CHAPTER 17
In which Aramis is sought and only Bazin is found
Two hours had scarcely elapsed since the departure of the
master of the house, who, in Blaisois's sight, had taken the
road to Paris, when a horseman, mounted on a good pied
horse, stopped before the gate, and with a sonorous "hola!"
called the stable-boys who, with the gardeners, had formed a
circle round Blaisois, the historian-in-ordinary to the
household of the chateau. This "hola," doubtless well known
to Master Blaisois, made him turn his head and exclaim --
"Monsieur d'Artagnan! run quickly, you chaps, and open the
gate."
A swarm of eight brisk lads flew to the gate, which was
opened as if it had been made of feathers; and every one
loaded him with attentions, for they knew the welcome this
friend was accustomed to receive from their master; and for
such remarks the eye of the valet may always be depended
upon.
"Ah!" said M. d'Artagnan, with an agreeable smile, balancing
himself upon his stirrup to jump to the ground, "where is
that dear count?"
"Ah! how unfortunate you are, monsieur!" said Blaisois: "and
how unfortunate will monsieur le comte our master, think
himself when he hears of your coming! As ill luck will have
it, monsieur le comte left home two hours ago."
D'Artagnan did not trouble himself about such trifles. "Very
good!" said he. "You always speak the best French in the
world; you shall give me a lesson in grammar and correct
language, whilst I wait the return of your master."
"That is impossible, monsieur," said Blaisois; "you would
have to wait too long."
"Will he not come back to-day, then?"
"No, nor to-morrow, nor the day after to-morrow. Monsieur le
comte has gone on a journey."
"A journey!" said D'Artagnan, surprised; "that's a fable,
Master Blaisois."
"Monsieur, it is no more than the truth. Monsieur has done
me the honor to give me the house in charge; and he added,
with his voice so full of authority and kindness -- that is
all one to me: `You will say I have gone to Paris.'"
"Well!" cried D'Artagnan, "since he is gone towards Paris,
that is all I wanted to know! you should have told me so at
first, booby! He is then two hours in advance?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I shall soon overtake him. Is he alone?"
"No, monsieur."
"Who is with him, then?"
"A gentleman whom I don't know, an old man, and M. Grimaud."
"Such a party cannot travel as fast as I can -- I will
start."
"Will monsieur listen to me an instant?" said Blaisois,
laying his hand gently on the reins of the horse.
"Yes, if you don't favor me with fine speeches, and make
haste."
"Well, then, monsieur, that word Paris appears to me to be
only an excuse."
"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan, seriously, "an excuse, eh?"
"Yes, monsieur; and monsieur le comte is not going to Paris,
I will swear."
"What makes you think so?"
"This -- M. Grimaud always knows where our master is going;
and he had promised me that the first time he went to Paris,
he would take a little money for me to my wife."
"What, have you a wife, then?"
"I had one -- she was of this country; but monsieur thought
her a noisy scold, and I sent her to Paris; it is sometimes
inconvenient, but very agreeable at others."
"I understand; but go on. You do not believe the count gone
to Paris?"
"No, monsieur; for then M. Grimaud would have broken his
word; he would have perjured himself, and that is
impossible."
"That is impossible," repeated D'Artagnan, quite in a study,
because he was quite convinced. "Well, my brave Blaisois,
many thanks to you."
Blaisois bowed.
"Come, you know I am not curious -- I have serious business
with your master. Could you not, by a little bit of a word
-- you who speak so well -- give me to understand -- one
syllable, only -- I will guess the rest."
"Upon my word, monsieur, I cannot. I am quite ignorant where
monsieur le comte is gone. As to listening at doors, that is
contrary to my nature; and besides it is forbidden here."
"My dear fellow," said D'Artagnan, "this is a very bad
beginning for me. Never mind, you know when monsieur le
comte will return, at least?"
"As little, monsieur, as the place of his destination."
"Come, Blaisois, come, search."
"Monsieur doubts my sincerity? Ah, monsieur, that grieves me
much."
"The devil take his gilded tongue!" grumbled D'Artagnan. "A
clown with a word would be worth a dozen of him. Adieu!"
"Monsieur, I have the honor to present you my respects."
"Cuistre!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "the fellow is
unbearable." He gave another look up to the house, turned
his horse's head, and set off like a man who has nothing
either annoying or embarrassing in his mind. When he was at
the end of the wall, and out of sight, -- "Well, now, I
wonder," said he, breathing quickly, "whether Athos was at
home. No; all those idlers, standing with their arms
crossed, would have been at work if the eye of the master
was near. Athos gone a journey? -- that is incomprehensible.
Bah! it is all devilish mysterious! And then -- no -- he is
not the man I want. I want one of a cunning, patient mind.
My business is at Melun, in a certain presbytery I am
acquainted with. Forty-five leagues -- four days and a half!
Well, it is fine weather, and I am free. Never mind the
distance!"
And he put his horse into a trot, directing his course
towards Paris. On the fourth day he alighted at Melun as he
had intended.
D'Artagnan was never in the habit of asking any one on the
road for any common information. For these sorts of details,
unless in very serious circumstances, he confided in his
perspicacity, which was so seldom at fault, in his
experience of thirty years, and in a great habit of reading
the physiognomies of houses, as well as those of men. At
Melun, D'Artagnan immediately found the presbytery -- a
charming house, plastered over red brick, with vines
climbing along the gutters, and a cross, in carved stone,
surmounting the ridge of the roof. From the ground-floor of
this house came a noise, or rather a confusion of voices,
like the chirping of young birds when the brood is just
hatched under the down. One of these voices was spelling the
alphabet distinctly. A voice, thick, yet pleasant, at the
same time scolded the talkers and corrected the faults of
the reader. D'Artagnan recognized that voice, and as the
window of the ground-floor was open, he leant down from his
horse under the branches and red fibers of the vine and
cried "Bazin, my dear Bazin! good-day to you."
A short, fat man, with a flat face, a craniun ornamented
with a crown of gray hairs, cut short, in imitation of a
tonsure, and covered with an old black velvet cap, arose as
soon as he heard D'Artagnan -- we ought not to say arose,
but bounded up. In fact, Bazin bounded up, carrying with him
his little low chair, which the children tried to take away,
with battles more fierce than those of the Greeks
endeavoring to recover the body of Patroclus from the hands
of the Trojans. Bazin did more than bound; he let fall both
his alphabet and his ferule. "You!" said he, "you, Monsieur
d'Artagnan?"
"Yes, myself! Where is Aramis -- no, M. le Chevalier
d'Herblay -- no, I am still mistaken -- Monsieur le
Vicaire-General?"
"Ah, monsieur," said Bazin, with dignity, "monseigneur is at
his diocese."
"What did you say?" said D'Artagnan. Bazin repeated the
sentence.
"Ah, ah! but has Aramis a diocese?"
"Yes, monsieur. Why not?"
"Is he a bishop, then?"
"Why, where can you come from," said Bazin, rather
irreverently, "that you don't know that?"
"My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, know very
well when a man is made a colonel, or maitre-de-camp, or
marshal of France; but if he be made a bishop, archbishop,
or pope -- devil take me if the news reaches us before the
three quarters of the earth have had the advantage of it!"
"Hush! hush!" said Bazin, opening his eyes: "do not spoil
these poor children, in whom I am endeavoring to inculcate
such good principles." In fact, the children had surrounded
D'Artagnan, whose horse, long sword, spurs, and martial air
they very much admired. But above all, they admired his
strong voice; so that, when he uttered his oath, the whole
school cried out, "The devil take me!" with fearful bursts
of laughter, shouts, and bounds, which delighted the
musketeer, and bewildered the old pedagogue.
"There!" said he, "hold your tongues, you brats! You have
come, M. d'Artagnan, and all my good principles fly away.
With you, as usual, comes disorder. Babel is revived. Ah!
Good Lord! Ah! the wild little wretches!" And the worthy
Bazin distributed right and left blows which increased the
cries of his scholars by changing the nature of them.
"At least," said he, "you will no longer decoy any one
here."
"Do you think so?" said D'Artagnan, with a smile which made
a shudder creep over the shoulders of Bazin.
"He is capable of it," murmured he.
"Where is your master's diocese?"
"Monseigneur Rene is bishop of Vannes."
"Who had him nominated?"
"Why, monsieur le surintendant, our neighbor."
"What! Monsieur Fouquet?"
"To be sure he did."
"Is Aramis on good terms with him, then?"
"Monseigneur preached every Sunday at the house of monsieur
le surintendant at Vaux; then they hunted together."
"Ah!"
"And monseigneur composed his homilies -- no, I mean his
sermons -- with monsieur le surintendant."
"Bah! he preached in verse, then, this worthy bishop?"
"Monsieur, for the love of heaven, do not jest with sacred
things."
"There, Bazin, there! So, then, Aramis is at Vannes?"
"At Vannes, in Bretagne."
"You are a deceitful old hunks, Bazin; that is not true."
"See, monsieur, if you please; the apartments of the
presbytery are empty."
"He is right there," said D'Artagnan, looking attentively at
the house, the aspect of which announced solitude.
"But monseigneur must have written you an account of his
promotion."
"When did it take place?"
"A month back."
"Oh! then there is no time lost. Aramis cannot yet have
wanted me. But how is it, Bazin, you do not follow your
master?"
"Monsieur, I cannot; I have occupations."
"Your alphabet?"
"And my penitents."
"What, do you confess, then? Are you a priest?"
"The same as one. I have such a call."
"But the orders?"
"Oh," said Bazin, without hesitation, "now that monseigneur
is a bishop, I shall soon have my orders, or at least my
dispensations." And he rubbed his hands.
"Decidedly," said D'Artagnan to himself, "there will be no
means of uprooting these people. Get me some supper Bazin."
"With pleasure, monsieur."
"A fowl, a bouillon, and a bottle of wine."
"This is Saturday, monsieur -- it is a day of abstinence."
"I have a dispensation," said D'Artagnan.
Bazin looked at him suspiciously.
"Ah, ah, master hypocrite!" said the musketeer, "for whom do
you take me? If you, who are the valet, hope for
dispensation to commit a crime, shall not I, the friend of
your bishop, have dispensation for eating meat at the call
of my stomach? Make yourself agreeable with me, Bazin, or,
by heavens! I will complain to the king, and you shall never
confess. Now you know that the nomination of bishops rests
with the king -- I have the king, I am the stronger."
Bazin smiled hypocritically. "Ah, but we have monsieur le
surintendant," said he.
"And you laugh at the king, then?"
Bazin made no reply; his smile was sufficiently eloquent.
"My supper," said D'Artagnan, "it is getting towards seven
o'clock."
Bazin turned round and ordered the eldest of the pupils to
inform the cook. In the meantime, D'Artagnan surveyed the
presbytery.
"Phew!" said he, disdainfully, "monseigneur lodged his
grandeur very meanly here."
"We have the Chateau de Vaux," said Bazin.
"Which is perhaps equal to the Louvre?" said D'Artagnan,
jeeringly.
"Which is better," replied Bazin, with the greatest coolness
imaginable.
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan.
He would perhaps have prolonged the discussion, and
maintained the superiority of the Louvre, but the lieutenant
perceived that his horse remained fastened to the bars of a
gate.
"The devil!" said he. "Get my horse looked after; your
master the bishop has none like him in his stables."
Bazin cast a sidelong glance at the horse, and replied,
"Monsieur le surintendant gave him four from his own
stables; and each of the four is worth four of yours."
The blood mounted to the face of D'Artagnan. His hand itched
and his eye glanced over the head of Bazin, to select the
place upon which he should discharge his anger. But it
passed away; reflection came, and D'Artagnan contented
himself with saying, --
"The devil! the devil! I have done well to quit the service
of the king. Tell me, worthy Master Bazin," added he, "how
many musketeers does monsieur le surintendant retain in his
service?"
"He could have all there are in the kingdom with his money,"
replied Bazin, closing his book, and dismissing the boys
with some kindly blows of his cane.
"The devil! the devil!" repeated D'Artagnan, once more, as
if to annoy the pedagogue. But as supper was now announced,
he followed the cook, who introduced him into the refectory,
where it awaited him. D'Artagnan placed himself at the
table, and began a hearty attack upon his fowl.
"It appears to me," said D'Artagnan, biting with all his
might at the tough fowl they had served up to him, and which
they had evidently forgotten to fatten, -- "it appears that
I have done wrong in not seeking service with that master
yonder. A powerful noble this intendant, seemingly! In good
truth, we poor fellows know nothing at the court, and the
rays of the sun prevent our seeing the large stars, which
are also suns, at a little greater distance from our earth,
-- that is all."
As D'Artagnan delighted, both from pleasure and system, in
making people talk about things which interested him, he
fenced in his best style with Master Bazin, but it was pure
loss of time; beyond the tiresome and hyperbolical praises
of monsieur le surintendant of the finances, Bazin, who, on
his side, was on his guard, afforded nothing but platitudes
to the curiosity of D'Artagnan, so that our musketeer, in a
tolerably bad humor, desired to go to bed as soon as he had
supped. D'Artagnan was introduced by Bazin into a mean
chamber, in which there was a poor bed; but D'Artagnan was
not fastidious in that respect. He had been told that Aramis
had taken away the key of his own private apartment, and as
he knew Aramis was a very particular man, and had generally
many things to conceal in his apartment, he had not been
surprised. He, therefore, although it appeared comparatively
even harder, attacked the bed as bravely as he had done the
fowl; and, as he had as good an inclination to sleep as he
had had to eat, he took scarcely longer time to be snoring
harmoniously than he had employed in picking the last bones
of the bird.
Since he was no longer in the service of any one, D'Artagnan
had promised himself to indulge in sleeping as soundly as he
had formerly slept lightly; but with whatever good faith
D'Artagnan had made himself this promise, and whatever
desire he might have to keep it religiously, he was awakened
in the middle of the night by a loud noise of carriages, and
servants on horseback. A sudden illumination flashed over
the walls of his chamber; he jumped out of bed and ran to
the window in his shirt. "Can the king be coming this way?"
he thought, rubbing his eyes; "in truth, such a suite can
only be attached to royalty."
"Vive monsieur le surintendant!" cried, or rather
vociferated, from a window on the ground-floor, a voice
which he recognized as Bazin's, who at the same time waved a
handkerchief with one hand, and held a large candle in the
other. D'Artagnan then saw something like a brilliant human
form leaning out of the principal carriage; at the same time
loud bursts of laughter, caused, no doubt, by the strange
figure of Bazin, and issuing from the same carriage, left,
as it were, a train of joy upon the passage of the rapid
cortege.
"I might easily see it was not the king," said D'Artagnan;
"people don't laugh so heartily when the king passes. Hola,
Bazin!" cried he to his neighbor, three-quarters of whose
body still hung out of the window, to follow the carriage
with his eyes as long as he could. "What is all that about?"
"It is M. Fouquet," said Bazin, in a patronizing tone.
"And all those people?"
"That is the court of M. Fouquet."
"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan; "what would M. de Mazarin say to
that if he heard it?" And he returned to his bed, asking
himself how Aramis always contrived to be protected by the
most powerful personages in the kingdom. "Is it that he has
more luck than I, or that I am a greater fool than he? Bah!"
that was the concluding word by the aid of which D'Artagnan,
having become wise, now terminated every thought and every
period of his style. Formerly he said, "Mordioux!" which was
a prick of the spur, but now he had become older, and he
murmured that philosophical "Bah!" which served as a bridle
to all the passions.
