Part 10

— Sir, said Molière with a bow, if you will do me the honor of following me, you shall see it.

Aramis was watching this scene with all his eyes. Perhaps he believed, from the animation of d'Artagnan, that the latter would depart with Porthos, so as not to lose the end of a scene so well begun. But, perspicacious as Aramis was, he was mistaken. Porthos and Molière left alone. D'Artagnan remained with Percerin. Why? Out of curiosity, that is all; probably, with the intention of enjoying a few moments longer the presence of his good friend Aramis. Molière and Porthos having disappeared, d'Artagnan drew near to the Bishop of Vannes; which seemed to disconcert him particularly.

— A suit also for you, is it not, dear friend?

Aramis smiled.

— No, said he.

— You are going to Vaux, nevertheless?

— I am going, but without a new suit. You forget, dear d'Artagnan, that a poor bishop of Vannes is not rich enough to have suits made for him at every feast.

— Bah! said the musketeer laughing, and the poems, do we no longer make any?

— Oh! d'Artagnan, said Aramis, it is long since I have thought of all those futilities.

— Very well! repeated d'Artagnan, little convinced.

As for Percerin, he had plunged back into his contemplation of brocades.

— Do you not notice, said Aramis smiling, that we are greatly in the way of this worthy man, my dear d'Artagnan?

— Ah! ah! murmured the musketeer half aloud, that is to say, I am in your way, dear friend.

Then aloud:

— Well, let us go; I, for my part, have no further business here, and if you are as free as I am, dear Aramis...

— No; I wished...

— Ah! you had something particular to say to Percerin? Why did you not tell me so at once!

— Particular, repeated Aramis, yes, certainly, but not for you, d'Artagnan. Never, I pray you believe it, shall I have anything so particular that a friend such as you could not hear it.

— Oh! no, no, I withdraw, insisted d'Artagnan, but giving to his voice a perceptible accent of curiosity; for the embarrassment of Aramis, well dissembled though it was, had not escaped him, and he knew that, in that impenetrable soul, all things, even the most futile in appearance, ordinarily moved toward an end, an unknown end but which, from the knowledge he had of his friend's character, the musketeer understood must be important.

Aramis, for his part, saw that d'Artagnan was not without suspicion, and he insisted:

— Stay, I beg you, said he, here is what it is.

Then, turning toward the tailor:

— My dear Percerin... said he. I am even very happy that you are here, d'Artagnan.

— Ah! indeed? said for the third time the Gascon, this time even less duped than the others.

Percerin did not stir. Aramis woke him violently by pulling the stuff, object of his meditation, from his hands.

— My dear Percerin, said he to him, I have here close by M. Le Brun, one of M. Fouquet's painters.

— Ah! very good, thought d'Artagnan; but why Le Brun?

Aramis was looking at d'Artagnan, who had the air of looking at engravings by Marc-Antonio.

— And you wish to have a suit made for him like those of the Epicureans? answered Percerin.

And, while saying this in a distracted way, the worthy tailor tried to recover his piece of brocade.

— A suit of an Epicurean? asked d'Artagnan in a questioning tone.

— In short, said Aramis with his most charming smile, it is written that dear d'Artagnan shall know all our secrets this evening; yes, my friend, yes. You have heard speak, have you not, of M. Fouquet's Epicureans?

— Doubtless. Is it not a kind of society of poets of which are La Fontaine, Loret, Pélisson, Molière, who knows what else? and which holds its academy at Saint-Mandé?

— That is exactly it. Well, we are giving a uniform to our poets, and we are enlisting them in the service of the king.

— Oh! very good, I guess: a surprise that M. Fouquet is preparing for the king. Oh! be easy, if that is M. Le Brun's secret, I shall not tell it.

— Ever charming, my friend. No, M. Le Brun has nothing to do on that side; the secret concerning him is far more important than the other even!

— Then, if it is so important, I had rather not know it, said d'Artagnan, making a feint of departure.

— Come in, M. Le Brun, come in, said Aramis, opening a side door with his right hand, and detaining d'Artagnan with his left.

— Faith! I understand no longer, said Percerin.

Aramis took a pause, as they say in theatrical matters.

— My dear M. Percerin, said he, you are making five suits for the king, are you not? One in brocade, one in hunting cloth, one in velvet, one in satin, and one in Florentine stuff?

— Yes. But how do you know all that, Monseigneur? asked Percerin, stupefied.

— It is very simple, my dear sir; there will be hunting, banquet, concert, promenade and reception; those five stuffs are according to etiquette.

— You know everything, Monseigneur!

— And many other things besides, go on, murmured d'Artagnan.

— But, cried the tailor with triumph, what you do not know, Monseigneur, prince of the Church though you be, what no one shall know, what only the king, mademoiselle de La Vallière and I know, is the color of the stuffs and the kind of ornaments, it is the cut, it is the whole, it is the air of all that!

— Well, said Aramis, that is precisely what I have come to ask you to make known to me, my dear M. Percerin.

— Ah! no! cried the tailor, aghast, though Aramis had pronounced the words we report in his softest and most honeyed voice.

The pretension seemed, on reflection, so exaggerated, so ridiculous, so enormous to M. Percerin, that he laughed at first softly, then aloud, and ended by bursting out. D'Artagnan imitated him, not that he found the thing so profoundly laughable, but so as not to let Aramis cool down. The latter let them both do so; then, when they were calmed:

— At first sight, said he, I seem to hazard an absurdity, do I not? But d'Artagnan, who is wisdom incarnate, will tell you that I could not do otherwise than ask you that.

— Let us see, said the attentive musketeer, and feeling with his marvelous flair that they had only skirmished up to then and that the moment of battle was approaching.

— Let us see, said Percerin with incredulity.

— Why, continued Aramis, does M. Fouquet give a feast to the king? Is it not to please him?

— Assuredly, said Percerin.

D'Artagnan approved with a nod.

— By some gallantry? By some happy invention? By a sequence of surprises like that of which we spoke just now touching the enlisting of our Epicureans?

— Admirably!

— Well, here is the surprise, my good friend. M. Le Brun, who is here, is a man who draws very exactly.

— Yes, said Percerin, I have seen pictures by the gentleman, and I have remarked that the clothes were very carefully done. That is why I at once agreed to make him a garment, whether conformable to those of the Epicureans, or particular.

— Dear sir, we accept your word; later, we shall have recourse to it, but for the moment, M. Le Brun has need, not of the suits you will make for him, but of those you are making for the king.

Percerin executed a bound backward which d'Artagnan, the calm man and appreciator par excellence, did not find too exaggerated, so many strange and irritating aspects did the proposition Aramis had just risked contain.

— The king's suits! Give to anyone in the world the king's suits?... Oh! this time, M. Bishop, Your Grandeur is mad! cried the poor tailor, driven to extremes.

— Help me then, d'Artagnan, said Aramis, smiling and calm ever more, help me then to persuade the gentleman; for you understand, do you not?

— Eh! eh! not too well, I confess.

— How! my friend, do you not understand that M. Fouquet wishes to give the king the surprise of finding his portrait on arriving at Vaux? that the portrait, whose likeness shall be striking, must be clothed just as the king shall be clothed on the day the portrait appears?

— Ah! yes, yes, cried the musketeer, almost persuaded, so plausible was the reason; yes, dear Aramis, you are right; yes, the idea is happy. I wager it is yours, Aramis?

— I know not, answered the bishop negligently; mine or M. Fouquet's...

Then, having remarked d'Artagnan's indecision, questioning Percerin's face:

— Well, M. Percerin, asked he, what say you of it? Come now.

— I say that...

— That you are free to refuse, no doubt, I know it well, and I by no means intend to force you, my dear sir; I shall say more, I even understand all the delicacy you show in not going to meet M. Fouquet's idea: you dread seeming to flatter the king. Nobleness of heart, M. Percerin! nobleness of heart!

The tailor stammered.

— It would indeed be a fine flattery to offer the young prince, continued Aramis. "But, M. the Superintendent said to me, if Percerin refuses, tell him that it does him no harm in my mind, and that I still esteem him. Only..."

— Only?... repeated Percerin with uneasiness.

— "Only," continued Aramis, "I shall be forced to say to the king (my dear M. Percerin, you understand, it is M. Fouquet who speaks); only, I shall be forced to say to the king: 'Sire, I had the intention of offering Your Majesty your image; but, in a sentiment of delicacy, exaggerated perhaps, though respectable, M. Percerin opposed it.'"

— Opposed! cried the tailor, terrified at the responsibility about to weigh upon him; I, oppose what M. Fouquet desires, what he wills, when it is a question of pleasing the king? Oh! ugly word you have said there, M. Bishop! Oppose! Oh! it is not I who pronounced it, thank God! I call M. the Captain of the Musketeers to witness. Is it not so, M. d'Artagnan, that I oppose nothing?

D'Artagnan made a sign of abnegation indicating that he desired to remain neutral; he felt that underneath all this there was an intrigue, comedy or tragedy; he gave himself to the devil for not guessing it, but meanwhile, he wished to abstain.

But already Percerin, haunted by the idea that one might tell the king he had opposed a surprise being prepared for him, had drawn a seat to Le Brun and was busy drawing from a wardrobe four resplendent suits, the fifth being still in the hands of the workmen, and placed successively those masterpieces upon as many Bergamo mannequins, which, come into France in the time of Concini, had been given to Percerin II by the Marshal d'Ancre, after the ruin of the Italian tailors ruined in their competition.

The painter began to draw, then to paint the suits.

But Aramis, who followed with his eyes all the phases of his work and watched him closely, suddenly stopped him.

— I believe you are not in the right tone, my dear M. Le Brun, said he to him; your colors will deceive you, and upon the canvas will be lost that perfect likeness which is absolutely necessary to us; more time would be needed to observe attentively the shades.

— That is true, said Percerin; but time fails us, and in that, you will agree, M. Bishop, I can do nothing.

— Then the thing will fail, said Aramis tranquilly, and that for want of truth in the colors.

Meanwhile Le Brun copied stuffs and ornaments with the greatest fidelity, which Aramis regarded with ill-dissembled impatience.

— Come, come, what devil of imbroglio are they playing here? the musketeer continued to ask himself.

— Decidedly, this will not do, said Aramis; M. Le Brun, close your boxes and roll up your canvases.

— But also, sir, cried the painter, vexed, the light is detestable here.

— An idea, M. Le Brun, an idea! If one had a sample of the stuffs, for example, and with time and in a better light...

— Oh! then, cried Le Brun, I would answer for everything.

— Good! said d'Artagnan, that must be the knot of the action; they need a sample of each stuff. Morbleu! Will he give them, this Percerin?

Percerin, beaten in his last entrenchments, duped besides by the feigned good-nature of Aramis, cut five samples which he handed to the Bishop of Vannes.

— I like that better. Is it not so, said Aramis to d'Artagnan, it is your opinion, eh?

— My opinion, dear Aramis, said d'Artagnan, is that you are always the same.

— And, consequently, always your friend, said the bishop with a charming tone of voice.

— Yes, yes, said d'Artagnan aloud. Then softly: If I am your dupe, double Jesuit, I do not wish at least to be your accomplice, and, so as not to be your accomplice, it is time I got out of here. Farewell, Aramis, he added aloud; farewell, I am going to rejoin Porthos.

— Then wait for me, said Aramis, pocketing the samples, for I have finished, and I shall not be sorry to say a last word to our friend.

Le Brun packed up, Percerin put his suits back into the wardrobe, Aramis pressed his pocket with his hand to assure himself that the samples were well enclosed there, and all went out of the cabinet.

Chapter CCXI — Where Molière Perhaps Took His First Idea of the Bourgeois Gentleman

D'Artagnan found Porthos in the next room; no longer Porthos irritated, no longer Porthos disappointed, but Porthos beaming, radiant, charming, and chatting with Molière, who looked at him with a sort of idolatry and as a man who not only has never seen anything better, but who further has never seen anything like it.

Aramis went straight to Porthos, presented to him his fine white hand, which went to bury itself in the gigantic hand of his old friend, an operation Aramis never risked without a kind of uneasiness. But, the friendly pressure having been accomplished without too much suffering, the Bishop of Vannes turned toward Molière.

