The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [144]
“And when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow at daybreak. Rest as well as you can tonight, and tomorrow, if you can, we’ll leave together.”
“Till tomorrow, then,” said Aramis, “because, though you’re made of iron, you must need some rest.”
The next day, when d’Artagnan came into Aramis’s room, he found him at his window.
“What are you looking at?” asked d’Artagnan.
“By heaven, I’m admiring those three magnificent horses that the stable boys are holding by the bridle. It would be a princely pleasure to travel on such mounts.”
“Well, my dear Aramis, you shall give yourself that pleasure, for one of those horses is yours.”
“Ah, really? Which one?”
“Whichever of the three you want: I have no preference.”
“And the rich caparison that’s covering him is mine as well?”
“Of course.”
“You’re joking, d’Artagnan.”
“I haven’t joked since you began speaking French.”
“Those gilded holsters, that velvet housing, that silver-studded saddle are mine?”
“All yours, as the horse that’s pawing the ground is mine, and the one that’s prancing is Athos’s.”
“Damn! They’re three superb beasts!”
“I’m flattered that they’re to your taste.”
“So it was the king who made you this gift?”
“It certainly wasn’t the cardinal. But don’t worry about where they came from, just think that one of the three belongs to you.”
“I’ll take the one the red-haired valet is holding.”
“Excellent!”
“By God,” cried Aramis, “there goes what’s left of my pain! I could mount him with thirty bullets in my body. Ah, upon my soul, what handsome stirrups! Ho, there, Bazin! Come here this very instant!”
Bazin appeared, mournful and languishing, in the doorway.
“Polish my sword, straighten my hat, brush my cloak, and load my pistols!” said Aramis.
“That last order is unnecessary,” d’Artagnan interrupted. “There are loaded pistols in your holsters.”
Bazin sighed.
“Come, Master Bazin, calm yourself,” said d’Artagnan, “the kindom of heaven can be gained in all conditions.”
“Monsieur was already such a good theologian,” Bazin said almost tearfully. “He would have become a bishop and maybe even a cardinal.”
“Ah, well, my poor Bazin, come now, reflect a little. What’s the use of being a churchman, I ask you? You don’t get out of going to war for that. You see very well that the cardinal is going to make his first campaign with a pot on his head and a pike in his fist. And what do you say of M. de Nogaret de La Valette?116 He, too, is a cardinal. Ask his lackey how many times he’s shredded linen for his wounds.”
“Alas!” sighed Bazin, “I know, Monsieur, everything is turned upside down in the world today.”
During this time, the two young men and the poor lackey had gone downstairs.
“Hold my stirrup, Bazin,” said Aramis.
And Aramis leaped into the saddle with his usual grace and lightness; but once the noble animal had wheeled and bucked a few times, his rider felt such unbearable pain that he grew pale and tottered. D’Artagnan, who, foreseeing this eventuality, had not taken his eyes off him, rushed to him, caught him in his arms, and brought him back to his room.
“Never mind, my dear Aramis,” he said, “look after yourself, and I’ll go alone in search of Athos.”
“You’re a man of bronze,” Aramis said to him.
“No, I’m lucky, that’s all. But how are you going to live while you wait for me? No more thesis, no more commentaries on fingers and blessings, eh?”
Aramis smiled.
“I shall compose verses,” he said.
“Yes, verses with the scent of that note from Mme de Chevreuse’s maid. Teach Bazin prosody; it will console him. As for the horse, ride him a little every day, and that will get you accustomed to maneuvers.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” said Aramis. “You’ll find me ready to follow you.”
They said good-bye, and ten minutes later, after entrusting his friend to the care of Bazin and the hostess, d’Artagnan trotted off in the direction of Amiens.
How would he find Athos? And would he even find him?
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