Les trois mousquetaires. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  32 A PROCURATOR'S DINNER

  However brilliant had been the part played by Porthos in the duel, ithad not made him forget the dinner of the procurator's wife.

  On the morrow he received the last touches of Mousqueton's brush for anhour, and took his way toward the Rue aux Ours with the steps of a manwho was doubly in favor with fortune.

  His heart beat, but not like d'Artagnan's with a young and impatientlove. No; a more material interest stirred his blood. He was about atlast to pass that mysterious threshold, to climb those unknown stairs bywhich, one by one, the old crowns of M. Coquenard had ascended. He wasabout to see in reality a certain coffer of which he had twenty timesbeheld the image in his dreams--a coffer long and deep, locked, bolted,fastened in the wall; a coffer of which he had so often heard, and whichthe hands--a little wrinkled, it is true, but still not withoutelegance--of the procurator's wife were about to open to his admiringlooks.

  And then he--a wanderer on the earth, a man without fortune, a manwithout family, a soldier accustomed to inns, cabarets, taverns, andrestaurants, a lover of wine forced to depend upon chance treats--wasabout to partake of family meals, to enjoy the pleasures of acomfortable establishment, and to give himself up to those littleattentions which "the harder one is, the more they please," as oldsoldiers say.

  To come in the capacity of a cousin, and seat himself every day at agood table; to smooth the yellow, wrinkled brow of the old procurator;to pluck the clerks a little by teaching them BASSETTE, PASSE-DIX, andLANSQUENET, in their utmost nicety, and winning from them, by way of feefor the lesson he would give them in an hour, their savings of amonth--all 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 theperiod--meanness, stinginess, fasts; but as, after all, excepting somefew acts of economy which Porthos had always found very unseasonable,the procurator's wife had been tolerably liberal--that is, be itunderstood, for a procurator's wife--he hoped to see a household of ahighly 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, darkpassage, a staircase half-lighted by bars through which stole a glimmerfrom a neighboring yard; on the first floor a low door studded withenormous nails, like the principal gate of the Grand Chatelet.

  Porthos knocked with his hand. A tall, pale clerk, his face shaded by aforest of virgin hair, opened the door, and bowed with the air of a manforced at once to respect in another lofty stature, which indicatedstrength, the military dress, which indicated rank, and a ruddycountenance, 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, threeclerks and a half, which, for the time, argued a very extensiveclientage.

  Although the Musketeer was not expected before one o'clock, theprocurator's wife had been on the watch ever since midday, reckoningthat the heart, or perhaps the stomach, of her lover would bring himbefore his time.

  Mme. Coquenard therefore entered the office from the house at the samemoment her guest entered from the stairs, and the appearance of theworthy lady relieved him from an awkward embarrassment. The clerkssurveyed him with great curiosity, and he, not knowing well what to sayto this ascending and descending scale, remained tongue-tied.

  "It is my cousin!" cried the procurator's wife. "Come in, come in,Monsieur Porthos!"

  The name of Porthos produced its effect upon the clerks, who began tolaugh; but Porthos turned sharply round, and every countenance quicklyrecovered its gravity.

  They reached the office of the procurator after having passed throughthe antechamber in which the clerks were, and the study in which theyought to have been. This last apartment was a sort of dark room,littered with papers. On quitting the study they left the kitchen on theright, and entered the reception room.

  All these rooms, which communicated with one another, did not inspirePorthos favorably. Words might be heard at a distance through all theseopen doors. Then, while passing, he had cast a rapid, investigatingglance into the kitchen; and he was obliged to confess to himself, tothe shame of the procurator's wife and his own regret, that he did notsee that fire, that animation, that bustle, which when a good repast ison foot prevails generally in that sanctuary of good living.

  The procurator had without doubt been warned of his visit, as heexpressed no surprise at the sight of Porthos, who advanced toward himwith a sufficiently easy air, and saluted him courteously.

  "We are cousins, it appears, Monsieur Porthos?" 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 hisslender body was concealed, was brisk and dry. His little gray eyesshone like carbuncles, and appeared, with his grinning mouth, to be theonly part of his face in which life survived. Unfortunately the legsbegan to refuse their service to this bony machine. During the last fiveor six months that this weakness had been felt, the worthy procuratorhad 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.

  "Yes, monsieur, we are cousins," said Porthos, without beingdisconcerted, as he had never reckoned upon being receivedenthusiastically by the husband.

  "By the female side, I believe?" said the procurator, maliciously.

  Porthos did not feel the ridicule of this, and took it for a piece ofsimplicity, at which he laughed in his large mustache. Mme. Coquenard,who knew that a simple-minded procurator was a very rare variety in thespecies, smiled a little, and colored a great deal.

  M Coquenard had, since the arrival of Porthos, frequently cast his eyeswith great uneasiness upon a large chest placed in front of his oakdesk. Porthos comprehended that this chest, although it did notcorrespond in shape with that which he had seen in his dreams, must bethe blessed coffer, and he congratulated himself that the reality wasseveral 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 uponPorthos, he contented himself with saying, "Monsieur our cousin will dous the favor of dining with us once before his departure for thecampaign, will he not, Madame Coquenard?"

  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 onher part, for she added, "My cousin will not return if he finds that wedo not treat him kindly; but otherwise he has so little time to pass inParis, and consequently to spare to us, that we must entreat him to giveus every instant he can call his own previous to his departure."

  "Oh, my legs, my poor legs! where are you?" murmured Coquenard, and hetried to smile.

  This succor, which came to Porthos at the moment in which he wasattacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in theMusketeer toward the procurator's wife.

  The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating room--alarge dark room situated opposite the kitchen.

  The clerks, who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumes in thehouse, were of military punctuality, and held their stools in hand quiteready to sit down. Their jaws moved preliminarily with fearfulthreatenings.

  "Indeed!" thought Porthos, casting a glance at the three hungryclerks--for the errand boy, as might be expected, was not admitted tothe honors of the magisterial table, "in my cousin's place, I would notkeep such gourmands! They look like shipwrecked sailors who have noteaten for six weeks."

  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 jawsafter the example of his clerks.

  "Oh, oh!" said he; "here is a soup which is rather
inviting."

  "What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this soup?" saidPorthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundant but entirely free frommeat, on the surface of which a few crusts swam about as rare as theislands of an archipelago.

  Mme. Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her everyone eagerly tookhis seat.

  M Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme. Coquenardfilled her own plate, and distributed the crusts without soup to theimpatient clerks. At this moment the door of the dining room unclosedwith a creak, and Porthos perceived through the half-open flap thelittle clerk who, not being allowed to take part in the feast, ate hisdry bread in the passage with the double odor of the dining room andkitchen.

  After the soup the maid brought a boiled fowl--a piece of magnificencewhich caused the eyes of the diners to dilate in such a manner that theyseemed ready to burst.

  "One may see that you love your family, Madame Coquenard," said theprocurator, with a smile that was almost tragic. "You are certainlytreating your cousin very handsomely!"

  The poor fowl was thin, and covered with one of those thick, bristlyskins 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 ithad retired to die of old age.

  "The devil!" thought Porthos, "this is poor work. I respect old age, butI don't much like it boiled or roasted."

  And he looked round to see if anybody partook of his opinion; but on thecontrary, he saw nothing but eager eyes which were devouring, inanticipation, that sublime fowl which was the object of his contempt.

  Mme. Coquenard drew the dish toward her, skillfully detached the twogreat black feet, which she placed upon her husband's plate, cut off theneck, which with the head she put on one side for herself, raised thewing for Porthos, and then returned the bird otherwise intact to theservant who had brought it in, who disappeared with it before theMusketeer had time to examine the variations which disappointmentproduces upon faces, according to the characters and temperaments ofthose who experience it.

  In the place of the fowl a dish of haricot beans made its appearance--anenormous dish in which some bones of mutton that at first sight onemight have believed to have some meat on them pretended to showthemselves.

  But the clerks were not the dupes of this deceit, and their lugubriouslooks settled down into resigned countenances.

  Mme. Coquenard distributed this dish to the young men with themoderation of a good housewife.

  The time for wine came. M. Coquenard poured from a very small stonebottle the third of a glass for each of the young men, served himself inabout 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, whenthey had drunk half the glass, they filled it up again, and continued todo so. This brought them, by the end of the repast, to swallowing adrink which from the color of the ruby had passed to that of a paletopaz.

  Porthos ate his wing of the fowl timidly, and shuddered when he felt theknee of the procurator's wife under the table, as it came in search ofhis. He also drank half a glass of this sparingly served wine, and foundit to be nothing but that horrible Montreuil--the terror of all expertpalates.

  M Coquenard saw him swallowing this wine undiluted, and sighed deeply.

  "Will you eat any of these beans, Cousin Porthos?" said Mme. Coquenard,in that tone which says, "Take my advice, don't touch them."

  "Devil take me if I taste one of them!" murmured Porthos to himself, andthen said aloud, "Thank you, my cousin, I am no longer hungry."

  There was silence. Porthos could hardly keep his countenance.

  The procurator repeated several times, "Ah, Madame Coquenard! Accept mycompliments; your dinner has been a real feast. Lord, how I have eaten!"

  M Coquenard had eaten his soup, the black feet of the fowl, and the onlymutton bone on which there was the least appearance of meat.

  Porthos fancied they were mystifying him, and began to curl his mustacheand knit his eyebrows; but the knee of Mme. Coquenard gently advised himto be patient.

  This silence and this interruption in serving, which were unintelligibleto 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 moreslowly still, bowed, and retired.

  "Go, young men! go and promote digestion by working," said theprocurator, gravely.

  The clerks gone, Mme. Coquenard rose and took from a buffet a piece ofcheese, some preserved quinces, and a cake which she had herself made ofalmonds 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. Helooked to see if the dish of beans was still there; the dish of beanshad disappeared.

  "A positive feast!" cried M. Coquenard, turning about in his chair, "areal feast, EPULCE EPULORUM. Lucullus dines with Lucullus."

  Porthos looked at the bottle, which was near him, and hoped that withwine, 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.

  "This is fine!" said Porthos to himself; "I am prettily caught!"

  He passed his tongue over a spoonful of preserves, and stuck his teethinto the sticky pastry of Mme. Coquenard.

  "Now," said he, "the sacrifice is consummated! Ah! if I had not the hopeof peeping with Madame Coquenard into her husband's chest!"

  M Coquenard, after the luxuries of such a repast, which he called anexcess, felt the want of a siesta. Porthos began to hope that the thingwould take place at the present sitting, and in that same locality; butthe 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 ofwhich, for still greater precaution, he placed his feet.

  The procurator's wife took Porthos into an adjoining room, and theybegan to lay the basis of a reconciliation.

  "You can come and dine three times a week," said Mme. Coquenard.

  "Thanks, madame!" said Porthos, "but I don't like to abuse yourkindness; besides, I must think of my outfit!"

  "That's true," said the procurator's wife, groaning, "that unfortunateoutfit!"

  "Alas, yes," said Porthos, "it is so."

  "But of what, then, does the equipment of your company consist, MonsieurPorthos?"

  "Oh, of many things!" said Porthos. "The Musketeers are, as you know,picked soldiers, and they require many things useless to the Guardsmenor the Swiss."

  "But yet, detail them to me."

  "Why, they may amount to--", said Porthos, who preferred discussing thetotal to taking them one by one.

  The procurator's wife 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 hundredlivres! I even think that with economy I could manage it with twothousand livres."

  "Good God!" cried she, "two thousand livres! Why, that is a fortune!"

  Porthos made a most significant grimace; Mme. Coquenard understood it.

  "I wished to know the detail," said she, "because, having many relativesin business, I was almost sure of obtaining things at a hundred per centless than you would pay yourself."

  "Ah, ah!" said Porthos, "that is what you meant to say!"

  "Yes, dear Monsieur Porthos. Thus, for instance, don't you in the firstplace want a horse?"

  "Yes, a horse."

  "Well, then! I can just suit you."

  "Ah!" said Porthos, brightening, "that's well as regards my horse; but Imust have the appointments complete, as they include objects which aMusketeer alone can purchase, and which will not amount, besides, tomore than three hundred livres."

  "Three hundred livres? Then put down three hundred livres," said theprocurator's wife, with a sigh.

  Porthos smiled. It may be remem
bered that he had the saddle which camefrom Buckingham. These three hundred livres he reckoned upon puttingsnugly into his pocket.

  "Then," continued he, "there is a horse for my lackey, and my valise. Asto my arms, it is useless to trouble you about them; I have them."

  "A horse for your lackey?" resumed the procurator's wife, hesitatingly;"but that is doing things in lordly style, my friend."

  "Ah, madame!" said Porthos, haughtily; "do you take me for a beggar?"

  "No; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes as good anappearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that by getting a pretty mulefor Mousqueton--"

  "Well, agreed for a pretty mule," said Porthos; "you are right, I haveseen very great Spanish nobles whose whole suite were mounted on mules.But then you understand, Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers andbells."

  "Be satisfied," said the procurator's wife.

  "There remains the valise," added Porthos.

  "Oh, don't let that disturb you," cried Mme. Coquenard. "My husband hasfive or six valises; you shall choose the best. There is one inparticular which he prefers in his journeys, large enough to hold allthe world."

  "Your valise is then empty?" asked Porthos, with simplicity.

  "Certainly it is empty," replied the procurator's wife, in realinnocence.

  "Ah, but the valise I want," cried Porthos, "is a well-filled one, mydear."

  Madame uttered fresh sighs. Moliere had not written his scene in"L'Avare" then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemma of Harpagan.

  Finally, the rest of the equipment was successively debated in the samemanner; and the result of the sitting was that the procurator's wifeshould give eight hundred livres in money, and should furnish the horseand the mule which should have the honor of carrying Porthos andMousqueton to glory.

  These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Mme. Coquenard.The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender glances; butPorthos urged the commands of duty, and the procurator's wife wasobliged to give place to the king.

  The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor.