The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [6]
Our youth boasted a steed so noteworthy that no man could fail to take note of it. A Béarn nag, it was, twelve or fourteen years old, with a yellow coat and hairless tail, but not without swellings on its legs. As this nag walked with its head well below its knees, no martingale was necessary. Nevertheless, it managed to cover eight leagues a day regularly. Unfortunately the virtues of this horse were so well concealed under its weird coat and incongruous gait that, at a period when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh, its apparition at Meung (it had entered a quarter of an hour before by the Gate of Beaugency) created a sensation. And the discredit inspired by the beast naturally extended to its master.
This fact proved all the more painful to young D’Artagnan—to name the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante—because he was himself forced to acknowledge how ridiculous such a steed made him, excellent horseman though he was. Indeed, he had heaved a deep sigh as he accepted this gift from his father. He was aware, of course, that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres. But the words accompanying the gift were beyond all price.
“My son,” said the old Gascon gentleman in that pure Béarn patois which Henry IV had never succeeded in shedding, “my son, this horse was born in your father’s house some thirteen years ago, and here it has remained ever since. This ought to make you love the beast! Never sell it; let it die quietly and honorably of old age. If you should go to the wars with it, then care for it as faithfully as you would care for an old servant. At Court, should you ever have the honor to go there,” Monsieur d’Artagnan the elder continued, adding parenthetically that it was an honor to which his son’s ancient nobility entitled him, “be sure worthily to uphold the name of ‘gentleman’ which has been dutifully borne by your ancestors for more than five hundred years. Do this both for your own sake and for the sake of your own people—I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anyone save the Cardinal and the King. Nowadays a gentleman makes his way by his courage—do you understand?—by his courage alone! Whoever trembles for but a second has perhaps lost the bait which fortune held out to him in precisely that second. You are young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: first because you are a Gascon and second because you are my son! Never avoid a quarrel: seek out the hazards of high adventure. I have taught you how to wield a sword; you have muscles of iron and a wrist of steel. Fight at every opportunity, the more blithely because duels are forbidden and therefore it will be doubly brave of you to fight.”
After a pause, D’Artagnan’s father went on:
“I have nothing to give you, my son, except fifteen crowns, my horse and the advice you have just heard. To these, your mother will add a recipe for a certain balsam which she acquired from a gipsy woman. It possesses the miraculous virtue of curing all wounds which do not reach the heart. Take advantage of everything that comes your way; live happily and long!”
Then:
“One word more,” the old man added. “I would wish to propose an example for you. Not mine, to be sure, for I have never appeared at Court; besides, I took part in the Religious Wars as a volunteer. No, I mean Monsieur