped the wink.â
âWhat could I do?â said Porthos. âThis horse made my visitors ashamed of theirs, and I donât like to humiliate people.â
âThen your duchess is still at the waters?â asked DâArtagnan.
âStill,â replied Porthos. âAnd, my faith, the governor of the provinceâone of the gentlemen I expected todayâseemed to have such a wish for him, that I gave him to him.â
âGave him?â cried DâArtagnan.
âMy God, yes, gave, that is the word,â said Porthos; âfor the animal was worth at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the stingy fellow would only give me eighty.â
âWithout the saddle?â said Aramis.
âYes, without the saddle.â
âYou will observe, gentlemen,â said Athos, âthat Porthos has made the best bargain of any of us.â
And then commenced a roar of laughter in which they all joined, to the astonishment of poor Porthos; but when he was informed of the cause of their hilarity, he shared it vociferously according to his custom.
âThere is one comfort, we are all in cash,â said DâArtagnan.
âWell, for my part,â said Athos, âI found Aramisâs Spanish wine so good that I sent on a hamper of sixty bottles of it in the wagon with the lackeys. That has weakened my purse.â
âAnd I,â said Aramis, âimagined that I had given almost my last sou to the church of Montdidier and the Jesuits of Amiens, with whom I had made engagements which I ought to have kept. I have ordered Masses for myself, and for you, gentlemen, which will be said, gentlemen, for which I have not the least doubt you will be marvelously benefited.â
âAnd I,â said Porthos, âdo you think my strain cost me nothing?âwithout reckoning Mousquetonâs wound, for which I had to have the surgeon twice a day, and who charged me double on account of that foolish Mousqueton having allowed himself a ball in a part which people generally only show to an apothecary; so I advised him to try never to get wounded there any more.â
âAy, ay!â said Athos, exchanging a smile with DâArtagnan and Aramis, âit is very clear you acted nobly with regard to the poor lad; that is like a good master.â
âIn short,â said Porthos, âwhen all my expenses are paid, I shall have, at most, thirty crowns left.â
âAnd I about ten pistoles,â said Aramis.
âWell, then it appears that we are the CrĹsuses of the society. How much have you left of your hundred pistoles, DâArtagnan?â
âOf my hundred pistoles? Why, in the first place I gave you fifty.â
âYou think so?â
âPardieu!â
âAh, that is true. I recollect.â
âThen I paid the host six.â
âWhat a brute of a host! Why did you give him six pistoles?â
âYou told me to give them to him.â
âIt is true; I am too good-natured. In brief, how much remains?â
âTwenty-five pistoles,â said DâArtagnan.
âAnd I,â said Athos, taking some small change from his pocket, âIââ
âYou? Nothing!â
âMy faith! So little that it is not worth reckoning with the general stock.â
âNow, then, let us calculate how much we posses in all.â
âPorthos?â
âThirty crowns.â
âAramis?â
âTen pistoles.â
âAnd you, DâArtagnan?â
âTwenty-five.â
âThat makes in all?â said Athos.
âFour hundred and seventy-five livres,â said DâArtagnan, who reckoned like Archimedes.
âOn our arrival in Paris, we shall still have four hundred, besides the harnesses,â said Porthos.
âBut our troop horses?â said Aramis.
âWell, of the four horses of our lackeys we will make two for the masters, for which we will draw lots. With the four hundred livres we will make the half of one for one of the unmounted, and then we will give the turnings out of our pockets to DâArtagnan, who has a steady hand, and will go and play in the first gaming house we come to. There!â
âLet us dine, then,â said Porthos; âit is getting cold.â
The friends, at ease with regard to the future, did honor to the repast, the remains of which were abandoned to Mousqueton, Bazin, Planchet, and Grimaud.
On arriving in Paris, DâArtagnan found a letter from M. de TrĂŠville, which informed him that, at his request, the king had promised that he should enter the company of the Musketeers.
As this was the height of DâArtagnanâs worldly ambitionâapart, be it well understood, from his desire of finding Mme. Bonacieuxâhe ran, full of joy, to seek his comrades, whom he had left only half an hour before, but whom he found very sad and deeply preoccupied. They were assembled in council at the residence of Athos, which always indicated an event of some gravity. M. de TrĂŠville had intimated to them his Majestyâs fixed intention to open the campaign on the first of May, and they must immediately prepare their outfits.
The four philosophers looked at one another in a state of bewilderment. M. de TrĂŠville never jested in matters relating to discipline.
âAnd what do you reckon your outfit will cost?â said DâArtagnan.
âOh, we can scarcely say. We have made our calculations with Spartan economy, and we each require fifteen hundred livres.â
âFour times fifteen makes sixtyâsix thousand livres,â said Athos.
