Reading Help The Three Musketeers Ch.19-40
`
` "Oil is a sovereign balm for wounds; and my poor Grimaud here was `
` obliged to dress those you had inflicted on him." `
` `
` "All my sausages are gnawed!" `
` `
` "There is an enormous quantity of rats in that cellar." `
` `
` "You shall pay me for all this," cried the exasperated host. `
` `
` "Triple ass!" said Athos, rising; but he sank down again `
` immediately. He had tried his strength to the utmost. `
` d'Artagnan came to his relief with his whip in his hand. `
` `
` The host drew back and burst into tears. `
` `
` "This will teach you," said d'Artagnan, "to treat the guests God `
` sends you in a more courteous fashion." `
` `
` "God? Say the devil!" `
` `
` "My dear friend," said d'Artagnan, "if you annoy us in this `
` manner we will all four go and shut ourselves up in your cellar, `
` and we will see if the mischief is as great as you say." `
` `
` "Oh, gentlemen," said the host, "I have been wrong. I confess `
` it, but pardon to every sin! You are gentlemen, and I am a poor `
` innkeeper. You will have pity on me." `
` `
` "Ah, if you speak in that way," said Athos, "you will break my `
` heart, and the tears will flow from my eyes as the wine flowed `
` from the cask. We are not such devils as we appear to be. Come `
` hither, and let us talk." `
` `
` The host approached with hesitation. `
` `
` "Come hither, I say, and don't be afraid," continued Athos. "At `
` the very moment when I was about to pay you, I had placed my `
` purse on the table." `
` `
` "Yes, monsieur." `
` `
` "That purse contained sixty pistoles; where is it?" `
` `
` "Deposited with the justice; they said it was bad money." `
` `
` "Very well; get me my purse back and keep the sixty pistoles." `
` `
` "But Monseigneur knows very well that justice never lets go that `
` which it once lays hold of. If it were bad money, there might be `
` some hopes; but unfortunately, those were all good pieces." `
` `
` "Manage the matter as well as you can, my good man; it does not `
` concern me, the more so as I have not a livre left." `
` `
` "Come," said d'Artagnan, "let us inquire further. Athos's horse, `
` where is that?" `
` `
` "In the stable." `
` `
` "How much is it worth?" `
` `
` "Fifty pistoles at most." `
` `
` "It's worth eighty. Take it, and there ends the matter." `
` `
` "What," cried Athos, "are you selling my horse--my Bajazet? And `
` pray upon what shall I make my campaign; upon Grimaud?" `
` `
` "I have brought you another," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Another?" `
` `
` "And a magnificent one!" cried the host. `
` `
` "Well, since there is another finer and younger, why, you may `
` take the old one; and let us drink." `
` `
` "What?" asked the host, quite cheerful again. `
` `
` "Some of that at the bottom, near the laths. There are twenty- `
` five bottles of it left; all the rest were broken by my fall. `
` Bring six of them." `
` `
` "Why, this man is a cask!" said the host, aside. "If he only `
` remains here a fortnight, and pays for what he drinks, I shall `
` soon re-establish my business." `
` `
` "And don't forget," said d'Artagnan, "to bring up four bottles of `
` the same sort for the two English gentlemen." `
` `
` "And now," said Athos, "while they bring the wine, tell me, `
` d'Artagnan, what has become of the others, come!" `
` `
` D'Artagnan related how he had found Porthos in bed with a `
` strained knee, and Aramis at a table between two theologians. As `
` he finished, the host entered with the wine ordered and a ham `
` which, fortunately for him, had been left out of the cellar. `
` `
` "That's well!" said Athos, filling his glass and that of his `
` friend; "here's to Porthos and Aramis! But you, d'Artagnan, what `
` is the matter with you, and what has happened to you personally? `
` You have a sad air." `
` `
` "Alas," said d'Artagnan, "it is because I am the most `
` unfortunate." `
` `
` "Tell me." `
` `
` "Presently," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Presently! And why presently? Because you think I am drunk? `
` d'Artagnan, remember this! My ideas are never so clear as when I `
` have had plenty of wine. Speak, then, I am all ears." `
` `
` D'Artagnan related his adventure with Mme. Bonacieux. Athos `
` listened to him without a frown; and when he had finished, said, `
` "Trifles, only trifles!" That was his favorite word. `
` `
` "You always say TRIFLES, my dear Athos!" said d'Artagnan, "and `
` that come very ill from you, who have never loved." `
` `
` The drink-deadened eye of Athos flashed out, but only for a `
` moment; it became as dull and vacant as before. `
` `
` "That's true," said he, quietly, "for my part I have never `
` loved." `
` `
` "Acknowledge, then, you stony heart," said d'Artagnan, "that you `
` are wrong to be so hard upon us tender hearts." `
` `
` "Tender hearts! Pierced hearts!" said Athos. `
` `
` "What do you say?" `
` `
