Ten Years Later. Dumas Alexandre
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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