âIt seems to me,â said DâArtagnan, âwith a thousand livres eachâI do not speak as a Spartan, but as a procuratorââ
This word procurator roused Porthos. âStop,â said he, âI have an idea.â
âWell, thatâs something, for I have not the shadow of one,â said Athos coolly; âbut as to DâArtagnan, gentlemen, the idea of belonging to ours has driven him out of his senses. A thousand livres! For my part, I declare I want two thousand.â
âFour times two makes eight,â then said Aramis; âit is eight thousand that we want to complete our outfits, toward which, it is true, we have already the saddles.â
âBesides,â said Athos, waiting till DâArtagnan, who went to thank Monsieur de TrĂŠville, had shut the door, âbesides, there is that beautiful ring which beams from the finger of our friend. What the devil! DâArtagnan is too good a comrade to leave his brothers in embarrassment while he wears the ransom of a king on his finger.â
The most preoccupied of the four friends was certainly DâArtagnan, although he, in his quality of Guardsman, would be much more easily equipped than Messieurs the Musketeers, who were all of high rank; but our Gascon cadet was, as may have been observed, of a provident and almost avaricious character, and with that (explain the contradiction) so vain as almost to rival Porthos. To this preoccupation of his vanity, DâArtagnan at this moment joined an uneasiness much less selfish. Notwithstanding all his inquiries respecting Mme. Bonacieux, he could obtain no intelligence of her. M. de TrĂŠville had spoken of her to the queen. The queen was ignorant where the mercerâs young wife was, but had promised to have her sought for; but this promise was very vague and did not at all reassure DâArtagnan.
Athos did not leave his chamber; he made up his mind not to take a single step to equip himself.
âWe have still fifteen days before us,â said he to his friends, âwell, if at the end of a fortnight I have found nothing, or rather if nothing has come to find me, as I, too good a Catholic to kill myself with a pistol bullet, I will seek a good quarrel with four of his Eminenceâs Guards or with eight Englishmen, and I will fight until one of them has killed me, which, considering the number, cannot fail to happen. It will then be said of me that I died for the king; so that I shall have performed my duty without the expense of an outfit.â
Porthos continued to walk about with his hands behind him, tossing his head and repeating, âI shall follow up on my idea.â
Aramis, anxious and negligently dressed, said nothing.
It may be seen by these disastrous details that desolation reigned in the community.
The lackeys on their part, like the coursers of Hippolytus, shared the sadness of their masters. Mousqueton collected a store of crusts; Bazin, who had always been inclined to devotion, never quit the churches; Planchet watched the flight of flies; and Grimaud, whom the general distress could not induce to break the silence imposed by his master, heaved sighs enough to soften the stones.
The three friendsâfor, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to stir a foot to equip himselfâwent out early in the morning, and returned late at night. They wandered about the streets, looking at the pavement as if to see whether the passengers had not left a purse behind them. They might have been supposed to be following tracks, so observant were they wherever they went. When they met they looked desolately at one another, as much as to say, âHave you found anything?â
However, as Porthos had first found an idea, and had thought of it earnestly afterward, he was the first to act. He was a man of execution, this worthy Porthos. DâArtagnan perceived him one day walking toward the church of St. Leu, and followed him instinctively. He entered, after having twisted his mustache and elongated his imperial, which always announced on his part the most triumphant resolutions. As DâArtagnan took some precautions to conceal himself, Porthos believed he had not been seen. DâArtagnan entered behind him. Porthos went and leaned against the side of a pillar. DâArtagnan, still unperceived, supported himself against the other side.
There happened to be a sermon, which made the church very full of people. Porthos took advantage of this circumstance to ogle the women. Thanks to the cares of Mousqueton, the exterior was far from announcing the distress of the interior. His hat was a little napless, his feather was a little faded, his gold lace was a little tarnished, his laces were a trifle frayed; but in the obscurity of the church these things were not seen, and Porthos was still the handsome Porthos.
DâArtagnan observed, on the bench nearest to the pillar against which Porthos leaned, a sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and rather dry, but erect and haughty under her black hood. The eyes of Porthos were furtively cast upon this lady, and then roved about at large over the nave.
On her side the lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with the rapidity of lightning a glance toward the inconstant Porthos; and then immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anxiously. It was plain that this mode of proceeding piqued the lady in the black hood, for she bit her lips till they bled, scratched the end of her nose, and could not sit still in her seat.
Porthos, seeing this, retwisted his mustache, elongated his imperial a second time, and began to make signals to a beautiful lady who was near the choir, and who not only was a beautiful lady, but still further, no doubt, a great ladyâfor she had behind her a Negro boy who had brought the cushion on which she knelt, and a female servant who held the emblazoned bag in which was placed the book from which she read the Mass.
The lady with the black hood followed through all their wanderings the looks of Porthos, and perceived that they rested upon the lady with the velvet cushion, the little Negro, and the maid-servant.
During this time Porthos played close. It was almost imperceptible motions of his eyes, fingers placed upon the lips, little assassinating smiles, which really did assassinate the disdained beauty.
Then she cried, âAhem!â under cover of the mea culpa, striking her breast so vigorously that everybody, even the lady with the red cushion, turned round toward her. Porthos paid no attention. Nevertheless, he understood it all, but was deaf.