` "I say that love is a lottery in which he who wins, wins death! `
` You are very fortunate to have lost, believe me, my dear `
` d'Artagnan. And if I have any counsel to give, it is, always `
` lose!" `
` `
` "She seemed to love me so!" `
` `
` "She SEEMED, did she?" `
` `
` "Oh, she DID love me!" `
` `
` "You child, why, there is not a man who has not believed, as you `
` do, that his mistress loved him, and there lives not a man who `
` has not been deceived by his mistress." `
` `
` "Except you, Athos, who never had one." `
` `
` "That's true," said Athos, after a moment's silence, "that's `
` true! I never had one! Let us drink!" `
` `
` "But then, philosopher that you are," said d'Artagnan, "instruct `
` me, support me. I stand in need of being taught and consoled." `
` `
` "Consoled for what?" `
` `
` "For my misfortune." `
` `
` "Your misfortune is laughable," said Athos, shrugging his `
` shoulders; "I should like to know what you would say if I were to `
` relate to you a real tale of love!" `
` `
` "Which has happened to you?" `
` `
` "Or one of my friends, what matters?" `
` `
` "Tell it, Athos, tell it." `
` `
` "Better if I drink." `
` `
` "Drink and relate, then." `
` `
` "Not a bad idea!" said Athos, emptying and refilling his glass. `
` "The two things agree marvelously well." `
` `
` "I am all attention," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` Athos collected himself, and in proportion as he did so, `
` d'Artagnan saw that he became pale. He was at that period of `
` intoxication in which vulgar drinkers fall on the floor and go to `
` sleep. He kept himself upright and dreamed, without sleeping. `
` This somnambulism of drunkenness had something frightful in it. `
` `
` "You particularly wish it?" asked he. `
` `
` "I pray for it," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Be it then as you desire. One of my friends--one of my friends, `
` please to observe, not myself," said Athos, interrupting himself `
` with a melancholy smile, "one of the counts of my province--that `
` is to say, of Berry--noble as a Dandolo or a Montmorency, at `
` twenty-five years of age fell in love with a girl of sixteen, `
` beautiful as fancy can paint. Through the ingenuousness of her `
` age beamed an ardent mind, not of the woman, but of the poet. `
` She did not please; she intoxicated. She lived in a small town `
` with her brother, who was a curate. Both had recently come into `
` the country. They came nobody knew whence; but when seeing her `
`
` "Oil is a sovereign balm for wounds; and my poor Grimaud here was `
` obliged to dress those you had inflicted on him." `
` `
` "All my sausages are gnawed!" `
` `
` "There is an enormous quantity of rats in that cellar." `
` `
` "You shall pay me for all this," cried the exasperated host. `
` `
` "Triple ass!" said Athos, rising; but he sank down again `
` immediately. He had tried his strength to the utmost. `
` d'Artagnan came to his relief with his whip in his hand. `
` `
` The host drew back and burst into tears. `
` `
` "This will teach you," said d'Artagnan, "to treat the guests God `
` sends you in a more courteous fashion." `
` `
` "God? Say the devil!" `
` `
` "My dear friend," said d'Artagnan, "if you annoy us in this `
` manner we will all four go and shut ourselves up in your cellar, `
` and we will see if the mischief is as great as you say." `
` `
` "Oh, gentlemen," said the host, "I have been wrong. I confess `
` it, but pardon to every sin! You are gentlemen, and I am a poor `
` innkeeper. You will have pity on me." `
` `
` "Ah, if you speak in that way," said Athos, "you will break my `
` heart, and the tears will flow from my eyes as the wine flowed `
` from the cask. We are not such devils as we appear to be. Come `
` hither, and let us talk." `
` `
` The host approached with hesitation. `
` `
` "Come hither, I say, and don't be afraid," continued Athos. "At `
` the very moment when I was about to pay you, I had placed my `
` purse on the table." `
` `
` "Yes, monsieur." `
` `
` "That purse contained sixty pistoles; where is it?" `
` `
` "Deposited with the justice; they said it was bad money." `
` `
` "Very well; get me my purse back and keep the sixty pistoles." `
` `
` "But Monseigneur knows very well that justice never lets go that `
` which it once lays hold of. If it were bad money, there might be `
` some hopes; but unfortunately, those were all good pieces." `
` `
` "Manage the matter as well as you can, my good man; it does not `
` concern me, the more so as I have not a livre left." `
` `
` "Come," said d'Artagnan, "let us inquire further. Athos's horse, `
` where is that?" `
` `
` "In the stable." `
` `
` "How much is it worth?" `
` `
` "Fifty pistoles at most." `
` `
` "It's worth eighty. Take it, and there ends the matter." `
` `
` "What," cried Athos, "are you selling my horse--my Bajazet? And `
` pray upon what shall I make my campaign; upon Grimaud?" `
` `
