nobleman! But I am eager to see our young vicomte. Where is
he?"
"There, in the salon. I will have him come in, if you really
wish it."
Athos moved toward the door; the duchess held him back.
"Is he handsome?" she asked.
Athos smiled.
"He resembles his mother."
So he opened the door and beckoned the young man in.
The duchess could not restrain a cry of joy on seeing so
handsome a young cavalier, so far surpassing all that her
maternal pride had been able to conceive.
"Vicomte, come here," said Athos; "the duchess permits you
to kiss her hand."
The youth approached with his charming smile and his head
bare, and kneeling down, kissed the hand of the Duchess de
Chevreuse.
"Sir," he said, turning to Athos, "was it not in compassion
to my timidity that you told me that this lady was the
Duchess de Chevreuse, and is she not the queen?"
"No, vicomte," said Madame de Chevreuse, taking his hand and
making him sit near her, while she looked at him with eyes
sparkling with pleasure; "no, unhappily, I am not the queen.
If I were I should do for you at once the most that you
deserve. But let us see; whatever I may be," she added,
hardly restraining herself from kissing that pure brow, "let
us see what profession you wish to follow."
Athos, standing, looked at them both with indescribable
pleasure.
"Madame," answered the youth in his sweet voice, "it seems
to me that there is only one career for a gentleman -- that
of the army. I have been brought up by monsieur le comte
with the intention, I believe, of making me a soldier; and
he gave me reason to hope that at Paris he would present me
to some one who would recommend me to the favor of the
prince."
"Yes, I understand it well. Personally, I am on bad terms
with him, on account of the quarrels between Madame de
Montbazon, my mother-in-law, and Madame de Longueville. But
the Prince de Marsillac! Yes, indeed, that's the right
thing. The Prince de Marsillac -- my old friend -- will
recommend our young friend to Madame de Longueville, who
will give him a letter to her brother, the prince, who loves
her too tenderly not to do what she wishes immediately."
"Well, that will do charmingly," said the count; "but may I
beg that the greatest haste may be made, for I have reasons
for wishing the vicomte not to sleep longer than to-morrow
night in Paris!"
"Do you wish it known that you are interested about him,
monsieur le comte?"
"Better for him in future that he should be supposed never
to have seen me."
"Oh, sir!" cried Raoul.
"You know, Bragelonne," said Athos, "I never speak without
reflection."
"Well, comte, I am going instantly," interrupted the
duchess, "to send for the Prince de Marsillac, who is
happily, in Paris just now. What are you going to do this
evening?"
"We intend to visit the Abbe Scarron, for whom I have a
letter of introduction and at whose house I expect to meet
some of my friends."
"'Tis well; I will go there also, for a few minutes," said
the duchess; "do not quit his salon until you have seen me."
Athos bowed and prepared to leave.
"Well, monsieur le comte," said the duchess, smiling, "does
one leave so solemnly his old friends?"
"Ah," murmured Athos, kissing her hand, "had I only sooner
known that Marie Michon was so charming a creature!" And he
withdrew, sighing.
21
The Abbe Scarron.
There was once in the Rue des Tournelles a house known by
all the sedan chairmen and footmen of Paris, and yet,
nevertheless, this house was neither that of a great lord
nor of a rich man. There was neither dining, nor playing at
cards, nor dancing in that house. Nevertheless, it was the
rendezvous of the great world and all Paris went there. It
was the abode of the little Abbe Scarron.
In the home of the witty abbe dwelt incessant laughter;
there all the items of the day had their source and were so
quickly transformed, misrepresented, metamorphosed, some
into epigrams, some into falsehoods, that every one was
anxious to pass an hour with little Scarron, listening to
what he said, reporting it to others.
