During all these long and noisy debates between the opposite
ambitions of politics and love, one of our characters, perhaps the
one least deserving of neglect, was, however, very much neglected,
very much forgotten, and exceedingly unhappy. In fact,
D'Artagnan—D'Artagnan, we say, for we must call him by his name, to
remind our readers of his existence—D'Artagnan, we repeat, had
absolutely nothing whatever to do, amidst these brilliant
butterflies of fashion. After following the king during two whole
days at Fontainebleau, and critically observing the various
pastoral fancies and heroi-comic transformations of his sovereign,
the musketeer felt that he needed something more than this to
satisfy the cravings of his nature. At every moment assailed by
people asking him, "How do you think this costume suits me,
Monsieur d'Artagnan?" he would reply to them in quiet, sarcastic
tones, "Why, I think you are quite as well-dressed as the
best-dressed monkey to be found in the fair at Saint-Laurent." It
was just such a compliment D'Artagnan would choose where he did not
feel disposed to pay any other: and, whether agreeable or not, the
inquirer was obliged to be satisfied with it. Whenever any one
asked him, "How do you intend to dress yourself this evening?" he
replied, "I shall undress myself;" at which the ladies all laughed,
and a few of them blushed. But after a couple of days passed in
this manner, the musketeer, perceiving that nothing serious was
likely to arise which would concern him, and that the king had
completely, or, at least, appeared to have completely forgotten
Paris, Saint-Mande, and Belle-Isle—that M. Colbert's mind was
occupied with illuminations and fireworks—that for the next month,
at least, the ladies had plenty of glances to bestow, and also to
receive in exchange—D'Artagnan asked the king for leave of absence
for a matter of private business. At the moment D'Artagnan made his
request, his majesty was on the point of going to bed, quite
exhausted from dancing.
"You wish to leave me, Monsieur d'Artagnan?" inquired the king,
with an air of astonishment; for Louis XIV. could never understand
why any one who had the distinguished honor of being near him could
wish to leave him.
"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "I leave you simply because I am not of
the slightest service to you in anything. Ah! if I could only hold
the balancing-pole while you were dancing, it would be a very
different affair."
"But, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, gravely,
"people dance without balancing-poles."
"Ah! indeed," said the musketeer, continuing his imperceptible
tone of irony, "I had no idea such a thing was possible."
"You have not seen me dance, then?" inquired the king.
"Yes; but I always thought dancers went from easy to difficult
acrobatic feats. I was mistaken; all the more greater reason,
therefore, that I should leave for a time. Sire, I repeat, you have
no present occasion for my services; besides, if your majesty
should have any need of me, you would know where to find me."
"Very well," said the king, and he granted him leave of
absence.
We shall not look for D'Artagnan, therefore, at Fontainebleau,
for to do so would be useless; but, with the permission of our
readers, follow him to the Rue des Lombards, where he was located
at the sign of the Pilon d'Or, in the house of our old friend
Planchet. It was about eight o'clock in the evening, and the
weather was exceedingly warm; there was only one window open, and
that one belonging to a room on the entresol. A
perfume of spices, mingled with another perfume less exotic, but
more penetrating, namely, that which arose from the street,
ascended to salute the nostrils of the musketeer. D'Artagnan,
reclining in an immense straight-backed chair, with his legs not
stretched out, but simply placed upon a stool, formed an angle of
the most obtuse form that could possibly be seen. Both his arms
were crossed over his head, his head reclining upon his left
shoulder, like Alexander the Great. His eyes, usually so quick and
intelligent in their expression, were now half-closed, and seemed
fastened, as it were, upon a small corner of blue sky that was
visible behind the opening of the chimneys; there was just enough
blue, and no more, to fill one of the sacks of lentils, or
haricots, which formed the principal furniture of the shop on the
ground floor. Thus extended at his ease, and sheltered in his place
of observation behind the window, D'Artagnan seemed as if he had
ceased to be a soldier, as if he were no longer an officer
belonging to the palace, but was, on the contrary, a quiet,
easy-going citizen in a state of stagnation between his dinner and
supper, or between his supper and his bed; one of those strong,
ossified brains, which have no more room for a single idea, so
fiercely does animal matter keep watch at the doors of
intelligence, narrowly inspecting the contraband trade which might
result from the introduction into the brain of a symptom of
thought. We have already said night was closing in, the shops were
being lighted, while the windows of the upper apartments were being
closed, and the rhythmic steps of a patrol of soldiers forming the
night watch could be heard retreating. D'Artagnan continued,
however, to think of nothing, except the blue corner of the sky. A
few paces from him, completely in the shade, lying on his stomach,
upon a sack of Indian corn, was Planchet, with both his arms under
his chin, and his eyes fixed on D'Artagnan, who was either
thinking, dreaming, or sleeping, with his eyes open. Planchet had
been watching him for a tolerably long time, and, by way of
interruption, he began by exclaiming, "Hum! hum!" But D'Artagnan
did not stir. Planchet then saw that it was necessary to have
recourse to more effectual means still: after a prolonged
reflection on the subject, the most ingenious means that suggested
itself to him under the present circumstances, was to let himself
roll off the sack on to the floor, murmuring, at the same time,
against himself, the word "stupid." But, notwithstanding the noise
produced by Planchet's fall, D'Artagnan, who had in the course of
his existence heard many other, and very different falls, did not
appear to pay the least attention to the present one. Besides, an
enormous cart, laden with stones, passing from the Rue
Saint-Mederic, absorbed, in the noise of its wheels, the noise of
Planchet's tumble. And yet Planchet fancied that, in token of tacit
approval, he saw him imperceptibly smile at the word "stupid." This
emboldened him to say, "Are you asleep, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"No, Planchet, I am not even asleep," replied
the musketeer.
"I am in despair," said Planchet, "to hear such a word
as even."
"Well, and why not; is it not a grammatical word, Monsieur
Planchet?"
"Of course, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Well!"
"Well, then, the word distresses me beyond measure."
"Tell me why you are distressed, Planchet," said D'Artagnan.
"If you say that you are not even asleep, it
is as much as to say that you have not even the consolation of
being able to sleep; or, better still, it is precisely the same as
telling me that you are getting bored to death."
"Planchet, you know that I am never bored."
"Except to-day, and the day before yesterday."
"Bah!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is a week since you returned here from
Fontainebleau; in other words, you have no longer your orders to
issue, or your men to review and maneuver. You need the sound of
guns, drums, and all that din and confusion; I, who have myself
carried a musket, can easily believe that."
"Planchet," replied D'Artagnan, "I assure you I am not bored in
the least in the world."
"In that case, what are you doing, lying there, as if you were
dead?"
"My dear Planchet, there was, once upon a time, at the siege of
La Rochelle, when I was there, when you were there, when we both
were there, a certain Arab, who was celebrated for the manner in
which he adjusted culverins. He was a clever fellow, although of a
very odd complexion, which was the same color as your olives. Well,
this Arab, whenever he had done eating or working, used to sit down
to rest himself, as I am resting myself now, and smoked I cannot
tell you what sort of magical leaves, in a large amber-mouthed
tube; and if any officers, happening to pass, reproached him for
being always asleep, he used quietly to reply: 'Better to sit down
than to stand up, to lie down than to sit down, to be dead than to
lie down.' He was an acutely melancholy Arab, and I remember him
perfectly well, form the color of his skin, and the style of his
conversation. He used to cut off the heads of Protestants with the
most singular gusto!"
"Precisely; and then used to embalm them, when they were worth
the trouble; and when he was thus engaged with his herbs and plants
about him, he looked like a basket-maker making baskets."
"You are quite right, Planchet, he did."
"Oh! I can remember things very well, at times!"
"I have no doubt of it; but what do you think of his mode of
reasoning?"
"I think it good in one sense, but very stupid in another."
"Expound your meaning, M. Planchet."
"Well, monsieur, in point of fact, then, 'better to sit down
than to stand up,' is plain enough, especially when one may be
fatigued," and Planchet smiled in a roguish way; "as for 'better to
be lying down,' let that pass, but as for the last proposition,
that it is 'better to be dead than alive,' it is, in my opinion,
very absurd, my own undoubted preference being for my bed; and if
you are not of my opinion, it is simply, as I have already had the
honor of telling you, because you are boring yourself to
death."
"Planchet, do you know M. La Fontaine?"
"The chemist at the corner of the Rue Saint-Mederic?"
"No, the writer of fables."
"Oh! Maitre Corbeau!"
"Exactly; well, then, I am like his hare."
"He has got a hare also, then?"
"He has all sorts of animals."
"Well, what does his hare do, then?"
"M. La Fontaine's hare thinks."
"Ah, ah!"
"Planchet, I am like that hare—I am thinking."
"You are thinking, you say?" said Planchet, uneasily.
"Yes; your house is dull enough to drive people to think; you
will admit that, I hope."
"And yet, monsieur, you have a look-out upon the street."
"Yes; and wonderfully interesting that is, of course."
"But it is no less true, monsieur, that, if you were living at
the back of the house, you would bore yourself—I mean, you would
think—more than ever."
"Upon my word, Planchet, I hardly know that."
"Still," said the grocer, "if your reflections are at all like
those which led you to restore King Charles II.—" and Planchet
finished by a little laugh which was not without its meaning.
"Ah! Planchet, my friend," returned D'Artagnan, "you are getting
ambitious."
"Is there no other king to be restored, M. d'Artagnan—no second
Monk to be packed up, like a salted hog, in a deal box?"
"No, my dear Planchet; all the kings are seated on their
respective thrones; less comfortably so, perhaps, than I am upon
this chair; but, at all events, there they are." And D'Artagnan
sighed deeply.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Planchet, "you are making me very
uneasy."
"You are very good, Planchet."
"I begin to suspect something."
"What is it?"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are getting thin."
"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, striking his chest which sounded like an
empty cuirass, "it is impossible, Planchet."
"Ah!" said Planchet, slightly overcome; "if you were to get thin
in my house—"
"Well?"
"I should do something rash."
"What would you do? Tell me."
"I should look out for the man who was the cause of all your
anxieties."
"Ah! according to your account, I am anxious now."
"Yes, you are anxious; and you are getting thin, visibly getting
thin. Malaga! if you go on getting thin, in this
way, I will take my sword in my hand, and go straight to M.
d'Herblay, and have it out with him."
"What!" said M. d'Artagnan, starting in his chair; "what's that
you say? And what has M. d'Herblay's name to do with your
groceries?"
"Just as you please. Get angry if you like, or call me names, if
you prefer it; but, the deuce is in it. I know what I
know."
D'Artagnan had, during this second outburst of Planchet's, so
placed himself as not to lose a single look of his face; that is,
he sat with both his hands resting on both his knees, and his head
stretched out towards the grocer. "Come, explain yourself," he
said, "and tell me how you could possibly utter such a blasphemy.
M. d'Herblay, your old master, my friend, an ecclesiastic, a
musketeer turned bishop—do you mean to say you would raise your
sword against him, Planchet?"
"I could raise my sword against my own father, when I see you in
such a state as you are now."
"M. d'Herblay, a gentleman!"
"It's all the same to me whether he's a gentleman or not. He
gives you the blue devils, that is all I know. And the blue devils
make people get thin. Malaga! I have no notion
of M. d'Artagnan leaving my house thinner than when he entered
it."
"How does he give me the blue devils, as you call it? Come,
explain, explain."
"You have had the nightmare during the last three nights."
"I?"
"Yes, you; and in your nightmare you called out, several times,
'Aramis, deceitful Aramis!'"
"Ah! I said that, did I?" murmured D'Artagnan, uneasily.
"Yes, those very words, upon my honor."
"Well, what else? You know the saying, Planchet, 'dreams go by
contraries.'"
"Not so; for every time, during the last three days, when you
went out, you have not once failed to ask me, on your return, 'Have
you seen M. d'Herblay?' or else 'Have you received any letters for
me from M. d'Herblay?'"
"Well, it is very natural I should take an interest in my old
friend," said D'Artagnan.
"Of course; but not to such an extent as to get thin on that
account."
"Planchet, I'll get fatter; I give you my word of honor I
will."
"Very well, monsieur, I accept it; for I know that when you give
your word of honor, it is sacred."
"I will not dream of Aramis any more; and I will never ask you
again if there are any letters from M. d'Herblay; but on condition
that you explain one thing to me."
"Tell me what it is, monsieur?"
"I am a great observer; and just now you made use of a very
singular oath, which is unusual for you."
"You mean Malaga! I suppose?"
"Precisely."
"It is the oath I have used ever since I have been a
grocer."
"Very proper, too; it is the name of a dried grape, or raisin, I
believe?"
"It is my most ferocious oath; when I have once
said Malaga! I am a man no longer."
"Still, I never knew you use that oath before."
"Very likely not, monsieur. I had a present made me of it," said
Planchet; and, as he pronounced these words, he winked his eye with
a cunning expression, which thoroughly awakened D'Artagnan's
attention.
"Come, come, M. Planchet."
"Why, I am not like you, monsieur," said Planchet. "I don't pass
my life in thinking."
"You do wrong, then."
"I mean in boring myself to death. We have but a very short time
to live—why not make the best of it?"
"You are an Epicurean philosopher, I begin to think,
Planchet."
"Why not? My hand is still as steady as ever; I can write, and
can weigh out my sugar and spices; my foot is firm; I can dance and
walk about; my stomach has its teeth still, for I eat and digest
very well; my heart is not quite hardened. Well, monsieur?"
"Well, what, Planchet?"
"Why, you see—" said the grocer, rubbing his hands together.
D'Artagnan crossed one leg over the other, and said, "Planchet,
my friend, I am unnerved with extreme surprise; for you are
revealing yourself to me under a perfectly new light."
Planchet, flattered in the highest degree by this remark,
continued to rub his hands very hard together. "Ah, ah," he said,
"because I happen to be only slow, you think me, perhaps, a
positive fool."
"Very good, Planchet; very well reasoned."
"Follow my idea, monsieur, if you please. I said to myself,"
continued Planchet, "that, without enjoyment, there is no happiness
on this earth."
"Quite true, what you say, Planchet," interrupted
D'Artagnan.
"At all events, if we cannot obtain pleasure—for pleasure is not
so common a thing, after all—let us, at least, get consolations of
some kind or another."
"And so you console yourself?"
"Exactly so."
"Tell me how you console yourself."
"I put on a buckler for the purpose of
confronting ennui. I place my time at the direction
of patience; and on the very eve of feeling I am going to get
bored, I amuse myself."
"And you don't find any difficulty in that?"
"None."
"And you found it out quite by yourself?"
"Quite so."
"It is miraculous."
"What do you say?"
"I say, that your philosophy is not to be matched in the
Christian or pagan world, in modern days or in antiquity!"
"You think so?—follow my example, then."
"It is a very tempting one."
"Do as I do."
"I could not wish for anything better; but all minds are not of
the same stamp; and it might possibly happen that if I were
required to amuse myself in the manner you do, I should bore myself
horribly."
"Bah! at least try first."
"Well, tell me what you do."
"Have you observed that I leave home occasionally?"
"Yes."
"In any particular way?"
"Periodically."
"That's the very thing. You have noticed it, then?"
"My dear Planchet, you must understand that when people see each
other every day, and one of the two absents himself, the other
misses him. Do you not feel the want of my society when I am in the
country?"
"Prodigiously; that is to say, I feel like a body without a
soul."
"That being understood then, proceed."
"What are the periods when I absent myself?"
"On the fifteenth and thirtieth of every month."
"And I remain away?"
"Sometimes two, sometimes three, and sometimes four days at a
time."
"Have you ever given it a thought, why I was absent?"
"To look after your debts, I suppose."
"And when I returned, how did you think I looked, as far as my
face was concerned?"
"Exceedingly self-satisfied."
"You admit, you say, that I always look satisfied. And what have
you attributed my satisfaction to?"
"That your business was going on very well; that your purchases
of rice, prunes, raw sugar, dried apples, pears, and treacle were
advantageous. You were always very picturesque in your notions and
ideas, Planchet; and I was not in the slightest degree surprised to
find you had selected grocery as an occupation, which is of all
trades the most varied, and the very pleasantest, as far as the
character is concerned; inasmuch as one handles so many natural and
perfumed productions."
"Perfectly true, monsieur; but you are very greatly
mistaken."
"In what way?"
"In thinking that I heave here every fortnight, to collect my
money or to make purchases. Ho, ho! how could you possibly have
thought such a thing? Ho, ho, ho!" And Planchet began to laugh in a
manner that inspired D'Artagnan with very serious misgivings as to
his sanity.
"I confess," said the musketeer, "that I do not precisely catch
your meaning."
"Very true, monsieur."
"What do you mean by 'very true'?"
"It must be true, since you say it; but pray, be assured that it
in no way lessens my opinion of you."
"Ah, that is lucky."
"No; you are a man of genius; and whenever the question happens
to be of war, tactics, surprises, or good honest blows to be dealt
with, why, kings are marionettes, compared to you. But for the
consolations of the mind, the proper care of the body, the
agreeable things of like, if one may say so—ah! monsieur, don't
talk to me about men of genius; they are nothing short of
executioners."
"Good," said D'Artagnan, really fidgety with curiosity, "upon my
word you interest me in the highest degree."
"You feel already less bored than you did just now, do you
not?"
"I was not bored; yet since you have been talking to me, I feel
more animated."
"Very good, then; that is not a bad beginning. I will cure you,
rely upon that."
"There is nothing I should like better."
"Will you let me try, then?"
"Immediately, if you like."
"Very well. Have you any horses here?"
"Yes; ten, twenty, thirty."
"Oh, there is no occasion for so many as that, two will be quite
sufficient."
"They are quite at your disposal, Planchet."
"Very good; then I shall carry you off with me."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Where?"
"Ah, you are asking too much."
"You will admit, however, that it is important I should know
where I am going."
"Do you like the country?"
"Only moderately, Planchet."
"In that case you like town better?"
"That is as may be."
"Very well; I am going to take you to a place, half town and
half country."
"Good."
"To a place where I am sure you will amuse yourself."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes; and more wonderful still, to a place from which you have
just returned for the purpose only, it would seem, of getting bored
here."
"It is to Fontainebleau you are going, then?"
"Exactly; to Fontainebleau."
"And, in Heaven's name, what are you going to do at
Fontainebleau?"
Planchet answered D'Artagnan by a wink full of sly humor.
"You have some property there, you rascal."
"Oh, a very paltry affair; a little bit of a house—nothing
more."
"I understand you."
"But it is tolerable enough, after all."
"I am going to Planchet's country-seat!" exclaimed
D'Artagnan.
"Whenever you like."
"Did we not fix to-morrow?"
"Let us say to-morrow, if you like; and then, besides, to-morrow
is the 14th, that is to say, the day before the one when I am
afraid of getting bored; so we will look upon it as an understood
thing."
"Agreed, by all means."
"You will lend me one of your horses?"
"The best I have."
"No; I prefer the gentlest of all; I never was a very good
rider, as you know, and in my grocery business I have got more
awkward than ever; besides—"
"Besides what?"
"Why," added Planchet, "I do not wish to fatigue myself."
"Why so?" D'Artagnan ventured to ask.
"Because I should lose half the pleasure I expect to enjoy,"
replied Planchet. And thereupon he rose from his sack of Indian
corn, stretching himself, and making all his bones crack, one after
the other, with a sort of harmony.
"Planchet! Planchet!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, "I do declare that
there is no sybarite upon the face of the globe who can for a
moment be compared to you. Oh, Planchet, it is very clear that we
have never yet eaten a ton of salt together."
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Because, even now I can scarcely say I know you," said
D'Artagnan, "and because, in point of fact, I return to the opinion
which, for a moment, I had formed of you that day at Boulogne, when
you strangled, or did so as nearly as possible, M. de Wardes's
valet, Lubin; in plain language, Planchet, that you are a man of
great resources."
Planchet began to laugh with a laugh full of self-conceit; bade
the musketeer good-night, and went down to his back shop, which he
used as a bedroom. D'Artagnan resumed his original position upon
his chair, and his brow, which had been unruffled for a moment,
became more pensive than ever. He had already forgotten the whims
and dreams of Planchet. "Yes," said he, taking up again the thread
of his thoughts, which had been broken by the whimsical
conversation in which we have just permitted our readers to
participate. "Yes, yes, those three points include everything:
First, to ascertain what Baisemeaux wanted with Aramis; secondly,
to learn why Aramis does not let me hear from him; and thirdly, to
ascertain where Porthos is. The whole mystery lies in these three
points. Since, therefore," continued D'Artagnan, "our friends tell
us nothing, we must have recourse to our own poor intelligence. I
must do what I can, mordioux, or
rather Malaga, as Planchet would say."