` "I have brought you another," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Another?" `
` `
` "And a magnificent one!" cried the host. `
` `
` "Well, since there is another finer and younger, why, you may `
` take the old one; and let us drink." `
` `
` "What?" asked the host, quite cheerful again. `
` `
` "Some of that at the bottom, near the laths. There are twenty- `
` five bottles of it left; all the rest were broken by my fall. `
` Bring six of them." `
` `
` "Why, this man is a cask!" said the host, aside. "If he only `
` remains here a fortnight, and pays for what he drinks, I shall `
` soon re-establish my business." `
` `
` "And don't forget," said d'Artagnan, "to bring up four bottles of `
` the same sort for the two English gentlemen." `
` `
` "And now," said Athos, "while they bring the wine, tell me, `
` d'Artagnan, what has become of the others, come!" `
` `
` D'Artagnan related how he had found Porthos in bed with a `
` strained knee, and Aramis at a table between two theologians. As `
` he finished, the host entered with the wine ordered and a ham `
` which, fortunately for him, had been left out of the cellar. `
` `
` "That's well!" said Athos, filling his glass and that of his `
` friend; "here's to Porthos and Aramis! But you, d'Artagnan, what `
` is the matter with you, and what has happened to you personally? `
` You have a sad air." `
` `
` "Alas," said d'Artagnan, "it is because I am the most `
` unfortunate." `
` `
` "Tell me." `
` `
` "Presently," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Presently! And why presently? Because you think I am drunk? `
` d'Artagnan, remember this! My ideas are never so clear as when I `
` have had plenty of wine. Speak, then, I am all ears." `
` `
` D'Artagnan related his adventure with Mme. Bonacieux. Athos `
` listened to him without a frown; and when he had finished, said, `
` "Trifles, only trifles!" That was his favorite word. `
` `
` "You always say TRIFLES, my dear Athos!" said d'Artagnan, "and `
` that come very ill from you, who have never loved." `
` `
` The drink-deadened eye of Athos flashed out, but only for a `
` moment; it became as dull and vacant as before. `
` `
` "That's true," said he, quietly, "for my part I have never `
` loved." `
` `
` "Acknowledge, then, you stony heart," said d'Artagnan, "that you `
` are wrong to be so hard upon us tender hearts." `
` `
` "Tender hearts! Pierced hearts!" said Athos. `
` `
` "What do you say?" `
` `
` "I say that love is a lottery in which he who wins, wins death! `
` You are very fortunate to have lost, believe me, my dear `
` d'Artagnan. And if I have any counsel to give, it is, always `
` lose!" `
` `
` "She seemed to love me so!" `
` `
` "She SEEMED, did she?" `
` `
` "Oh, she DID love me!" `
` `
` "You child, why, there is not a man who has not believed, as you `
` do, that his mistress loved him, and there lives not a man who `
` has not been deceived by his mistress." `
` `
` "Except you, Athos, who never had one." `
` `
` "That's true," said Athos, after a moment's silence, "that's `
` true! I never had one! Let us drink!" `
` `
` "But then, philosopher that you are," said d'Artagnan, "instruct `
` me, support me. I stand in need of being taught and consoled." `
` `
` "Consoled for what?" `
` `
` "For my misfortune." `
` `
` "Your misfortune is laughable," said Athos, shrugging his `
` shoulders; "I should like to know what you would say if I were to `
` relate to you a real tale of love!" `
` `
` "Which has happened to you?" `
` `
` "Or one of my friends, what matters?" `
` `
` "Tell it, Athos, tell it." `
` `
` "Better if I drink." `
` `
` "Drink and relate, then." `
` `
` "Not a bad idea!" said Athos, emptying and refilling his glass. `
` "The two things agree marvelously well." `
` `
` "I am all attention," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` Athos collected himself, and in proportion as he did so, `
` d'Artagnan saw that he became pale. He was at that period of `
` intoxication in which vulgar drinkers fall on the floor and go to `
` sleep. He kept himself upright and dreamed, without sleeping. `
` This somnambulism of drunkenness had something frightful in it. `
` `
` "You particularly wish it?" asked he. `
` `
` "I pray for it," said d'Artagnan. `
` `
` "Be it then as you desire. One of my friends--one of my friends, `
` please to observe, not myself," said Athos, interrupting himself `
` with a melancholy smile, "one of the counts of my province--that `
` is to say, of Berry--noble as a Dandolo or a Montmorency, at `
` twenty-five years of age fell in love with a girl of sixteen, `
` beautiful as fancy can paint. Through the ingenuousness of her `
` age beamed an ardent mind, not of the woman, but of the poet. `
` She did not please; she intoxicated. She lived in a small town `
` with her brother, who was a curate. Both had recently come into `
` the country. They came nobody knew whence; but when seeing her `
`