The lady with the red cushion produced a great effectâfor she was very handsomeâupon the lady with the black hood, who saw in her a rival really to be dreaded; a great effect upon Porthos, who thought her much prettier than the lady with the black hood; a great effect upon DâArtagnan, who recognized in her the lady of Meung, of Calais, and of Dover, whom his persecutor, the man with the scar, had saluted by the name of Milady.
DâArtagnan, without losing sight of the lady of the red cushion, continued to watch the proceedings of Porthos, which amused him greatly. He guessed that the lady of the black hood was the procuratorâs wife of the Rue aux Ours, which was the more probable from the church of St. Leu being not far from that locality.
He guessed, likewise, by induction, that Porthos was taking his revenge for the defeat of Chantilly, when the procuratorâs wife had proved so refractory with respect to her purse.
Amid all this, DâArtagnan remarked also that not one countenance responded to the gallantries of Porthos. There were only chimeras and illusions; but for real love, for true jealousy, is there any reality except illusions and chimeras?
The sermon over, the procuratorâs wife advanced toward the holy font. Porthos went before her, and instead of a finger, dipped his whole hand in. The procuratorâs wife smiled, thinking that it was for her Porthos had put himself to this trouble; but she was cruelly and promptly undeceived. When she was only about three steps from him, he turned his head round, fixing his eyes steadfastly upon the lady with the red cushion, who had risen and was approaching, followed by her black boy and her woman.
When the lady of the red cushion came close to Porthos, Porthos drew his dripping hand from the font. The fair worshipper touched the great hand of Porthos with her delicate fingers, smiled, made the sign of the cross, and left the church.
This was too much for the procuratorâs wife; she doubted not there was an intrigue between this lady and Porthos. If she had been a great lady she would have fainted; but as she was only a procuratorâs wife, she contented herself saying to the Musketeer with concentrated fury, âEh, Monsieur Porthos, you donât offer me any holy water?â
Porthos, at the sound of that voice, started like a man awakened from a sleep of a hundred years.
âMa-madame!â cried he; âis that you? How is your husband, our dear Monsieur Coquenard? Is he still as stingy as ever? Where can my eyes have been not to have seen you during the two hours of the sermon?â
âI was within two paces of you, monsieur,â replied the procuratorâs wife; âbut you did not perceive me because you had no eyes but for the pretty lady to whom you just now gave the holy water.â
Porthos pretended to be confused. âAh,â said he, âyou have remarkedââ
âI must have been blind not to have seen.â
âYes,â said Porthos, âthat is a duchess of my acquaintance whom I have great trouble to meet on account of the jealousy of her husband, and who sent me word that she should come today to this poor church, buried in this vile quarter, solely for the sake of seeing me.â
âMonsieur Porthos,â said the procuratorâs wife, âwill you have the kindness to offer me your arm for five minutes? I have something to say to you.â
âCertainly, madame,â said Porthos, winking to himself, as a gambler does who laughs at the dupe he is about to pluck.
At that moment DâArtagnan passed in pursuit of Milady; he cast a passing glance at Porthos, and beheld this triumphant look.
âEh, eh!â said he, reasoning to himself according to the strangely easy morality of that gallant period, âthere is one who will be equipped in good time!â
Porthos, yielding to the pressure of the arm of the procuratorâs wife, as a bark yields to the rudder, arrived at the cloister St. Magloireâa little-frequented passage, enclosed with a turnstile at each end. In the daytime nobody was seen there but mendicants devouring their crusts, and children at play.
âAh, Monsieur Porthos,â cried the procuratorâs wife, when she was assured that no one who was a stranger to the population of the locality could either see or hear her, âah, Monsieur Porthos, you are a great conqueror, as it appears!â
âI, madame?â said Porthos, drawing himself up proudly; âhow so?â
âThe signs just now, and the holy water! But that must be a princess, at leastâthat lady with her Negro boy and her maid!â
âMy God! Madame, you are deceived,â said Porthos; âshe is simply a duchess.â
âAnd that running footman who waited at the door, and that carriage with a coachman in grand livery who sat waiting on his seat?â
Porthos had seen neither the footman nor the carriage, but with the eye of a jealous woman, Mme. Coquenard had seen everything.
Porthos regretted that he had not at once made the lady of the red cushion a princess.
âAh, you are quite the pet of the ladies, Monsieur Porthos!â resumed the procuratorâs wife, with a sigh.
âWell,â responded Porthos, âyou may imagine, with the physique with which nature has endowed me, I am not in want of good luck.â
âGood Lord, how quickly men forget!â cried the procuratorâs wife, raising her eyes toward heaven.
âLess quickly than the women, it seems to me,â replied Porthos; âfor I, madame, I may say I was your victim, when wounded, dying, I was abandoned by the surgeons. I, the offspring of a noble family, who placed reliance upon your friendshipâI was near dying of my wounds at first, and of hunger afterward, in a beggarly inn at Chantilly, without you ever deigning once to reply to the burning letters I addressed to you.â
âBut, Monsieur Porthos,â murmured the procuratorâs wife, who began to feel that, to judge by the conduct of the great ladies of the time, she was wrong.
