CHAPTER 38
In which it is seen that the French Grocer
had already been established in the Seventeenth Century
His accounts once settled, and his recommendations made,
D'Artagnan thought of nothing but returning to Paris as soon
as possible. Athos, on his part, was anxious to reach home
and to rest a little. However whole the character and the
man may remain after the fatigues of a voyage, the traveler
perceives with pleasure, at the close of the day -- even
though the day has been a fine one -- that night is
approaching, and will bring a little sleep with it. So, from
Boulogne to Paris, jogging on, side by side, the two
friends, in some degree absorbed each in his individual
thoughts, conversed of nothing sufficiently interesting for
us to repeat to our readers. Each of them given up to his
personal reflections, and constructing his future after his
own fashion, was, above all, anxious to abridge the distance
by speed. Athos and D'Artagnan arrived at the gates of Paris
on the evening of the fourth day after leaving Boulogne.
"Where are you going, my friend?" asked Athos. "I shall
direct my course straight to my hotel."
"And I straight to my partner's."
"To Planchet's?"
"Yes; at the Pilon d'Or."
"Well, but shall we not meet again?"
"If you remain in Paris, yes, for I shall stay here."
"No: after having embraced Raoul, with whom I have appointed
a meeting at my hotel, I shall set out immediately for La
Fere."
"Well, adieu, then, dear and true friend."
"Au revoir! I should rather say, for why can you not come
and live with me at Blois? You are free, you are rich, I
shall purchase for you, if you like, a handsome estate in
the vicinity of Chiverny or of Bracieux. On the one side you
will have the finest woods in the world, which join those of
Chambord; on the other, admirable marshes. You who love
sporting, and who, whether you admit it or not, are a poet,
my dear friend, you will find pheasants, rail and teal,
without counting sunsets and excursions on the water, to
make you fancy yourself Nimrod and Apollo themselves. While
awaiting the purchase, you can live at La Fere, and we shall
go together to fly our hawks among the vines, as Louis XIII.
used to do. That is a quiet amusement for old fellows like
us."
D'Artagnan took the hands of Athos in his own. "Dear count,"
said he, "I shall say neither `Yes' nor `No.' Let me pass in
Paris the time necessary for the regulation of my affairs,
and accustom myself, by degrees, to the heavy and glittering
idea which is beating in my brain and dazzles me. I am rich,
you see, and from this moment until the time when I shall
have acquired the habit of being rich, I know myself, and I
shall be an insupportable animal. Now, I am not enough of a
fool to wish to appear to have lost my wits before a friend
like you, Athos. The cloak is handsome, the cloak is richly
gilded, but it is new, and does not seem to fit me."
Athos smiled. "So be it," said he. "But a propos of this
cloak, dear D'Artagnan, will you allow me to offer you a
little advice?"
"Yes, willingly."
"You will not be angry?"
"Proceed."
"When wealth comes to a man late in life or all at once,
that man, in order not to change, must most likely become a
miser -- that is to say, not spend much more money than he
had done before; or else become a prodigal, and contract so
many debts as to become poor again."
"Oh! but what you say looks very much like a sophism, my
dear philosophic friend."
"I do not think so. Will you become a miser?"
"No, pardieu! I was one already, having nothing. Let us
change."
"Then be prodigal."
"Still less, Mordioux! Debts terrify me. Creditors appear to
me, by anticipation like those devils who turn the damned
upon the gridirons, and as patience is not my dominant
virtue, I am always tempted to thrash those devils."
"You are the wisest man I know, and stand in no need of
advice from any one. Great fools must they be who think they
have anything to teach you. But are we not at the Rue Saint
Honore?"
"Yes, dear Athos."
"Look yonder, on the left, that small, long white house is
the hotel where I lodge. You may observe that it has but two
stories; I occupy the first; the other is let to an officer
whose duties oblige him to be absent eight or nine months in
the year, -- so I am in that house as in my own home,
without the expense."
"Oh! how well you manage, Athos! What order and what
liberality! They are what I wish to unite! But, of what use
trying! that comes from birth, and cannot be acquired."
"You are a flatterer! Well! adieu, dear friend. A propos,
remember me to Master Planchet; he was always a bright
fellow."
"And a man of heart, too, Athos. Adieu."
And they separated. During all this conversation, D'Artagnan
had not for a moment lost sight of a certain pack-horse, in
whose panniers, under some hay, were spread the sacoches
(messenger's bags) with the portmanteau. Nine o'clock was
striking at Saint-Merri. Planchet's helps were shutting up
his shop. D'Artagnan stopped the postilion who rode the
pack-horse, at the corner of the Rue des Lombards, under a
penthouse, and calling one of Planchet's boys, he desired
him not only to take care of the two horses, but to watch
the postilion; after which he entered the shop of the
grocer, who had just finished supper, and who, in his little
private room, was, with a degree of anxiety, consulting the
calendar, on which, every evening, he scratched out the day
that was past. At the moment when Planchet, according to his
daily custom, with the back of his pen, erased another day,
D'Artagnan kicked the door with his foot, and the blow made
his steel spur jingle. "Oh! good Lord!" cried Planchet. The
worthy grocer could say no more; he had just perceived his
partner. D'Artagnan entered with a bent back and a dull eye:
the Gascon had an idea with regard to Planchet.
"Good God!" thought the grocer, looking earnestly at the
traveler, "he looks sad!" The musketeer sat down.
"My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said Planchet, with a
horrible palpitation of the heart. "Here you are! and your
health?"
"Tolerably good, Planchet, tolerably good!" said D'Artagnan,
with a profound sigh.
"You have not been wounded, I hope?"
