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Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXII
A Procureur`s Dinner
However brilliant had been the part played by Porthos in the duel, it
had not made him forget the dinner of his procureuse.
On the morrow he received the last polishing brush from the hands of
Mousqueton, and took his way toward the Rue aux Ours, with the step of a man
who was doubly in favor with fortune.
His heart beat, but not like D`Artagnan`s, 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 Master Coquenard had ascended. He was about
to see, in reality, a certain coffer, of which he had twenty times beheld the
image in his dreams; a coffer, long and deep, locked, bolted, fixed in the
wall; a coffer of which he had so often heard speak, and which the hands,
a little wrinkled, it is true, but still not without elegance, of the
procureuse were about to open to his admiring looks.
And then he, a wanderer on the earth, a man without fortune, a man
without family, a soldier accustomed to auberges, cabarets, taverns, and
parades, a lover of wine forced to depend upon chance treats - he was about
to partake of family meals, to enjoy the pleasures of a comfortable
establishment, and to give himself up to those little attentions, which the
harder one is the more they please, as the old soldiers say.
To come in quality of a cousin, and seat himself every day at a good
table, to smooth the yellow, wrinkled brow of the old procureur, to pluck the
clerks a little by teaching them bassette, passe-dix, and lansquenet, in
their utmost finesse, and by winning of them, by way of fee for the lesson
he would give them in an hour, their savings of a month - all this was
enormously delightful in prospect of Porthos.
The musketeer could not forget the evil reports which then prevailed,
and which indeed have survived them, of the procureurs of the period:
meanness, stinginess, fasts; but as, after all, excepting some few acts of
economy, which Porthos had always found very unseasonable, the procureuse had
been tolerably liberal - that is, be it understood, for a procureuse - he
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 people; an 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 Chatelet.
Porthos knocked with his finger; a tall, pale clerk, with a face shaded
by a forest of unclipped hair, opened the door, and bowed with the air of a
man forced to respect in another lofty stature, which indicated strength,
military dress, which indicated rank, and a ruddy countenance, which
indicated being accustomed to good living.
Another shorter clerk behind the first, another taller clerk behind the
second, another stripling of twelve years old 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 o`clock, the
procureuse had been upon the watch ever since twelve, reckoning that the
heart, or perhaps the stomach of her lover, would bring him before his time.
Madame Coquenard therefore entered the office from the house at the same
moment that 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 mute.
"It is my cousin!" cried the procureuse; "come in! come in! my dear
Monsieur Porthos."
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 arrived in the closet of the procureur, after having passed through
the antechamber in which the clerks were, and the office in which they ought
to have been; this last apartment was a sort of dark room, covered with waste
paper. On leaving the office, the kitchen was on the right, and they entered
the principal room, or, as we should now say, drawing-room.
All these chambers, which communicated with each other, did not inspire
Porthos with the most favorable ideas. Words might be heard at a distance
through all these open doors; and 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 procureuse, and his own regret, that he did not
see that fire, that bustle, which, while a good repast is about to be
produced, prevails generally in that sanctuary of good living.
The procureur 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 familiar air, and saluted him courteously.
"We are cousins, it appears, Monsieur Porthos?" said the procureur,
rising, by supporting his weight upon the arms of his cane-chair
The old man, enveloped 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 procureur had nearly become the
slave of his wife.
The cousin was received with resignation, that was all. Master
Coquenard firm upon his legs, would have declined all relationship with M.
Porthos.
"Yes, monsieur, we are cousins," said Porthos, without being
disconcerted, as he had never reckoned upon being received enthusiastically
by the husband.
"By the female side, I believe?" said the procureur 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. Madame Coquenard, who
knew that a simple procureur was a very rare variety in the species, smiled
a little, and colored a great deal.
Master Coquenard had, from 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.
Monsieur 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: "Monsieur, our cousin, will do us
the favor of dining with us once before his departure for the campaign, will
he not, Madame Coquenard?"
This time, Porthos received the blow right in his stomach, and felt it.
It appeared, likewise, that Madame Coquenard was no less affected by it on
her part, for she added:
"My 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 previously to his departure."
"Oh my legs! my poor legs! where are you?" murmured Coquenard, and he
endeavored to smile.
This succor, which Porthos received at the moment in which he was
attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in the musketeer
for the procureuse.
The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating-room, a
large dark apartment situated opposite to the kitchen.
The clerks who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumes in the
house, were of military punctuality, and stood with their stools in their
hands, quite ready to sit down. Their jaws moved preliminary with fearful
threatenings.
"Indeed!" thought Porthos, casting a glance at the three hungry clerks,
for the lad was not, as might be expected, admitted to the honors of the
master`s table; "indeed! in my cousin`s place, I would not keep such
gluttonous-looking fellows as these! Why, they have the appearance of
shipwrecked sailors who have had nothing to eat for six weeks."
Monsieur Coquenard entered, pushed along upon his chair with castors by
Madame 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.
"Oh, oh!" said he; "here is a potage which is rather inviting!"
"What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this potage?" said
Porthos, at the sight of a pale bouillon, abundant, but perfectly free from
meat, and upon the surface of which a few crusts swam about, as wide apart
as the islands of an archipelago.
Madame Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her every one eagerly took
his seat.
Master Coquenard was served first, then Porthos; afterward Madame
Coquenard filled her own plate, and distributed the crusts without bouillon
to the impatient clerks. At this moment the door of the dining-room opened
of itself with a creak, and Porthos perceived the little clerk, who, not
being allowed to take part in the feast, ate his dry bread in the passage,
by which he gave it the double relish of the odor which came from the
dining-room and the kitchen.
After the potage the maid brought in a boiled fowl, a piece of
magnificance which caused the eyes of the usual guests to dilate in a manner
that threatened injury to them.
"One may see that you love your family, Madame Coquenard," said the
procureur, with a smile that was almost tragic: "you are certainly treating
your cousin very handsomely!"
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.
"The devil!" thought Porthos, "this is poor work! I respect old age;
but I don`t think much of it boiled or roasted."
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.
Madame Coquenard drew the dish toward her, skillfully detached the two
great black feet, which she placed upon her husband`s plate; cut off the
neck, which, with the head, she put on one side for herself; raised the wing
for Porthos, and then returned to the servant who had brought it in, the
animal, otherwise intact, and which had disappeared before the musketeer had
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 appearance;
an enormous dish, in which some bones of mutton, which, at first sight, might
have been supposed 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.
Madame Coquenard distributed this dish to the young men with the
moderation of a good housewife.
The time for taking wine was come. Master Coquenard poured, from a very
small stone bottle, the third of a glass to each of the young men, served
himself in about the same proportion, and passed the bottle to Porthos and
Madame 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; which brought them, by the end of the repast, to the swallowing of a
drink which, from the color of the ruby, had passed to that of a pale topaz.
Porthos ate his wing of the fowl very timidly, and shuddered when he
left the knee of the procureuse 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 Montreuil, the terror of all practiced palates.
Master Coquenard saw him swallowing this wine undiluted, and sighed
deeply.
"Will you eat any of these beans, Cousin Porthos?" said Madame
Coquenard, in that tone which says, "Take my advice, don`t touch them."
"Devil take me if I taste one of them!" murmured Porthos; and then
aloud:
"Thank you, my dear cousin, I have no more appetite."
A general silence prevailed. Porthos was quite at a loss. The
procureur repeated several times:
"Ah! Madame Coquenard! accept my compliments; your dinner has been a
real feast. Lord! how I have eaten!"
Master Coquenard had eaten his potage, 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 eyebrow; but the knee of Madame Coquenard came, and greatly
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 procureur, accompanied by a smile from Madame Coquenard, they
arose slowly from table, folded their napkins more slowly still, bowed, and
retired.
"Go, young men; go and promote digestion by working," said the procureur
gravely.
The clerks being gone, Madame 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.
Master Coquenard knitted his eyebrows because there were too many good
things; Porthos bit his lips because there was not enough for a man`s dinner.
He looked to see if the dish of beans were gone; the dish of beans had
disappeared.
"A positive feast!" cried Master Coquenard, turning about in his chair;
"a real feast, epuloe epulorum; Lucullus dines with Lucullus."
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; Monsieur and Madame Coquenard did not seem to observe it.
"This is very fine!" thought Porthos to himself, "I am prettily caught!"
He passed his tongue over a spoonful of preserves, and stuck his teeth
into the sticky pastry of Madame Coquenard.
"Now," said he, "the sacrifice is consummated! Ah! if I had not the
hopes of having a peep with Madame Coquenard into her husband`s chest!"
Master 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
procureur would listen to nothing; he would be taken to his chamber, 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 procureuse took Porthos into an adjoining chamber, and they began
to lay the basis of reconciliation.
"You can come and dine three times a week," said Madame Coquenard.
"Thanks, madame!" said Porthos, "but I don`t like to abuse your
kindness; besides, I must think of this equipment."
"That`s true," said the procureuse, groaning - "that unfortunate
equipment!"
"Alas! yes," said Porthos, "it is so."
"But of what, then, does the equipment of your corps consist, Monsieur
Porthos?"
"Oh! of many things," said Porthos, "the musketeers are, as you know,
picked soldiers, and they require many things that are useless to the guards
or the Swiss."
"But yet, detail them to me."
"Why, they may amount to - said Porthos, who preferred discussing the
total to taking them one by one.
The procureuse waited tremblingly.
"To how much?" said she, "I hope it does not exceed - " She stopped,
speech failed her.
"Oh! no," said Porthos, "it does not exceed two thousand five hundred
livres; I even think that, with economy, I could manage it with two thousand
livres."
"Good God!" cried she, "two thousand livres! why that is a fortune!"
Porthos made a most significant grimace; Madame Coquenard understood it.
"I only wish to know the details," said she, "because having many
relations in business, I was almost sure of obtaining things at a hundred per
cent, less than you could get them yourself."
"Ah! ah!" said Porthos, "if that is what you meant to say?"
"Yes, my dear Monsieur Porthos; thus, for instance, don`t you, in the
first place want a horse!"
"Yes, a horse."
"Well, then! I can just suit you."
"Ah!" said Porthos, brightening, "that`s well as regards my horse, then;
but I must have the horse appointments complete, which are composed of
objects that a musketeer alone can purchase, and which will not amount,
besides, to more than three hundred livres."
"Three hundred livres; then put down three hundred livres," said the
procureuse, with a sigh.
Porthos smiled; it may be remembered that he had the saddle which came
from Buckingham; the three hundred livres then he reckoned upon putting
snugly into his pocket.
"Then," continued he, "there is a horse for my lackey and my valise; as
to my arms it is useless to trouble you about them, I have them."
"A horse for your lackey?" resumed the procureuse, hesitatingly; "but
that is doing things in a very noble style, my friend."
"Well, madame!" said Porthos haughtily; "do you take me for a beggar?"
"No, no; I only thought that a pretty mule made sometimes as good an
appearance as a horse, an it seemed to me that by getting a pretty mule for
Mousqueton - "
"Well, agreed for a pretty mule," said Porthos; "you 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."
"Be satisfied," said the procureuse.
"Then there remains the valise."
"Oh! don`t let that disturb you," cried Madame Coquenard "my husband
has five or six valises, you shall choose the best; there is one in
particular, which he prefers himself whenever he travels, large enough to
hold all the world."
"Your valise is then empty?" asked Porthos, with simplicity.
"Certainly it is empty," replied the procureuse, really simply, on her
part.
"Ah! but the valise I want," cried Porthos, "is a well-filled one, my
dear."
Madame uttered fresh sighs. Moliere had not written his scene in
L`Avare then. Madame Coquenard has then the pas of Harpagan.
In short, the rest of the equipment was successively debated in the same
manner; and the result of the sitting was, that Madame Coquenard should give
eight hundred livres in money, and should furnish the horse and the mule,
which should have the honor to carry Porthos and Mousqueton to glory.
These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Madame
Coquenard. The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender
glances; but Porthos urged the commands of duty, and the procureuse was
obliged to give place to the king.
The musketeer returned home as hungry as a hunter.
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