The diminutive Abbe Scarron, who, however, was an abbe only
because he owned an abbey, and not because he was in orders,
had formerly been one of the gayest prebendaries in the town
of Mans, which he inhabited. On a day of the carnival he had
taken a notion to provide an unusual entertainment for that
good town, of which he was the life and soul. He had made
his valet cover him with honey; then, opening a feather bed,
he had rolled in it and had thus become the most grotesque
fowl it is possible to imagine. He then began to visit his
friends of both sexes, in that strange costume. At first he
had been followed through astonishment, then with derisive
shouts, then the porters had insulted him, then children had
thrown stones at him, and finally he was obliged to run, to
escape the missiles. As soon as he took to flight every one
pursued him, until, pressed on all sides, Scarron found no
way of escaping his escort, except by throwing himself into
the river; but the water was icy cold. Scarron was heated,
the cold seized on him, and when he reached the farther bank
he found himself crippled.
Every means had been employed in vain to restore the use of
his limbs. He had been subjected to a severe disciplinary
course of medicine, at length he sent away all his doctors,
declaring that he preferred the disease to the treatment,
and came to Paris, where the fame of his wit had preceded
him. There he had a chair made on his own plan, and one day,
visiting Anne of Austria in this chair, she asked him,
charmed as she was with his wit, if he did not wish for a
title.
"Yes, your majesty, there is a title which I covet much,"
replied Scarron.
"And what is that?"
"That of being your invalid," answered Scarron.
So he was called the queen's invalid, with a pension of
fifteen hundred francs.
From that lucky moment Scarron led a happy life, spending
both income and principal. One day, however, an emissary of
the cardinal's gave him to understand that he was wrong in
receiving the coadjutor so often.
"And why?" asked Scarron; "is he not a man of good birth?"
"Certainly."
"Agreeable?"
"Undeniably."
"Witty?"
"He has, unfortunately, too much wit."
"Well, then, why do you wish me to give up seeing such a
man?"
"Because he is an enemy."
"Of whom?"
"Of the cardinal."
"What?" answered Scarron, "I continue to receive Monsieur
Gilles Despreaux, who thinks ill of me, and you wish me to
give up seeing the coadjutor, because he thinks ill of
another man. Impossible!"
The conversation had rested there and Scarron, through sheer
obstinacy, had seen Monsieur de Gondy only the more
frequently.
Now, the very morning of which we speak was that of his
quarter-day payment, and Scarron, as usual, had sent his
servant to get his money at the pension-office, but the man
had returned and said that the government had no more money
to give Monsieur Scarron.
It was on Thursday, the abbe's reception day; people went
there in crowds. The cardinal's refusal to pay the pension
was known about the town in half an hour and he was abused
with wit and vehemence.
In the Rue Saint Honore Athos fell in with two gentlemen
whom he did not know, on horseback like himself, followed by
a lackey like himself, and going in the same direction that
he was. One of them, hat in hand, said to him:
"Would you believe it, monsieur? that contemptible Mazarin
has stopped poor Scarron's pension."
"That is unreasonable," said Athos, saluting in his turn the
two cavaliers. And they separated with courteous gestures.
"It happens well that we are going there this evening," said
Athos to the vicomte; "we will pay our compliments to that
poor man."
"What, then, is this Monsieur Scarron, who thus puts all
Paris in commotion? Is he some minister out of office?"
"Oh, no, not at all, vicomte," Athos replied; "he is simply
a gentleman of great genius who has fallen into disgrace
with the cardinal through having written certain verses
against him."
"Do gentlemen, then, make verses?" asked Raoul, naively, "I
thought it was derogatory."
"So it is, my dear vicomte," said Athos, laughing, "to make
bad ones; but to make good ones increases fame -- witness
Monsieur de Rotrou. Nevertheless," he continued, in the tone
of one who gives wholesome advice, "I think it is better not
to make them."
"Then," said Raoul, "this Monsieur Scarron is a poet?"
"Yes; you are warned, vicomte. Consider well what you do in
that house. Talk only by gestures, or rather always listen."
"Yes, monsieur," replied Raoul.
"You will see me talking with one of my friends, the Abbe
d'Herblay, of whom you have often heard me speak."
"I remember him, monsieur."
"Come near to us from time to time, as if to speak; but do
not speak, and do not listen. That little stratagem may
serve to keep off interlopers."
"Very well, monsieur; I will obey you at all points."
Athos made two visits in Paris; at seven o'clock he and
Raoul directed their steps to the Rue des Tournelles; it was
stopped by porters, horses and footmen. Athos forced his way
through and entered, followed by the young man. The first
person that struck him on his entrance was Aramis, planted
near a great chair on castors, very large, covered with a
canopy of tapestry, under which there moved, enveloped in a
quilt of brocade, a little face, youngish, very merry,
somewhat pallid, whilst its eyes never ceased to express a
sentiment at once lively, intellectual, and amiable. This
was the Abbe Scarron, always laughing, joking, complimenting
-- yet suffering -- and toying nervously with a small
switch.
Around this kind of rolling tent pressed a crowd of
gentlemen and ladies. The room was neatly, comfortably
furnished. Large valances of silk, embroidered with flowers
of gay colors, which were rather faded, fell from the wide
windows; the fittings of the room were simple, but in
excellent taste. Two well trained servingmen were in
attendance on the company. On perceiving Athos, Aramis
advanced toward him, took him by the hand and presented him
to Scarron. Raoul remained silent, for he was not prepared
for the dignity of the bel esprit.
After some minutes the door opened and a footman announced
Mademoiselle Paulet.
Athos touched the shoulder of the vicomte.
"Look at this lady, Raoul, she is an historic personage; it
was to visit her King Henry IV. was going when he was
assassinated."
Every one thronged around Mademoiselle Paulet, for she was
always very much the fashion. She was a tall woman, with a
slender figure and a forest of golden curls, such as Raphael
was fond of and Titian has painted all his Magdalens with.
This fawn-colored hair, or, perhaps the sort of ascendancy
which she had over other women, gave her the name of "La
Lionne." Mademoiselle Paulet took her accustomed seat, but
before sitting down, she cast, in all her queen-like
grandeur, a look around the room, and her eyes rested on
Raoul.
Athos smiled.
"Mademoiselle Paulet has observed you, vicomte; go and bow
to her; don't try to appear anything but what you are, a
true country youth; on no account speak to her of Henry IV."
"When shall we two walk together?" Athos then said to
Aramis.
"Presently -- there are not a sufficient number of people
here yet; we shall be remarked."
At this moment the door opened and in walked the coadjutor.
At this name every one looked around, for his was already a
very celebrated name. Athos did the same. He knew the Abbe
de Gondy only by report.
He saw a little dark man, ill made and awkward with his
hands in everything -- except drawing a sword and firing a
pistol -- with something haughty and contemptuous in his
face.
Scarron turned around toward him and came to meet him in his
chair.
"Well," said the coadjutor, on seeing him, "you are in
disgrace, then, abbe?"
This was the orthodox phrase. It had been said that evening
a hundred times -- and Scarron was at his hundredth bon mot
on the subject; he was very nearly at the end of his
humoristic tether, but one despairing effort saved him.
"Monsieur, the Cardinal Mazarin has been so kind as to think
of me," he said.
"But how can you continue to receive us?" asked the
coadjutor; "if your income is lessened I shall be obliged to
make you a canon of Notre Dame."
"Oh, no!" cried Scarron, "I should compromise you too much."
"Perhaps you have resources of which we are ignorant?"
"I shall borrow from the queen."
"But her majesty has no property," interposed Aramis.
At this moment the door opened and Madame de Chevreuse was
announced. Every one arose. Scarron turned his chair toward
the door, Raoul blushed, Athos made a sign to Aramis, who
went and hid himself in the enclosure of a window.
In the midst of all the compliments that awaited her on her
entrance, the duchess seemed to be looking for some one; at
last she found out Raoul and her eyes sparkled; she
perceived Athos and became thoughtful; she saw Aramis in the
seclusion of the window and gave a start of surprise behind