— Well, sir, said he to him, will you come with me to Saint-Mandé?

— I will go wherever you wish, Monseigneur, answered Molière.

— To Saint-Mandé! cried Porthos, surprised to see the proud Bishop of Vannes in familiarity with a tailor's lad. What! Aramis, you are taking the gentleman to Saint-Mandé?

— Yes, said Aramis smiling, time presses.

— And then, dear Porthos, continued d'Artagnan, M. Molière is not quite what he appears to be.

— How? asked Porthos.

— Yes, the gentleman is one of master Percerin's chief clerks, he is expected at Saint-Mandé to try on the feast suits ordered by M. Fouquet for the Epicureans.

— That is exactly it, said Molière. Yes, sir.

— Come then, dear M. Molière, said Aramis, if nevertheless you have finished with M. du Vallon.

— We have finished, replied Porthos.

— And you are satisfied? asked d'Artagnan.

— Completely satisfied, answered Porthos.

Molière took leave of Porthos with many bows and pressed the hand furtively offered him by the Captain of the Musketeers.

— Sir, finished Porthos, mincing, sir, be punctual, above all.

— You shall have your suit as early as tomorrow, M. Baron, answered Molière.

And he departed with Aramis.

Then d'Artagnan, taking Porthos's arm:

— What did that tailor do to you, then, dear Porthos, he asked, for you to be so content with him?

— What he did to me, my friend! What he did to me! cried Porthos with enthusiasm.

— Yes, I ask you what he did to you.

— My friend, he has done what no tailor had ever done: he took my measure without touching me.

— Ah bah! Tell me that, my friend.

— First, my friend, they went to fetch I know not where a set of mannequins of all sizes hoping one would be found of my build, but the largest, which was that of the Swiss drum-major, was two inches too short and half a foot too slim.

— Ah! indeed?

— It is as I have the honor to tell you, dear d'Artagnan. But this M. Molière is a great man or at least a great tailor; he was not in the least embarrassed by that.

— And what did he do?

— Oh! a very simple thing. It is unheard of, faith! How! one is coarse enough not to have found that means at once? What pains and humiliations I should have been spared!

— Not to mention the suits, dear Porthos.

— Yes, thirty suits.

— Well, dear Porthos, come, tell me M. Molière's method.

— Molière? you call him thus, do you not? I am anxious to recall his name.

— Yes, or Poquelin, if you prefer.

— No, I prefer Molière. When I wish to recall his name, I shall think of volière [aviary], and, as I have one at Pierrefonds...

— Admirable, my friend. And his method, this M. Molière's?

— Here it is. Instead of dismembering me as all those rascals do, of making me bend my back, of making me flex my joints, all dishonoring and base practices...

D'Artagnan made an approving sign with his head.

— "Sir," he said to me, "a gentleman must measure himself. Do me the pleasure of approaching this mirror." Then I approached the mirror. I must confess I did not perfectly understand what this good M. Volière wanted of me.

— Molière.

— Ah! yes, Molière, Molière. And, as the fear of being measured still held me: "Take care," said I to him, "of what you are going to do to me; I am very ticklish, I warn you." But he, in his soft voice — for he is a courteous lad, my friend, one must admit it — but he, in his soft voice: "Sir," said he, "so that the suit may fit well, it must be made to your image. Your image is exactly reflected by the mirror. We shall take measure upon your image."

— Indeed, said d'Artagnan, you saw yourself in the mirror; but how did they find a mirror in which you could see yourself entire?

— Dear, it is the very mirror in which the king looks at himself.

— Yes; but the king is a foot and a half shorter than you.

— Well, I know not how it is, it was no doubt a way of flattering the king, but the mirror was too large for me. True, its height was made of three superimposed Venetian glasses and its width of the same glasses placed side by side.

— Oh! my friend, the admirable words you possess there! Where the devil did you collect them?

— At Belle-Île. Aramis was explaining them to the architect.

— Ah! very good! Let us return to the glass, dear friend.

— Then, this good M. Volière...

— Molière.

— Yes, Molière, that is right. You shall see, my dear friend, that now I am going to remember his name too well. This good M. Molière then set about tracing with a little Spanish white some lines upon the mirror, all following the outline of my arms and shoulders, and that while professing this maxim which I found admirable: "A suit must not constrain him who wears it."

— Indeed, said d'Artagnan, there is a fine maxim, which is not always put in practice.

— That is why I found it the more astonishing, especially when he developed it.

— Ah! He developed that maxim?

— Parbleu!

— Let us hear the development.

— Whereas, continued he, one may, in a difficult circumstance, or in an embarrassing situation, have one's suit upon the shoulder, and wish not to remove one's suit...

— That is true, said d'Artagnan.

— "Thus," continued M. Volière...

— Molière!

— Molière, yes. "Thus," continued M. Molière, "you have need to draw your sword, sir, and you have your suit on your back. How do you do?"

"— I take it off, answered I."

"— Well, no, answered he in his turn."

"— How! no?"

"— I say the suit must be so well made, that it constrains you in no way, even for drawing the sword."

"— Ah! ah!"

"— Put yourself on guard," pursued he. I fell into it with such marvelous aplomb, that two window panes flew out. "That is nothing, that is nothing," said he, "stay thus." I raised the left arm in the air, the forearm gracefully bent, the cuff turned back and the wrist flexed, while the right arm half extended guarded the belt with the elbow, and the chest with the wrist.

— Yes, said d'Artagnan, the true guard, the academic guard.

— You have said the word, dear friend. During this time, Volière...

— Molière!

— Hold, decidedly, my dear friend, I prefer to call him... How did you say his other name?

— Poquelin.

— I prefer to call him Poquelin.

— And how will you remember that name better than the other?

— You understand... He is called Poquelin, is he not?

— Yes.

— I shall recall madame Coquenard.

— Good.

— I shall change Coque into Poque, nard into lin, and instead of Coquenard, I shall have Poquelin.

— It is marvelous! cried d'Artagnan, dumbfounded... Go on, my friend, I listen to you with admiration.

— This Coquelin then sketched my arm upon the mirror.

— Poquelin. Pardon.

— How did I say?

— You said Coquelin.

— Ah! that is right. This Poquelin then sketched my arm upon the mirror; but he took his time; he looked at me much; the fact is I was very handsome.

"Does this fatigue you?" asked he.

"— A little," answered I, bending at the knees; "however, I can hold yet an hour."

"— No, no, I shall not suffer it! We have here complaisant lads who will make it their duty to support your arms, as formerly they supported those of the prophets when they invoked the Lord."

"— Very well!" answered I.

"— Will that not humiliate you?"

"— My friend," said I to him, "there is, I believe, a great difference between being supported and being measured."

— The distinction is full of sense, interrupted d'Artagnan.

— Then, continued Porthos, he made a sign; two lads approached; one supported my left arm, while the other, with infinite skill, supported my right arm.

"— A third lad!" said he.

A third lad approached.

— Support the loins of the gentleman, said he. The lad supported my loins.

— So that you posed? asked d'Artagnan.

— Absolutely, and Poquenard drew me upon the glass.

— Poquelin, my friend.

— Poquelin, you are right. Hold, decidedly, I prefer to call him Volière.

— Yes, and that it be finished, eh?

— During that time, Volière drew me upon the glass.

— It was gallant.

— I much like this method: it is respectful and puts each in his place.

— And that ended?...

— Without anyone having touched me, my friend.

— Except the three lads who supported you?

— Doubtless; but I have already explained to you, I believe, the difference there is between supporting and measuring.

— That is true, answered d'Artagnan, who then said to himself: Faith! either I am much mistaken, or I have just procured a fine windfall for that knave Molière, and we shall certainly see the scene drawn from life in some comedy.

Porthos smiled.

— What makes you laugh? asked d'Artagnan of him.

— Must I confess it? Well, I laugh at having so much happiness.

— Oh! that is true; I know no man happier than you. But what is the new happiness that befalls you?

— Well, my dear, congratulate me.

— I ask nothing better.

— It appears I am the first to whom measure has been taken in that fashion.

— Are you sure of it?

— Almost. Certain signs of intelligence exchanged between Volière and the other lads indicated it well to me.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”