âI, who had sacrificed for you the Baronne deââ
âI know it well.â
âThe Comtesse deââ
âMonsieur Porthos, be generous!â
âYou are right, madame, and I will not finish.â
âBut it was my husband who would not hear of lending.â
âMadame Coquenard,â said Porthos, âremember the first letter you wrote me, and which I preserve engraved in my memory.â
The procuratorâs wife uttered a groan.
âBesides,â said she, âthe sum you required me to borrow was rather large.â
âMadame Coquenard, I gave you the preference. I had but to write to the Duchesseâbut I wonât repeat her name, for I am incapable of compromising a woman; but this I know, that I had but to write to her and she would have sent me fifteen hundred.â
The procuratorâs wife shed a tear.
âMonsieur Porthos,â said she, âI can assure you that you have severely punished me; and if in the time to come you should find yourself in a similar situation, you have but to apply to me.â
âFie, madame, fie!â said Porthos, as if disgusted. âLet us not talk about money, if you please; it is humiliating.â
âThen you no longer love me!â said the procuratorâs wife, slowly and sadly.
Porthos maintained a majestic silence.
âAnd that is the only reply you make? Alas, I understand.â
âThink of the offense you have committed toward me, madame! It remains here!â said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart, and pressing it strongly.
âI will repair it, indeed I will, my dear Porthos.â
âBesides, what did I ask of you?â resumed Porthos, with a movement of the shoulders full of good fellowship. âA loan, nothing more! After all, I am not an unreasonable man. I know you are not rich, Madame Coquenard, and that your husband is obliged to bleed his poor clients to squeeze a few paltry crowns from them. Oh! If you were a duchess, a marchioness, or a countess, it would be quite a different thing; it would be unpardonable.â
The procuratorâs wife was piqued.
âPlease to know, Monsieur Porthos,â said she, âthat my strongbox, the strongbox of a procuratorâs wife though it may be, is better filled than those of your affected minxes.â
âThat doubles the offense,â said Porthos, disengaging his arm from that of the procuratorâs wife; âfor if you are rich, Madame Coquenard, then there is no excuse for your refusal.â
âWhen I said rich,â replied the procuratorâs wife, who saw that she had gone too far, âyou must not take the word literally. I am not precisely rich, though I am pretty well off.â
âHold, madame,â said Porthos, âlet us say no more upon the subject, I beg of you. You have misunderstood me, all sympathy is extinct between us.â
âIngrate that you are!â
âAh! I advise you to complain!â said Porthos.
âBegone, then, to your beautiful duchess; I will detain you no longer.â
âAnd she is not to be despised, in my opinion.â
âNow, Monsieur Porthos, once more, and this is the last! Do you love me still?â
âAh, madame,â said Porthos, in the most melancholy tone he could assume, âwhen we are about to enter upon a campaignâa campaign, in which my presentiments tell me I shall be killedââ
âOh, donât talk of such things!â cried the procuratorâs wife, bursting into tears.
âSomething whispers me so,â continued Porthos, becoming more and more melancholy.
âRather say that you have a new love.â
âNot so; I speak frankly to you. No object affects me; and I even feel here, at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks for you. But in fifteen days, as you know, or as you do not know, this fatal campaign is to open. I shall be fearfully preoccupied with my outfit. Then I must make a journey to see my family, in the lower part of Brittany, to obtain the sum necessary for my departure.â
Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice.
âAnd as,â continued he, âthe duchess whom you saw at the church has estates near to those of my family, we mean to make the journey together. Journeys, you know, appear much shorter when we travel two in company.â
âHave you no friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?â said the procuratorâs wife.
âI thought I had,â said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air; âbut I have been taught my mistake.â
âYou have some!â cried the procuratorâs wife, in a transport that surprised even herself. âCome to our house tomorrow. You are the son of my aunt, consequently my cousin; you come from Noyon, in Picardy; you have several lawsuits and no attorney. Can you recollect all that?â
âPerfectly, madame.â
âCome at dinnertime.â
âVery well.â
âAnd be upon your guard before my husband, who is rather shrewd, notwithstanding his seventy-six years.â
âSeventy-six years! Peste! Thatâs a fine age!â replied Porthos.
âA great age, you mean, Monsieur Porthos. Yes, the poor man may be expected to leave me a widow, any hour,â continued she, throwing a significant glance at Porthos. âFortunately, by our marriage contract, the survivor takes everything.â
âAll?â
âYes, all.â
âYou are a woman of precaution, I see, my dear Madame Coquenard,â said Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procuratorâs wife tenderly.
âWe are then reconciled, dear Monsieur Porthos?â said she, simpering.
âFor life,â replied Porthos, in the same manner.
The Land of Untold Stories. Outskirts of Town.
(After being summoned to a rendezvous, Milady waits for the Cardinal in the woodlands overlooking the lake. At the sound of hoofbeats, she turns and her face falls when she sees Aramis, DâArtagnan and Porthos riding towards her.)
