of little consequence to him, whether anyone attended to him or not; he talked for the mere pleasure of speaking, or of hearing himself talk; and talked, too, of everything but the sciences, which he never alluded to but to express the inveterate hatred he had from his infancy entertained towards savants. He had not such an aristocratic air as Athos, and the sense of his inferiority on that point had, at the commencement of their connection, made him often unjust towards that gentleman, whom he endeavoured to surpass by the splendour of his dress. But, in his simple uniform coat, merely, and by the manner in which he carried himself, Athos took at once the rank to which he was entitled, and sent the foppish Porthos back to the second place. Porthos consoled himself by making M. de Treville’s antechamber, and the guardroom of the Louvre, ring with the account of his conquests—a subject upon which Athos never spoke—and boasted of none lower than a foreign princess, who was deeply enamoured of him.
An old proverb says, “Like master like man.” Let us then pass from the valet of Athos, to the valet of Porthos, from Grimaud to Mousqueton. Mousqueton was a Norman, whose pacific name of Boniface, his master had changed to the much more sonorous and warlike one of Mousqueton. He had entered Porthos’ service on the sole payment of dress, board, and lodging, but in a sumptuous manner; and he only demanded two hours a day to provide for his other wants. Porthos had accepted the bargain, and things went on wonderfully well. He had old doublets and cloaks cut up and turned in a manner that made Mousqueton cut a very good figure.
As to Aramis, whose character we believe we have sufficiently explained, and which, as well as those of his comrades, we shall more fully develop hereafter, his lackey was named Bazin. Thanks to the hopes which his master entertained of some day taking orders, he was always dressed in black as became a churchman’s servant. He was of the province of Berri; thirty-five or forty years of age; mild, peaceable, and fat; and passed his leisure in reading devotional treatises. He was dexterous in preparing a dinner for two; of excellent quality, though of few dishes. In all else he was dumb, blind, deaf, and of approved fidelity.
Now that we know, at least superficially, the masters and the men, let us turn to their habitations.
Athos dwelt in the Rue Ferou, at two paces from the Luxembourg. His habitation, or lodging, consisted of two small rooms in a very neatly-furnished house, whose mistress was still young and pretty, but ogled him in vain. Some few fragments of long-departed splendour adorned the walls of this modest lodging; such as a richly-mounted sword, which looked of the age of Francis I., and of which the handle alone, encrusted with precious stones, might be worth about two hundred pistoles. Nevertheless, Athos, even in moments of the greatest distress, could never be persuaded to dispose of or to pawn it. This sword had long excited the envy of Porthos, who would willingly have given ten years of his life for the possession of it.
One day when, as he said, he had an appointment with a duchess, he endeavoured to borrow it of Athos. But his friend, without saying a word, emptied his pockets of all his money and trinkets, purses, points, and gold chains, and offered them all to Porthos; but as for the sword, he said, it was fixed to its place, and must only leave it when its master quitted the lodging. Besides this sword, he had the portrait of a nobleman, of the time of Henry III., dressed with great elegance, and adorned with the order of the Saint-Esprit; and this portrait had some slight resemblance to Athos, a certain family likeness, which denoted that this great noble, a royal knight, was his ancestor. Lastly, a box of splendid jewellery-work, with the same arms as the sword and portrait, completed a mantel decoration, which clashed fearfully with the furniture. Athos always carried the key of this box; but one day he opened it before Porthos, and Porthos could bear witness that it contained only letters and papers; love-letters, and family records, no doubt.
Porthos inhabited a lodging of vast size, and of most sumptuous appearance, in the Rue du Vieux Colombier. Every time Porthos passed the windows of this house, at one of which Mousqueton always appeared in splendid livery, he raised his head and hand, saying, “Behold my habitation!” But no one ever found him at home, nor did he ever ask any one in; and it was therefore impossible to form an idea of the reality of those riches which this sumptuous appearance promised.
As for Aramis, he dwelt in a small apartment, comprising a drawing-room, a dining-room, and a sleeping chamber, which were situate on the ground-floor, and had access to a small garden, fresh, green, shady, and quite impenetrable to the eyes of the surrounding neighbourhood.
We have already had occasion to know how d’Artagnan was lodged, and have already formed an acquaintance with his lackey, Master Planchet.
D’Artagnan, who was naturally very curious, as men of talent generally are, made every effort to find out who Athos, Porthos, and Aramis really were; for, under one of those assumed appellations, each of these young men concealed his real name.
It was evident they were of good origin, too, particularly Athos, who might be known as a nobleman at a league’s distance. He therefore tried from Porthos to get some information concerning Athos and Aramis; and assailed Aramis, to find out something concerning Porthos.
Unfortunately, Porthos knew no more of the life of his silent comrade than that which has been told. It was said that he had met with great misfortunes of the heart, and that a terrible treachery had for ever poisoned the happiness of this gallant man. What this treachery was, no one knew.
As for Porthos, except his real name, with which M. de Treville alone was acquainted, as well as with those of his two comrades also, his life was easily discovered. Vain and indiscreet, he was as easily seen through as crystal. The only thing which could mislead the investigator would have been a belief in all the good which he announced of himself.
As for Aramis, with the appearance of entire openness he was enveloped in mystery. He replied but little to the questions put to him about others, and entirely eluded those which related to himself. One day d’Artagnan, having questioned him a long time about Porthos, and having learned the report of his love affair with a princess, wished to ascertain something of a similar nature as regarded himself.
“And you, my dear companion,” said he, “I have an opinion that you are familiar with coats of arms: witness a certain handkerchief.”
Aramis was not angry this time, but he put on a most modest air, and said, affectedly: “My dear fellow, do not forget that I wish to enter the church, and that I fly from all worldly things. That handkerchief was not a love-token for me, but was left by mistake at my house by one of my friends. I was obliged to take it for fear of compromising him, and his mistress. As for myself, I am, like Athos, indifferent to these affairs.”
“But what the devil! you are not an abbe, but a musketeer!” exclaimed d’Artagnan.
“A musketeer, my dear fellow, for a time, as the cardinal says; a musketeer by accident, but a churchman at heart, believe me. Athos and Porthos have foisted me in, to occupy my time. I had, at the moment I was going to be ordained, a slight difficulty with—But that does not much interest you, and I take up your valuable time.”
“On the contrary,” said d’Artagnan; “it interests me much, and I have at present actually nothing to do.”
“Yes, but I have my breviary to say,” replied Aramis, “then some verses to compose, which Madame d’Aiguillon has requested of me; then I must go into the Rue St. Honore, to buy some rouge for Madame de Chevreuse so you see, my dear friend, that though you are not in a hurry, I am;” and Aramis, tenderly pressing his young companion’s hand, took leave of him.
D’Artagnan could not, with all his pains, learn any more of his three new friends; he therefore determined to believe all that was at present said of their past life, and hope for better and more full information from the future. In the meantime, he considered Athos an Achilles, Porthos an Ajax, and Aramis a Joseph!
The
