I

T T P ’A E

On the first Monday of the month of April, , the market town of

Meung, in which the author of Romance of the Rose was born,
appeared to be in as perfect a state of reYolution as if the Huguenots
had Must made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citi]ens, seeing the
women flying toward the High Street, leaYing their children crying at
the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their
somewhat uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed
their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was
gathered, increasing eYery minute, a compact group, Yociferous and
full of curiosity.
In those times panics were common, and few days passed without
some city or other registering in its archiYes an eYent of this kind.
There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the
king, who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain, which
made war against the king. Then, in addition to these concealed or
public, secret or open wars, there were robbers, mendicants,
Huguenots, wolYes, and scoundrels, who made war upon eYerybody.
The citi]ens always took up arms readily against thieYes, wolYes or
scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against
the king, but neYer against the cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then,
from this habit that on the said first Monday of April, , the citi]ens, on
hearing the clamor, and seeing neither the red-and- yellow standard
nor the liYery of the Duc de Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of
the Jolly Miller. When arriYed there, the cause of the hubbub was
apparent to all.
A young man—we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to
yourself a Don Qui[ote of eighteen; a Don Qui[ote without his
corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don Qui[ote
clothed in a woolen doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a

nameless shade between lees of wine and a heaYenly a]ure; face

long and brown; high cheek bones, a sign of sagacity; the ma[illary
muscles enormously deYeloped, an infallible sign by which a Gascon
may always be detected, eYen without his cap—and our young man
wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye open and intelligent;
the nose hooked, but finely chiseled. Too big for a youth, too small
for a grown man, an e[perienced eye might haYe taken him for a
farmer’s son upon a Mourney had it not been for the long sword
which, dangling from a leather baldric, hit against the calYes of its
owner as he walked, and against the rough side of his steed when
he was on horseback.
For our young man had a steed which was the obserYed of all
obserYers. It was a Béarn pony, from twelYe to fourteen years old,
yellow in his hide, without a hair in his tail, but not without windgalls
on his legs, which, though going with his head lower than his knees,
rendering a martingale quite unnecessary, contriYed neYertheless to
perform his eight leagues a day. Unfortunately, the qualities of this
horse were so well concealed under his strange-colored hide and his
unaccountable gait, that at a time when eYerybody was a
connoisseur in horseflesh, the appearance of the aforesaid pony at
Meung—which place he had entered about a quarter of an hour
before, by the gate of Beaugency—produced an unfaYorable feeling,
which e[tended to his rider.
And this feeling had been more painfully perceiYed by young
d’Artagnan—for so was the Don Qui[ote of this second Rosinante
named—from his not being able to conceal from himself the
ridiculous appearance that such a steed gaYe him, good horseman
as he was. He had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift
of the pony from M. d’Artagnan the elder. He was not ignorant that
such a beast was worth at least twenty liYres; and the words which
had accompanied the present were aboYe all price.
“My son,” said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Béarn
patois of which Henry IV could neYer rid himself, “this horse was
born in the house of your father about thirteen years ago, and has
remained in it eYer since, which ought to make you loYe it. NeYer sell
it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if you make
a campaign with it, take as much care of it as you would of an old

serYant. At court, proYided you haYe eYer the honor to go there,”

continued M. d’Artagnan the elder, “—an honor to which, remember,
your ancient nobility giYes you the right—sustain worthily your name
of gentleman, which has been worthily borne by your ancestors for
fiYe hundred years, both for your own sake and the sake of those
who belong to you. By the latter I mean your relatiYes and friends.
Endure nothing from anyone e[cept Monsieur the Cardinal and the
king. It is by his courage, please obserYe, by his courage alone, that
a gentleman can make his way nowadays. WhoeYer hesitates for a
second perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that e[act
second fortune held out to him. You are young. You ought to be
braYe for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the
second is that you are my son. NeYer fear quarrels, but seek
adYentures. I haYe taught you how to handle a sword; you haYe
thews of iron, a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight the more
for duels being forbidden, since consequently there is twice as much
courage in fighting. I haYe nothing to giYe you, my son, but fifteen
crowns, my horse, and the counsels you haYe Must heard. Your
mother will add to them a recipe for a certain balsam, which she had
from a Bohemian and which has the miraculous Yirtue of curing all
wounds that do not reach the heart. Take adYantage of all, and liYe
happily and long. I haYe but one word to add, and that is to propose
an e[ample to you—not mine, for I myself haYe neYer appeared at
court, and haYe only taken part in religious wars as a Yolunteer; I
speak of Monsieur de TréYille, who was formerly my neighbor, and
who had the honor to be, as a child, the playfellow of our king, Louis
XIII, whom God preserYe! Sometimes their play degenerated into
battles, and in these battles the king was not always the stronger.
The blows which he receiYed increased greatly his esteem and
friendship for Monsieur de TréYille. Afterward, Monsieur de TréYille
fought with others: in his first Mourney to Paris, fiYe times; from the
death of the late king till the young one came of age, without
reckoning wars and sieges, seYen times; and from that date up to
the present day, a hundred times, perhaps! So that in spite of edicts,
ordinances, and decrees, there he is, captain of the Musketeers; that
is to say, chief of a legion of Caesars, whom the king holds in great
esteem and whom the cardinal dreads—he who dreads nothing, as it

is said. Still further, Monsieur de TréYille gains ten thousand crowns

a year; he is therefore a great noble. He began as you begin. Go to
him with this letter, and make him your model in order that you may
do as he has done.”
Upon which M. d’Artagnan the elder girded his own sword round
his son, kissed him tenderly on both cheeks, and gaYe him his
benediction.
On leaYing the paternal chamber, the young man found his mother,
who was waiting for him with the famous recipe of which the
counsels we haYe Must repeated would necessitate frequent
employment. The adieu[ were on this side longer and more tender
than they had been on the other—not that M. d’Artagnan did not loYe
his son, who was his only offspring, but M. d’Artagnan was a man,
and he would haYe considered it unworthy of a man to giYe way to
his feelings; whereas Madame d’Artagnan was a woman, and still
more, a mother. She wept abundantly; and—let us speak it to the
praise of M. d’Artagnan the younger—notwithstanding the efforts he
made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought, nature preYailed,
and he shed many tears, of which he succeeded with great difficulty
in concealing the half.
The same day the young man set forward on his Mourney,
furnished with the three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we haYe
said, of fifteen crowns, the horse, and the letter for M. de TréYille—
the counsels being thrown into the bargain.
With such a vade mecum d’Artagnan was morally and physically
an e[act copy of the hero of CerYantes, to whom we so happily
compared him when our duty of an historian placed us under the
necessity of sketching his portrait. Don Qui[ote took windmills for
giants, and sheep for armies; d’Artagnan took eYery smile for an
insult, and eYery look as a proYocation—whence it resulted that from
Tarbes to Meung his fist was constantly doubled, or his hand on the
hilt of his sword; and yet the fist did not descend upon any Maw, nor
did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was not that the sight of the
wretched pony did not e[cite numerous smiles on the countenances
of passersby; but as against the side of this pony rattled a sword of
respectable length, and as oYer this sword gleamed an eye rather
ferocious than haughty, these passersby repressed their hilarity, or if

hilarity preYailed oYer prudence, they endeaYored to laugh only on

one side, like the masks of the ancients. D’Artagnan, then, remained
maMestic and intact in his susceptibility, till he came to this unlucky
city of Meung.
But there, as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the
Jolly Miller, without anyone—host, waiter, or hostler—coming to hold
his stirrup or take his horse, d’Artagnan spied, though an open
window on the ground floor, a gentleman, well-made and of good
carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking with two
persons who appeared to listen to him with respect. D’Artagnan
fancied quite naturally, according to his custom, that he must be the
obMect of their conYersation, and listened. This time d’Artagnan was
only in part mistaken; he himself was not in question, but his horse
was. The gentleman appeared to be enumerating all his qualities to
his auditors; and, as I haYe said, the auditors seeming to haYe great
deference for the narrator, they eYery moment burst into fits of
laughter. Now, as a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility
of the young man, the effect produced upon him by this Yociferous
mirth may be easily imagined.
NeYertheless, d’Artagnan was desirous of e[amining the
appearance of this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He
fi[ed his haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceiYed a man of
from forty to forty-fiYe years of age, with black and piercing eyes,
pale comple[ion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and well-
shaped mustache. He was dressed in a doublet and hose of a Yiolet
color, with aiguillettes of the same color, without any other ornaments
than the customary slashes, through which the shirt appeared. This
doublet and hose, though new, were creased, like traYeling clothes
for a long time packed in a portmanteau. D’Artagnan made all these
remarks with the rapidity of a most minute obserYer, and doubtless
from an instinctiYe feeling that this stranger was destined to haYe a
great influence oYer his future life.
Now, as at the moment in which d’Artagnan fi[ed his eyes upon
the gentleman in the Yiolet doublet, the gentleman made one of his
most knowing and profound remarks respecting the Béarnese pony,
his two auditors laughed eYen louder than before, and he himself,
though contrary to his custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may be

allowed to use such an e[pression) to stray oYer his countenance.

This time there could be no doubt; d’Artagnan was really insulted.
Full, then, of this conYiction, he pulled his cap down oYer his eyes,
and endeaYoring to copy some of the court airs he had picked up in
Gascony among young traYeling nobles, he adYanced with one hand
on the hilt of his sword and the other resting on his hip.
Unfortunately, as he adYanced, his anger increased at eYery step;
and instead of the proper and lofty speech he had prepared as a
prelude to his challenge, he found nothing at the tip of his tongue but
a gross personality, which he accompanied with a furious gesture.
“I say, sir, you sir, who are hiding yourself behind that shutter
— yes, you, sir, tell me what you are laughing at, and we will
laugh together!”
The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his caYalier,
as if he required some time to ascertain whether it could be to him
that such strange reproaches were addressed; then, when he could
not possibly entertain any doubt of the matter, his eyebrows slightly
bent, and with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to be
described, he replied to d’Artagnan, “I was not speaking to you, sir.”
“But I am speaking to you!” replied the young man, additionally
e[asperated with this mi[ture of insolence and good manners, of
politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile, and retiring
from the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow step, and
placed himself before the horse, within two paces of d’Artagnan. His
quiet manner and the ironical e[pression of his countenance
redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom he had been talking,
and who still remained at the window.
D’Artagnan, seeing him approach, drew his sword a foot out of the
scabbard.
“This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a
buttercup,” resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks he had
begun, and addressing himself to his auditors at the window, without
paying the least attention to the e[asperation of d’Artagnan, who,
howeYer, placed himself between him and them. “It is a color Yery
well known in botany, but till the present time Yery rare among
horses.”

“There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to
laugh at the master,” cried the young emulator of the furious TréYille.
“I do not often laugh, sir,” replied the stranger, “as you may
perceiYe by the e[pression of my countenance; but neYertheless I
retain the priYilege of laughing when I please.”
“And I,” cried d’Artagnan, “will allow no man to laugh when it
displeases me!”
“Indeed, sir,” continued the stranger, more calm than eYer; “well,
that is perfectly right!” and turning on his heel, was about to re-enter
the hostelry by the front gate, beneath which d’Artagnan on arriYing
had obserYed a saddled horse.
But, d’Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape
him thus who had the insolence to ridicule him. He drew his sword
entirely from the scabbard, and followed him, crying, “Turn, turn,
Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!”
“Strike me!” said the other, turning on his heels, and surYeying the
young man with as much astonishment as contempt. “Why, my good
fellow, you must be mad!” Then, in a suppressed tone, as if speaking
to himself, “This is annoying,” continued he. “What a godsend this
would be for his MaMesty, who is seeking eYerywhere for braYe
fellows to recruit for his Musketeers!”
He had scarcely finished, when d’Artagnan made such a furious
lunge at him that if he had not sprung nimbly backward, it is probable
he would haYe Mested for the last time. The stranger, then perceiYing
that the matter went beyond raillery, drew his sword, saluted his
adYersary, and seriously placed himself on guard. But at the same
moment, his two auditors, accompanied by the host, fell upon
d’Artagnan with sticks, shoYels and tongs. This caused so rapid and
complete a diYersion from the attack that d’Artagnan’s adYersary,
while the latter turned round to face this shower of blows, sheathed
his sword with the same precision, and instead of an actor, which he
had nearly been, became a spectator of the fight—a part in which he
acquitted himself with his usual impassiYeness, muttering,
neYertheless, “A plague upon these Gascons! Replace him on his
orange horse, and let him begone!”
“Not before I haYe killed you, poltroon!” cried d’Artagnan, making
the best face possible, and neYer retreating one step before his three

assailants, who continued to shower blows upon him.

“Another gasconade!” murmured the gentleman. “By my honor,
these Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he
will haYe it so. When he is tired, he will perhaps tell us that he has
had enough of it.”
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do
with; d’Artagnan was not the man eYer to cry for quarter. The fight
was therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length d’Artagnan
dropped his sword, which was broken in two pieces by the blow of a
stick. Another blow full upon his forehead at the same moment
brought him to the ground, coYered with blood and almost fainting.
It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of
action from all sides. The host, fearful of consequences, with the
help of his serYants carried the wounded man into the kitchen, where
some trifling attentions were bestowed upon him.
As to the gentleman, he resumed his place at the window, and
surYeyed the crowd with a certain impatience, eYidently annoyed by
their remaining undispersed.
“Well, how is it with this madman?” e[claimed he, turning round as
the noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who came
in to inquire if he was unhurt.
“Your e[cellency is safe and sound?” asked the host.
“Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to
know what has become of our young man.”
“He is better,” said the host, “he fainted quite away.”
“Indeed!” said the gentleman.
“But before he fainted, he collected all his strength to challenge
you, and to defy you while challenging you.”
“Why, this fellow must be the deYil in person!” cried the stranger.
“Oh, no, your E[cellency, he is not the deYil,” replied the host, with
a grin of contempt; “for during his fainting we rummaged his Yalise
and found nothing but a clean shirt and eleYen crowns—which
howeYer, did not preYent his saying, as he was fainting, that if such a
thing had happened in Paris, you should haYe cause to repent of it at
a later period.”
“Then,” said the stranger coolly, “he must be some prince in
disguise.”