Aramis: (As they pull their mounts to a halt before her:) âThe Cardinal was unavoidably detained.â
Milady: âSo, he has finally betrayed me? Well, it changes nothing. I've already won. Athos is dead. (The musketeers smile at each other and DâArtagnan dismounts his horse. Looking at the expression on their faces, Milady closes her eyes and sighs before she turns around to see Athos standing behind her:) I should have guessed.â
Athos: âIt seems we are both prone to resurrection.â
Porthos: âIt's amazing what you can do with a bit of play-acting and a pig's bladder full of blood.â
Athos: (Walking towards her:) âDid your revenge... taste sweet?â
Milady: âFor a moment... and then something strange happened. The world seemed diminished without you. (She walks past him, and Athos draws his pistol, pointing it at the back of her head. Unfazed by this:) Shoot me⌠(Turns to face him:) and you will never see Constance Bonacieux alive again.â
D'Artagnan: (Rushes forward:) âWhere is she? (Athos holds him back, his pistol still pointed at Milady:) If you've hurt her, I'll kill you.â
Milady: âOh, young love. So touching. (DâArtagnan walks away, frustration and worry evident upon his face:) I warned you there would be a final reckoning between us, Athos. I'll be waiting with her in the town square in one hour's time. Just you four. No-one else. (She takes several steps back towards Athos:) This is your doing, not mine.â
(Milady turns and walks away. Uncocking his pistol, Athos speaks with his friends.)
Athos: âIt will be an ambush. She has no intention of letting any of us live.â
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However brilliant had been the part played by Porthos in the duel, it had not made him forget the dinner of the procuratorâs wife.
On the morrow he received the last touches of Mousquetonâs brush for an hour, and took his way toward the Rue aux Ours with the steps of a man who was doubly in favor with fortune.
His heart beat, but not like DâArtagnanâs with a young and impatient love. No; a more material interest stirred his blood. He was about at last to pass that mysterious threshold, to climb those unknown stairs by which, one by one, the old crowns of M. Coquenard had ascended. He was about to see in reality a certain coffer of which he had twenty times beheld the image in his dreamsâa coffer long and deep, locked, bolted, fastened in the wall; a coffer of which he had so often heard, and which the handsâa little wrinkled, it is true, but still not without eleganceâof the procuratorâs wife were about to open to his admiring looks.
And then heâa wanderer on the earth, a man without fortune, a man without family, a soldier accustomed to inns, cabarets, taverns, and restaurants, a lover of wine forced to depend upon chance treatsâwas about to partake of family meals, to enjoy the pleasures of a comfortable establishment, and to give himself up to those little attentions which âthe harder one is, the more they please,â as old soldiers say.
To come in the capacity of a cousin, and seat himself every day at a good table; to smooth the yellow, wrinkled brow of the old procurator; to pluck the clerks a little by teaching them bassette, passe-dix, and lansquenet, in their utmost nicety, and winning from them, by way of fee for the lesson he would give them in an hour, their savings of a monthâall this was enormously delightful to Porthos.
The Musketeer could not forget the evil reports which then prevailed, and which indeed have survived them, of the procurators of the periodâmeanness, stinginess, fasts; but as, after all, excepting some few acts of economy which Porthos had always found very unseasonable, the procuratorâs wife had been tolerably liberalâthat is, be it understood, for a procuratorâs wifeâhe hoped to see a household of a highly comfortable kind.
And yet, at the very door the Musketeer began to entertain some doubts. The approach was not such as to prepossess peopleâan ill-smelling, dark passage, a staircase half-lighted by bars through which stole a glimmer from a neighboring yard; on the first floor a low door studded with enormous nails, like the principal gate of the Grand Châtelet.
Porthos knocked with his hand. A tall, pale clerk, his face shaded by a forest of virgin hair, opened the door, and bowed with the air of a man forced at once to respect in another lofty stature, which indicated strength, the military dress, which indicated rank, and a ruddy countenance, which indicated familiarity with good living.
A shorter clerk came behind the first, a taller clerk behind the second, a stripling of a dozen years rising behind the third. In all, three clerks and a half, which, for the time, argued a very extensive clientage.
Although the Musketeer was not expected before one oâclock, the procuratorâs wife had been on the watch ever since midday, reckoning that the heart, or perhaps the stomach, of her lover would bring him before his time.
Mme. Coquenard therefore entered the office from the house at the same moment her guest entered from the stairs, and the appearance of the worthy lady relieved him from an awkward embarrassment. The clerks surveyed him with great curiosity, and he, not knowing well what to say to this ascending and descending scale, remained tongue-tied.
âIt is my cousin!â cried the procuratorâs wife. âCome in, come in, Monsieur Porthos!â
The name of Porthos produced its effect upon the clerks, who began to laugh; but Porthos turned sharply round, and every countenance quickly recovered its gravity.
They reached the office of the procurator after having passed through the antechamber in which the clerks were, and the study in which they ought to have been. This last apartment was a sort of dark room, littered with papers. On quitting the study they left the kitchen on the right, and entered the reception room.
All these rooms, which communicated with one another, did not inspire Porthos favorably. Words might be heard at a distance through all these open doors. Then, while passing, he had cast a rapid, investigating glance into the kitchen; and he was obliged to confess to himself, to the shame of the procuratorâs wife and his own regret, that he did not see that fire, that animation, that bustle, which when a good repast is on foot prevails generally in that sanctuary of good living.
The procurator had without doubt been warned of his visit, as he expressed no surprise at the sight of Porthos, who advanced toward him with a sufficiently easy air, and saluted him courteously.
âWe are cousins, it appears, Monsieur Porthos?â said the procurator, rising, yet supporting his weight upon the arms of his cane chair.
The old man, wrapped in a large black doublet, in which the whole of his slender body was concealed, was brisk and dry. His little gray eyes shone like carbuncles, and appeared, with his grinning mouth, to be the only part of his face in which life survived. Unfortunately the legs began to refuse their service to this bony machine. During the last five or six months that this weakness had been felt, the worthy procurator had nearly become the slave of his wife.
The cousin was received with resignation, that was all. M. Coquenard, firm upon his legs, would have declined all relationship with M. Porthos.
âYes, monsieur, we are cousins,â said Porthos, without being disconcerted, as he had never reckoned upon being received enthusiastically by the husband.
âBy the female side, I believe?â said the procurator, maliciously.
Porthos did not feel the ridicule of this, and took it for a piece of simplicity, at which he laughed in his large mustache. Mme. Coquenard, who knew that a simple-minded procurator was a very rare variety in the species, smiled a little, and colored a great deal.
M. Coquenard had, since the arrival of Porthos, frequently cast his eyes with great uneasiness upon a large chest placed in front of his oak desk. Porthos comprehended that this chest, although it did not correspond in shape with that which he had seen in his dreams, must be the blessed coffer, and he congratulated himself that the reality was several feet higher than the dream.
M. Coquenard did not carry his genealogical investigations any further; but withdrawing his anxious look from the chest and fixing it upon Porthos, he contented himself with saying, âMonsieur our cousin will do us the favor of dining with us once before his departure for the campaign, will he not, Madame Coquenard?â
This time Porthos received the blow right in his stomach, and felt it. It appeared likewise that Mme. Coquenard was not less affected by it on her part, for she added, âMy cousin will not return if he finds that we do not treat him kindly; but otherwise he has so little time to pass in Paris, and consequently to spare to us, that we must entreat him to give us every instant he can call his own previous to his departure.â
âOh, my legs, my poor legs! where are you?â murmured Coquenard, and he tried to smile.
This succor, which came to Porthos at the moment in which he was attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in the Musketeer toward the procuratorâs wife.
The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating roomâa large dark room situated opposite the kitchen.
The clerks, who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumes in the house, were of military punctuality, and held their stools in hand quite ready to sit down. Their jaws moved preliminarily with fearful threatenings.
âIndeed!â thought Porthos, casting a glance at the three hungry clerksâfor the errand boy, as might be expected, was not admitted to the honors of the magisterial table, âin my cousinâs place, I would not keep such gourmands! They look like shipwrecked sailors who have not eaten for six weeks.â
M. Coquenard entered, pushed along upon his armchair with casters by Mme. Coquenard, whom Porthos assisted in rolling her husband up to the table. He had scarcely entered when he began to agitate his nose and his jaws after the example of his clerks.
âOh, oh!â said he; âhere is a soup which is rather inviting.â
âWhat the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this soup?â said Porthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundant but entirely free from meat, on the surface of which a few crusts swam about as rare as the islands of an archipelago.
Mme. Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her everyone eagerly took his seat.
M. Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme. Coquenard filled her own plate, and distributed the crusts without soup to the impatient clerks. At this moment the door of the dining room unclosed with a creak, and Porthos perceived through the half-open flap the little clerk who, not being allowed to take part in the feast, ate his dry bread in the passage with the double odor of the dining room and kitchen.
After the soup the maid brought a boiled fowlâa piece of magnificence which caused the eyes of the diners to dilate in such a manner that they seemed ready to burst.
âOne may see that you love your family, Madame Coquenard,â said the procurator, with a smile that was almost tragic. âYou are certainly treating your cousin very handsomely!â
The poor fowl was thin, and covered with one of those thick, bristly skins through which the teeth cannot penetrate with all their efforts. The fowl must have been sought for a long time on the perch, to which it had retired to die of old age.
âThe devil!â thought Porthos, âthis is poor work. I respect old age, but I donât much like it boiled or roasted.â
And he looked round to see if anybody partook of his opinion; but on the contrary, he saw nothing but eager eyes which were devouring, in anticipation, that sublime fowl which was the object of his contempt.
Mme. Coquenard drew the dish toward her, skillfully detached the two great black feet, which she placed upon her husbandâs plate, cut off the neck, which with the head she put on one side for herself, raised the wing for Porthos, and then returned the bird otherwise intact to the servant who had brought it in, who disappeared with it before the Musketeer had time to examine the variations which disappointment produces upon faces, according to the characters and temperaments of those who experience it.
In the place of the fowl a dish of haricot beans made its appearanceâan enormous dish in which some bones of mutton that at first sight one might have believed to have some meat on them pretended to show themselves.
But the clerks were not the dupes of this deceit, and their lugubrious looks settled down into resigned countenances.
Mme. Coquenard distributed this dish to the young men with the moderation of a good housewife.
The time for wine came. M. Coquenard poured from a very small stone bottle the third of a glass for each of the young men, served himself in about the same proportion, and passed the bottle to Porthos and Mme. Coquenard.
The young men filled up their third of a glass with water; then, when they had drunk half the glass, they filled it up again, and continued to do so. This brought them, by the end of the repast, to swallowing a drink which from the color of the ruby had passed to that of a pale topaz.
Porthos ate his wing of the fowl timidly, and shuddered when he felt the knee of the procuratorâs wife under the table, as it came in search of his. He also drank half a glass of this sparingly served wine, and found it to be nothing but that horrible Montreuilâthe terror of all expert palates.
M. Coquenard saw him swallowing this wine undiluted, and sighed deeply.
âWill you eat any of these beans, Cousin Porthos?â said Mme. Coquenard, in that tone which says, âTake my advice, donât touch them.â
âDevil take me if I taste one of them!â murmured Porthos to himself, and then said aloud, âThank you, my cousin, I am no longer hungry.â
There was silence. Porthos could hardly keep his countenance.
The procurator repeated several times, âAh, Madame Coquenard! Accept my compliments; your dinner has been a real feast. Lord, how I have eaten!â
M. Coquenard had eaten his soup, the black feet of the fowl, and the only mutton bone on which there was the least appearance of meat.
Porthos fancied they were mystifying him, and began to curl his mustache and knit his eyebrows; but the knee of Mme. Coquenard gently advised him to be patient.
This silence and this interruption in serving, which were unintelligible to Porthos, had, on the contrary, a terrible meaning for the clerks. Upon a look from the procurator, accompanied by a smile from Mme. Coquenard, they arose slowly from the table, folded their napkins more slowly still, bowed, and retired.
âGo, young men! go and promote digestion by working,â said the procurator, gravely.
The clerks gone, Mme. Coquenard rose and took from a buffet a piece of cheese, some preserved quinces, and a cake which she had herself made of almonds and honey.
M. Coquenard knit his eyebrows because there were too many good things. Porthos bit his lips because he saw not the wherewithal to dine. He looked to see if the dish of beans was still there; the dish of beans had disappeared.
âA positive feast!â cried M. Coquenard, turning about in his chair, âa real feast, epulĹ epulorum. Lucullus dines with Lucullus.â
Porthos looked at the bottle, which was near him, and hoped that with wine, bread, and cheese, he might make a dinner; but wine was wanting, the bottle was empty. M. and Mme. Coquenard did not seem to observe it.
âThis is fine!â said Porthos to himself; âI am prettily caught!â
He passed his tongue over a spoonful of preserves, and stuck his teeth into the sticky pastry of Mme. Coquenard.
âNow,â said he, âthe sacrifice is consummated! Ah! if I had not the hope of peeping with Madame Coquenard into her husbandâs chest!â
M. Coquenard, after the luxuries of such a repast, which he called an excess, felt the want of a siesta. Porthos began to hope that the thing would take place at the present sitting, and in that same locality; but the procurator would listen to nothing, he would be taken to his room, and was not satisfied till he was close to his chest, upon the edge of which, for still greater precaution, he placed his feet.
The procuratorâs wife took Porthos into an adjoining room, and they began to lay the basis of a reconciliation.
âYou can come and dine three times a week,â said Mme. Coquenard.
âThanks, madame!â said Porthos, âbut I donât like to abuse your kindness; besides, I must think of my outfit!â
âThatâs true,â said the procuratorâs wife, groaning, âthat unfortunate outfit!â
âAlas, yes,â said Porthos, âit is so.â
âBut of what, then, does the equipment of your company consist, Monsieur Porthos?â
âOh, of many things!â said Porthos. âThe Musketeers are, as you know, picked soldiers, and they require many things useless to the Guardsmen or the Swiss.â
âBut yet, detail them to me.â
âWhy, they may amount toââ, said Porthos, who preferred discussing the total to taking them one by one.
The procuratorâs wife waited tremblingly.
âTo how much?â said she. âI hope it does not exceedââ She stopped; speech failed her.
âOh, no,â said Porthos, âit does not exceed two thousand five hundred livres! I even think that with economy I could manage it with two thousand livres.â
âGood God!â cried she, âtwo thousand livres! Why, that is a fortune!â
Porthos made a most significant grimace; Mme. Coquenard understood it.
âI wished to know the detail,â said she, âbecause, having many relatives in business, I was almost sure of obtaining things at a hundred per cent less than you would pay yourself.â
âAh, ah!â said Porthos, âthat is what you meant to say!â
âYes, dear Monsieur Porthos. Thus, for instance, donât you in the first place want a horse?â
âYes, a horse.â
âWell, then! I can just suit you.â
âAh!â said Porthos, brightening, âthatâs well as regards my horse; but I must have the appointments complete, as they include objects which a Musketeer alone can purchase, and which will not amount, besides, to more than three hundred livres.â
âThree hundred livres? Then put down three hundred livres,â said the procuratorâs wife, with a sigh.
Porthos smiled. It may be remembered that he had the saddle which came from Buckingham. These three hundred livres he reckoned upon putting snugly into his pocket.
âThen,â continued he, âthere is a horse for my lackey, and my valise. As to my arms, it is useless to trouble you about them; I have them.â
âA horse for your lackey?â resumed the procuratorâs wife, hesitatingly; âbut that is doing things in lordly style, my friend.â
âAh, madame!â said Porthos, haughtily; âdo you take me for a beggar?â
âNo; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes as good an appearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that by getting a pretty mule for Mousquetonââ
âWell, agreed for a pretty mule,â said Porthos; âyou are right, I have seen very great Spanish nobles whose whole suite were mounted on mules. But then you understand, Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers and bells.â
âBe satisfied,â said the procuratorâs wife.
âThere remains the valise,â added Porthos.
âOh, donât let that disturb you,â cried Mme. Coquenard. âMy husband has five or six valises; you shall choose the best. There is one in particular which he prefers in his journeys, large enough to hold all the world.â
âYour valise is then empty?â asked Porthos, with simplicity.
âCertainly it is empty,â replied the procuratorâs wife, in real innocence.
âAh, but the valise I want,â cried Porthos, âis a well-filled one, my dear.â
Madame uttered fresh sighs. Molière had not written his scene in âLâAvareâ[1] then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemma of Harpagan.
Finally, the rest of the equipment was successively debated in the same manner; and the result of the sitting was that the procuratorâs wife should give eight hundred livres in money, and should furnish the horse and the mule which should have the honor of carrying Porthos and Mousqueton to glory.
These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Mme. Coquenard. The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender glances; but Porthos urged the commands of duty, and the procuratorâs wife was obliged to give place to the king.
The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor.
_________
NOTES
The Miser (French: L'Avare) is a five-act comedy in prose by the French playwright Molière. It was first performed on September 9, 1668, in the theatre of the Palais-Royal in Paris.
This is a character comedy whose main character, Harpagon, is characterised by his caricatured avarice.
To the wonderful BBC Musketeers fans, good evening.
This is my first dabble into musketeers on tumblr but starting for tomorrow my fic, published on ao3, will be gradually uploaded here. If people are interested if that is? I'm a very slow updater, so I can only apologise in advance.
To win your approval I offer you this evidence...
This is my homemade musketeers themed quilt that I made a couple of years ago. The patchwork top is made of six fabrics: blue, brown, blue flowers (forget me nots), feathers, and horses. The backing fabric is gold/yellow with white and blue flowers. The bottom right corner of the front has a yellow fleur de lis. It's matched with a blue butterfly patch on the back. (My favourite queen Anne dress with the butterfly on the back đŤś).
Hope people like it, and don't mind me shuffling around in here!
"Do you know what gave him strength? Do you know what consoled him? It was, that another partook of his anguishâthat another was to die before him. Lead two sheep to the butcher's, two oxen to the slaughterhouse, and make one of them understand that his companion will not die; the sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy. But manâman, whom God created in his own imageâman, upon whom God has laid his first, his sole commandment, to love his neighbourâman, to whom God has given a voice to express his thoughtsâwhat is his first cry when he hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy."
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sorry if this is annoying but in every animal animated adaptation of the musketeers, theyâre always dogs.
EXAMPLES:
Dogtanian and the Three Muskahounds.
Dog in Boots (I donât know why itâs called that, it has nothing to do with Puss in Boots)
Yippee, Yappee, and Yahooey (More of a parody than an adaptation
Throughout all the adaptations Iâve NEVER seen them portrayed as cats.
Do you think weâll ever see it someday? (P.S. Also, are you a cat or a dog person?). Thank You.
i think that the athos porthos and aramis being dogs makes sense for each of their personalities (athos would be a basset hound, porthos a st. bernard and aramis a labrador retriever if i had my way), but i feel like d'artagnan being a cat would make more sense. he's short-tempered, like a lot of cats, but also a quick thinker and quick on his feet. also he always seems to be getting out of impossible scenarios, which kind of goes with the whole nine lives thing. i personally am a fan of more realistic adaptations, but if someone was to to another animal adaptation, i hope they make d'artagnan a cat. and, i'm a cat person! i currently have three but have had five throughout my life.
Aramis: After much careful consideration, I have decided that it's finally time for me to give up secular life and return to the church as I have always intended.
D'Artagnan: Sure. BTW, I happen to have this letter from your mistress.
Aramis: You know, I do think there's still time for worldly pleasures. The church can wait a bit longer.
casket of oranges @verkolje - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook