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Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXIX
Hunting For The Equipments
The most preoccupied of the four friends was certainly D`Artagnan,
although D`Artagnan, in his quality of guard, would be much more easily
equipped than messieurs the musketeers, who were all very high; but our
Gascon cadet was, as may have been observed, of a provident and almost
avaricious character, and with that (explain the contradiction if you can)
so vainglorious as almost to rival Porthos. To this preoccupation of his
vanity, D`Artagnan, at this moment, joined an uneasiness much less selfish.
Notwithstanding all his inquiries respecting Madame Bonacieux, he could
obtain no intelligence of her. M. de Treville had spoken of her to the
queen; the queen was ignorant where the mercer`s young wife was, but had
promised to have her sought for. But this promise was very vague, and did
not at all reassure D`Artagnan.
Athos did not leave his chamber; he made up his mind not to take a
single step to provide for his equipment.
"We have still a fortnight before us," said he to his friends; "well,
if, at the end of a fortnight, I have found nothing, or, rather, if nothing
has come to find me, as I am too good a Catholic to kill myself with a
pistol-bullet, I will seek a good cause of quarrel with four of his
eminence`s guards or with eight Englishmen; 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 equipment."
Porthos continued to walk about, with his hands behind him, tossing his
head and repeating:
"I shall follow up my idea."
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 parts, 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 quitted 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 stones.
The three friends - for, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to stir
a foot to equip himself - the three friends went out early in the morning,
and returned late at night. They wandered about the streets, looking at the
pavement to see whether the passengers had not left a purse behind them.
They might have been supposed to be following tracks, so attentive were they
wherever they went. When they met they looked desolately at each other, as
much as to say, "Have you found anything?"
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. D`Artagnan 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 royal, which always announced, on his
part, the most conquering resolutions. As D`Artagnan took some precautions
to conceal himself, Porthos believed he had not been seen. D`Artagnan
entered behind him, Porthos went and leaned against the side of a pillar;
D`Artagnan, still unperceived, supported himself against the other side of
it.
There happened to be a sermon, which made the church very full. 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.
D`Artagnan 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 were sent wandering over the church
anxiously. It was plain that this was a mode of proceeding that piqued the
lady in the black hood to the quick, for she bit her lips till they bled,
scratched the top of her nose, and could not sit still in her seat.
Porthos, seeing this, retwisted his mustache, elongated his royal 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 lady, for she had behind her a negro boy, who had brought the cushion
on which she knelt, and a female servant who held the coat-of-arms marked
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 stopped upon the lady with the
velvet cushion, the little negro, and the maid-servant.
During all 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 uttered, in form of mea culpa, and striking her breast, a hum!
so vigorous that everybody, even the lady with the red cushion, turned round
toward her. Porthos paid no attention; nevertheless, he understood it all,
but was as deaf as the pillar he leaned against.
The lady with the red cushion produced a great effect - for she was very
handsome - upon 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 more pretty
than the lady with the black hood; a great effect upon D`Artagnan, who
recognized in her the lady of Meung, of Calais, and Dover, whom his
persecutor, the man with the scar, had saluted by the name of milady.
D`Artagnan, without losing sight of the lady of the red cushion,
continued to watch the proceedings of Porthos, which amused him greatly; he
directly guessed that the lady of the black hood was the procureur`s wife of
the Rue aux Ours, which was the more probable from the church of St. Leu
being contiguous to that locality.
He guessed, likewise, that Porthos was taking his revenge for the defeat
of Chantilly, when the procureuse had proved so refractory with respect to
her purse.
But, amid all this, D`Artagnan remarked also that not one countenance
responded to the gallantries of Porthos. There was nothing but chimeras and
illusions; but for real love, for true jealousy, is there any reality but
illusions and chimeras?
The sermon over, the procureuse advanced toward the benitier; Porthos
went before her, and, instead of a finger, dipped his whole hand in. The
procureuse smiled, thinking that it was for her that Porthos put himself to
this expense; but she was cruelly and promptly undeceived: when she was only
about three steps from him, he turned his head round, fixing his eyes
invariably upon the lady of the red cushion, who had risen and was
approaching, followed by her black boy and fille-de-chambre.
When the lady of the red cushion came close to Porthos, Porthos drew his
dripping hand from the benitier. The fair devote 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 procureuse; she entertained no doubt that
there was an affair of gallantry between this lady and Porthos. If she had
been a great lady she would have fainted; but as she was only a procureuse,
she contented herself with saying to the musketeer, with concentrated fury:
"Eh, Monsieur Porthos, you don`t offer me any holy water?"
Porthos, at the sound of that voice, started like a man awakened from
a sleep of a hundred years.
"Ma - madame!" cried he; "is 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 even perceived you during the two hours the sermon has
lasted?"
"I was within two paces of you, monsieur," replied the procureuse; "but
you did not perceive me, because you had no eyes but for the pretty lady to
whom you just now gave the holy water."
Porthos pretended to be confused.
"Ah," said he, "you have remarked."
"I must have been blind if I had not."
"Yes," said Porthos, "that is a duchess of my acquaintance, with whom
I have great trouble to meet, on account of the jealousy of her husband, and
who sent me word that she should come to-day, solely for the purpose of
seeing me in this poor church, buried in this vile quarter."
"Monsieur Porthos," said the procureuse, "will you have the kindness to
offer me your arm for five minutes? I have something to say to you."
"Certainly, madame," said Porthos, winking to himself, as a gambler does
who laughs at the dupe he is about to pluck.
At that moment D`Artagnan passed in pursuit of milady; he cast a passing
glance at Porthos, and beheld this triumphant look.
"Eh, eh!" said he, reasoning to himself according to the strangely easy
morality of the gallant period, "there is one, at least, in the road to be
equipped in time."
Porthos, yielding to the pressure of the arm of the procureuse, as a
bark yields to the rudder, arrived at the Cloisters Saint Magloire, a very
unfrequented passage, enclosed with a turnstile at each end. In the daytime
nobody was seen there but mendicants devouring their crusts, and children
playing.
"Ah, Monsieur Porthos," cried the procureuse, when she was assured that
no one a stranger to the population of the locality could either see or hear
her, "ah, Monsieur Porthos, you are a great conqueror, it appears!"
"Who - I, madame?" said Porthos, drawing himself up proudly; "how so?"
"Look at the proofs of it, just now, and the holy water! But that must
be a princess, at least, that lady with her negro boy and her maid!"
"Pardieu! madame, you are deceived; she is simply a duchess."
"And that running footman who waited at the door, and that carriage with
a coachman in grand livery, who sat waiting on his seat?"
Porthos had seen neither the footman nor the carriage, but, with the eye
of a jealous woman, Madame Coquenard had seen everything.
Porthos regretted that he had not at once made the lady of the red
cushion a princess.
"Ah, you are quite the pet of the ladies, Monsieur Porthos!" resumed the
procureuse with a sigh.
"Why, you may well imagine that, with the person with which nature has
endowed me, I am not in want of ladies` favors."
"Good Lord! how quickly men forget!" cried the procureuse, raising her
eyes toward heaven.
"Still less quickly than the women, in my opinion," replied Porthos; "as
a proof, I, madame, I may say, was your victim: when wounded, dying, I was
abandoned by the surgeons; I, the offspring of a noble family, who placed
reliance upon your friendship, I was near dying of my wounds at first, and
of hunger afterward, in a beggarly auberge at Chantilly, without you ever
deigning once to reply to the burning letters I addressed to you."
"But, Monsieur Porthos," murmured the procureuse, who began to feel
that, to judge by the conduct of the great ladies of the time, she was wrong.
"I! who had sacrificed the Countess de Penaflor on your account!"
"Well, I know you did."
"The Baronee de - "
"Monsieur Porthos, do not overwhelm me quite!"
"The Countess de - "
"Monsieur Porthos be generous!"
"You are right, madame, and I will not finish."
"But it was my husband who would not hear of lending."
"Madame Coquenard," said Porthos, "remember the first letter you wrote
me, and which I preserve engraven in my memory."
The procureuse uttered a groan.
"Besides," said she, "the sum you require me to borrow was rather large;
you said you wanted a thousand livres!"
"Madame Coquenard, I gave you the preference. I had but to write to the
Duchess de - ; but I don`t 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."
The procureuse let fall a tear.
"Monsieur Porthos," said she, "I can assure you 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."
"Fie, madame, fie!" said Porthos, as if disgusted; "let us not talk
about money, if you please; it is humiliating."
"Then you no longer love me?" said the procureuse, slowly and sadly.
Porthos maintained a majestic silence.
"And that is the only reply you make me? Alas! I but too well
understand."
"Think of the offense you have committed toward me, madame! it remains
here!" said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart, and pressing it strongly.
"I will repair it; indeed I will, my dear Porthos."
"Besides, what did I ask of you?" resumed Porthos, with a movement of
the shoulders full of bonhommie. "A 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 marquise, or a countess, it
would be quite a different thing; it would be unpardonable."
The procureuse was piqued.
"Please to know, Monsieur Porthos," said she, "that my strong box,
strong box of a procureuse as it may be, is better filled than those of your
ruined minxes."
"That, then, doubles the offense," said Porthos, disengaging his arm
from that of the procureuse; "for if you are rich, Madame Coquenard, then
there is no excuse for your refusal."
"When I said rich," replied the procureuse, who saw that she had gone
too far, "you must not take the word for the letter. I am not precisely
rich, I am only pretty well off."
"Hold, madame," said Porthos, "let us say no more upon the subject, I
beg of you. You don`t know me - all sympathy is extinct between us."
"Ungrateful man as you are!"
"Ah! I advise you to complain!" said Porthos.
"Begone, then, to your beautiful duchess, I will detaineyou no longer."
"And she is not to be despised, in my opinion."
"Now, Monsieur Porthos, once more, and this is the last! do you love
me still?"
"Alas! madame," said Porthos, in the most melancholy tone he could
assume, "when we are about to enter upon a campaign, a campaign in which my
presentiments tell me I shall be killed - "
"Oh! don`t talk of such things!" cried the procureuse, bursting into
tears.
"Something whispers me so," continued Porthos, becoming still more and
more melancholy.
"Rather say that you have a new love affair."
"No, not so; I speak frankly to you. No new object affects me; and I
even feel here, at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks for you.
But in a fortnight`s time, as you know, or as you do not know, this fatal
campaign is to open; I shall be fearfully engaged in providing for my
equipment. Then I am obliged to make a journey to my family, in the lower
part of Brittany, to obtain the sum necessary for my departure."
Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice.
"And as," continued he, "the duchess 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."
"Have you no friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?" said the
procureuse.
"I thought I had," said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air; "but I
have been bitterly taught that I was mistaken."
"You have some, Monsieur Porthos, you have some!" cried the procureuse,
in a transport that surprised even herself; "come to our house to-morrow.
You are the son of my aunt, consequently my cousin; you come from Noyon, in
Picardy; you have several lawsuits and no procureur. Can you recollect all
that?"
"Perfectly, madame."
"Come at dinner time."
"Very well."
"And be upon your guard before my husband, who is rather shrewd,
notwithstanding his seventy-six years."
"Seventy-six years! Peste! that`s a fine age!" replied Porthos.
"A great age, you mean, Monsieur Porthos. Yes, the poor man may be
expected to leave me a widow, every hour," continued she, throwing a
significant glance at Porthos. "Fortunately, by our marriage contract, the
survivor takes everything."
"Everything?"
"Yes, all."
"You are a woman of precaution. I see, my dear Madame Coquenard," said
Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procureuse tenderly.
"We are, then, reconciled, dear Monsieur Porthos?" said she, simpering.
"For life," said Porthos, in the same manner.
"Till we meet again, then, dear traitor!"
"Till we meet again, my forgetful charmer!"
"To-morrow, my angel!"
"To-morrow, flame of my life!"
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