"Phew!"
"Ah, I see," continued Planchet, more and more alarmed, "the
expedition has been a trying one?"
"Yes," said D'Artagnan. A shudder ran down Planchet's back.
"I should like to have something to drink," said the
musketeer, raising his head piteously.
Planchet ran to the cupboard, and poured out to D'Artagnan
some wine in a large glass. D'Artagnan examined the bottle.
"What wine is that?" asked he.
"Alas! that which you prefer, monsieur," said Planchet;
"that good old Anjou wine, which was one day nearly costing
us all so dear."
"Ah!" replied D'Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, "Ah! my
poor Planchet, ought I still to drink good wine?"
"Come! my dear master," said Planchet, making a superhuman
effort, whilst all his contracted muscles, his pallor, and
his trembling, betrayed the most acute anguish. "Come! I
have been a soldier and consequently have some courage; do
not make me linger, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan; our money is
lost, is it not?"
Before he answered, D'Artagnan took his time, and that
appeared an age to the poor grocer. Nevertheless he did
nothing but turn about on his chair.
"And if that were the case," said he, slowly, moving his
head up and down, "if that were the case, what would you
say, my dear friend?"
Planchet, from being pale, turned yellow. It might have been
thought he was going to swallow his tongue, so full became
his throat, so red were his eyes!
"Twenty thousand livres!" murmured he. "Twenty thousand
livres, and yet ---- "
D'Artagnan, with his neck elongated, his legs stretched out,
and his hands hanging listlessly, looked like a statue of
discouragement. Planchet drew up a sigh from the deepest
cavities of his breast.
"Well," said he, "I see how it is. Let us be men! It is all
over, is it not? The principal thing is, monsieur, that your
life is safe."
"Doubtless! doubtless! -- life is something -- but I am
ruined!"
"Cordieu! monsieur!" said Planchet, "if it is so, we must
not despair for that; you shall become a grocer with me; I
shall take you for my partner, we will share the profits,
and if there should be no more profits, well, why then we
shall share the almonds, raisins and prunes, and we will
nibble together the last quarter of Dutch cheese."
D'Artagnan could hold out no longer. "Mordioux!" cried he,
with great emotion, "thou art a brave fellow on my honor,
Planchet. You have not been playing a part, have you? You
have not seen the pack-horse with the bags under the shed
yonder?"
"What horse? What bags?" said Planchet, whose trembling
heart began to suggest that D'Artagnan was mad.
"Why, the English bags, Mordioux!" said D'Artagnan, all
radiant, quite transfigured.
"Ah! good God!" articulated Planchet, drawing back before
the dazzling fire of his looks.
"Imbecile!" cried D'Artagnan, "you think me mad! Mordioux!
On the contrary, never was my head more clear, or my heart
more joyous. To the bags, Planchet, to the bags!"
"But to what bags, good heavens!"
D'Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window.
"Under the shed yonder, don't you see a horse?"
"Yes."
"Don't you see how his back is laden?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Don't you see your lad talking with the postilion?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Well, you know the name of that lad, because he is your
own. Call him."
"Abdon! Abdon!" vociferated Planchet, from the window.
"Bring the horse!" shouted D'Artagnan.
"Bring the horse!" screamed Planchet.
"Now give ten crowns to the postilion," said D'Artagnan, in
the tone he would have employed in commanding a maneuver;
"two lads to bring up the two first bags, two to bring up
the two last, -- and move, Mordioux! be lively!"
Planchet rushed down the stairs, as if the devil had been at
his heels. A moment later the lads ascended the staircase,
bending beneath their burden. D'Artagnan sent them off to
their garrets, carefully closed the door, and addressing
Planchet, who, in his turn, looked a little wild, --
"Now, we are by ourselves," said he, and he spread upon the
floor a large cover, and emptied the first bag into it.
Planchet did the same with the second; then D'Artagnan, all
in a tremble, let out the precious bowels of the third with
a knife. When Planchet heard the provoking sound of the
silver and gold -- when he saw bubbling out of the bags the
shining crowns, which glittered like fish from the sweep-net
-- when he felt himself plunging his hands up to the elbow
in that still rising tide of yellow and white coins, a
giddiness seized him, and like a man struck by lightning, he
sank heavily down upon the enormous heap, which his weight
caused to roll away in all directions. Planchet, suffocated
with joy, had lost his senses. D'Artagnan threw a glass of
white wine in his face, which incontinently recalled him to
life.
"Ah! good heavens! good heavens! good heavens!" said
Planchet, wiping his mustache and beard.
At that time, as they do now, grocers wore the cavalier
mustache and the lansquenet beard, only the money baths,
already rare in those days, have become almost unknown now.
"Mordieux!" said D'Artagnan, "there are a hundred thousand
crowns for you, partner. Draw your share, if you please, and
I will draw mine."
"Oh! the lovely sum! Monsieur d'Artagnan, the lovely sum!"
"I confess that half an hour ago I regretted that I had to
give you so much, but I now no longer regret it; thou art a
brave grocer, Planchet. There, let us close our accounts,
for, as they say, short reckonings make long friends."
"Oh! rather, in the first place, tell me the whole history,"
said Planchet; "that must be better than the money."
"Ma foi!" said D'Artagnan, stroking his mustache, "I can't
say no, and if ever the historian turns to me for
information, he will be able to say he has not dipped his
bucket into a dry spring. Listen, then, Planchet, I will
tell you all about it."
"And I shall build piles of crowns," said Planchet. "Begin,
my dear master."
"Well, this is it," said D'Artagnan, drawing breath.
"And that is it," said Planchet, picking up his first
handful of crowns.
