WHO MESSIRE JOHN PERCERIN WAS.
The king's tailor, Messire Jean Percerin, occupied a rather large house
in the Rue St. Honore, near the Rue de l'Arbre Sec. He was a man of
great taste in elegant stuffs, embroideries, and velvet, being
hereditary tailor to the king. The preferment of his house reached as
far back as the time of Charles IX.; from whose reign dated, as we know,
fancies in _bravery_ difficult enough to gratify. The Percerin of that
period was a Huguenot, like Ambroise Pare, and had been spared by the
queen of Navarre, the beautiful Margot, as they used to write and say,
too, in those days; because, in sooth, he was the only one who could
make for her those wonderful riding-habits which she loved to wear,
seeing that they were marvelously well suited to hide certain anatomical
defects, which the queen of Navarre used very studiously to conceal.
Percerin being saved, made, out of gratitude, some beautiful black
bodices, very inexpensive indeed for Queen Catherine, who ended by being
pleased at the preservation of a Huguenot, on whom she had long looked
with aversion. But Percerin was a very prudent man; and having heard it
said that there was no more dangerous sign for a Protestant than to be
smiled upon by Catherine; and having observed that her smiles were more
frequent than usual, he speedily turned Catholic, with all his family;
and having thus become irreproachable, attained the lofty position of
master tailor to the crown of France.
Under Henry III., gay king as he was, this position was as good as the
height of one of the loftiest peaks of the Cordilleras. Now Percerin had
been a clever man all his life, and by way of keeping up his reputation
beyond the grave, took very good care not to make a bad death of it; and
so contrived to die very skillfully; and that at the very moment he felt
his powers of invention declining. He left a son and daughter, both
worthy of the name they were called upon to bear; the son, a cutter as
unerring and exact as the square rule; the daughter, apt at embroidery,
and at designing ornaments. The marriage of Henry IV. and Marie de
Medici, and the exquisite court-mourning for the afore-mentioned queen,
together with a few words let fall by M. de Bassompierre, king of the
beaux of the period, made the fortune of the second generation of
Percerins. M. Concino Concini, and his wife Galligai, who subsequently
shone at the French court, sought to Italianize the fashion, and
introduced some Florentine tailors; but Percerin, touched to the quick
in his patriotism and his self-esteem, entirely defeated these
foreigners, and that so well, that Concino was the first to give up his
compatriots, and held the French tailor in such esteem that he would
never employ any other; and thus wore a doublet of his on the very day
that Vitry blew out his brains with his pistol at the Pont du Louvre.
And this is the doublet issuing from M. Percerin's workshop, which the
Parisians rejoiced in hacking into so many pieces with the human flesh
it covered. Notwithstanding the favor, Concino Concini had shown
Percerin, the king Louis XIII. had the generosity to bear no malice to
his tailor, and to retain him in his service. At the time that Louis
the Just afforded this great example of equity, Percerin had brought up
two sons, one of whom made his debut at the marriage of Anne of Austria,
invented that admirable Spanish costume in which Richelieu danced a
saraband, made the costumes for the tragedy of "Mirame," and stitched on
to Buckingham's mantle those famous pearls which were destined to be
scattered about the pavement of the Louvre. A man becomes easily notable
who has made the dresses of M. de Buckingham, M. de Cinq-Mars,
Mademoiselle Ninon, M. de Beaufort, and Marion de Lorine. And thus
Percerin the third had attained the summit of his glory when his father
died. This same Percerin III., old, famous, and wealthy, yet further
dressed Louis XIV.; and having no son, which was a great cause of sorrow
to him, seeing that with himself his dynasty would end, he had brought
up several hopeful pupils. He possessed a carriage, a country-house,
menservants the tallest in Paris; and by special authority from Louis
XIV., a pack of hounds. He worked for MM. de Lyonne and Letellier, under
a sort of patronage; but, politic man as he was, and versed in state
secrets, he never succeeded in fitting M. Colbert. This is beyond
explanation; it is matter for intuition. Great geniuses of every kind
live upon unseen, intangible ideas; they act without themselves knowing
why. The great Percerin (for, contrary to the rule of dynasties, it was,
above all, the last of the Percerins who deserved the name of Great),
the great Percerin was inspired when he cut a robe for the queen, or a
coat for the king; he could mount a mantle for Monsieur, the clock of a
stocking for Madame; but, in spite of his supreme talent, he could never
hit the measure of M. Colbert. "That man," he used often to say, "is
beyond my art; my needle never can hit him off." We need scarcely say,
that Percerin was M. Fouquet's tailor, and that the surintendant highly
esteemed him. M. Percerin was nearly eighty years old, nevertheless,
still fresh, and at the same time so dry, the courtiers used to say,
that he was positively brittle. His renown and his fortune were great
enough for M. le Prince, that king of fops, to take his arm when talking
over the fashions; and for those least eager to pay never to dare to
leave their accounts in arrear with him; for Master Percerin would for
the first time make clothes upon credit, but the second never, unless
paid for the former order.
It is easy to see at once that a tailor of such standing, instead of
running after customers, made difficulties about obliging any fresh
ones. And so Percerin declined to fit bourgeois, or those who had but
recently obtained patents of nobility. A story used to circulate that
even M. de Mazarin, in exchange for Percerin supplying him with a full
suit of ceremonial vestments as cardinal, one fine day slipped letters
of nobility into his pocket.
It was to the house of this great lord of tailors that D'Artagnan took
the despairing Porthos; who, as they were going along, said to his
friend, "Take care, my good D'Artagnan, not to compromise the dignity of
a man such as I am with the arrogance of this Percerin, who will, I
expect, be very impertinent; for I give you notice, my friend, that if
he is wanting in respect to me, I will chastise him."
"Presented by me," replied D'Artagnan, "you have nothing to fear, even
though you were what you are not."
"Ah! 'tis because--"
"What? Have you anything against Percerin, Porthos?"
"I think that I once sent Mouston to a fellow of that name."
"And then?"
"The fellow refused to supply me."
"Oh, a misunderstanding, no doubt, which 'tis pressing to set right.
Mouston must have made a mistake."
"Perhaps."
"He has confused the names."
"Possibly. That rascal Mouston never can remember names."
"I will take it all upon myself."
"Very good."
"Stop the carriage, Porthos; here we are."
"Here! how here? We are at the Halles; and you told me the house was at
the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre Sec."
"Tis true--but look."
"Well, I do look, and I see--"
"What?"
"Pardieu! that we are at the Halles!"
"You do not, I suppose, want our horses to clamber up on the top of the
carriage in front of us?"
"No."
"Nor the carriage in front of us to mount on the one in front of it. Nor
that the second should be driven over the roofs of the thirty or forty
others which have arrived before us?"
"No, you are right, indeed. What a number of people! And what are they
all about?"
"'Tis very simple--they are waiting their turn."
"Bah! Have the comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne shifted their
quarters?"
"No; their turn to obtain an entrance to M. Percerin's house."
"And we are going to wait too?"
"Oh, we shall show ourselves more ready and less proud than they."
"What are we to do, then?"
"Get down, pass through the footmen and lackeys, and enter the tailor's
house, which I will answer for our doing, if you go first."
"Come, then," said Porthos.
They both alighted and made their way on foot toward the establishment.
The cause of the confusion was, that M. Percerin's doors were closed,
while a servant, standing before them, was explaining to the illustrious
customers of the illustrious tailor that just then M. Percerin could not
receive anybody. It was bruited about outside still, on the authority of
what the great lackey had told some great noble whom he favored, in
confidence, that M. Percerin was engaged upon five dresses for the king,
and that, owing to the urgency of the case, he was meditating in his
office on the ornaments, colors, and cut of these five suits. Some,
contented with this reason, went away again, happy to repeat it to
others; but others, more tenacious, insisted on having the doors
opened, and among these last three Blue Ribbons, intended to take parts
in a ballet, which would inevitably fail unless the said three had their
costumes shaped by the very hand of the great Percerin himself.
D'Artagnan, pushing on Porthos, who scattered the groups of people right
and left, succeeded in gaining the counter, behind which the journeymen
tailors were doing their best to answer queries. (We forgot to mention
that at the door they wanted to put off Porthos like the rest, but
D'Artagnan, showing himself, pronounced merely these words, "The king's
order," and was let in with his friend.) The poor fellows had enough to
do, and did their best, to reply to the demands of the customers in the
absence of their master, leaving off drawing a stitch to turn a
sentence; and when wounded pride, or disappointed expectation, brought
down upon them too cutting rebukes, he who was attacked made a dive and
disappeared under the counter. The line of discontented lords formed a
very remarkable picture. Our captain of musketeers, a man of sure and
rapid observation, took it all in at a glance; but having run over the
groups, his eye rested on a man in front of him. This man, seated upon a
stool, scarcely showed his head above the counter, which sheltered him.
He was about forty years of age, with a melancholy aspect, pale face,
and soft, luminous eyes. He was looking at D'Artagnan and the rest, with
his chin resting upon his hand, like a calm and inquiring amateur. Only
on perceiving, and doubtless recognizing, our captain, he pulled his hat
down over his eyes. It was this action, perhaps, that attracted
D'Artagnan's attention. If so, the gentleman who had pulled down his hat
produced an effect entirely different from what he had desired. In other
respects his costume was plain, and his hair evenly cut enough for
customers, who were not close observers, to take him for a mere tailor's
apprentice, perched behind the board, and carefully stitching cloth or
velvet. Nevertheless, this man held up his head too often to be very
productively employed with his fingers. D'Artagnan was not
deceived--not he; and he saw at once that if this man was working at
anything, it certainly was not at velvet.
"Eh!" said he, addressing this man, "and so you have become a tailor's
boy, Monsieur Moliere?"
"Hush, M. d'Artagnan!" replied the man, softly, "you will make them
recognize me."
"Well, and what harm?"
"The fact is, there is no harm, but--"
"You were going to say there is no good in doing it either, is it not
so?"
"Alas! no; for I was occupied in looking at some excellent figures."
"Go on--go on, Monsieur Moliere. I quite understand the interest you
take in it--I will not disturb your study."
"Thank you."
"But on one condition--that you tell me where M. Percerin really is."
"Oh! willingly; in his own room. Only--"
"Only that one can't enter it?"
"Unapproachable."
"For everybody?"
"For everybody. He brought me here so that I might be at my ease to make
my observations, and then he went away."
"Well, my dear Monsieur Moliere, but you will go and tell him I am
here."
"I!" exclaimed Moliere, in the tone of a courageous dog, from which you
snatch the bone it has legitimately gained; "I disturb myself! Ah!
Monsieur d'Artagnan, how hard you are upon me!"
"If you don't go directly and tell M. Percerin that I am here, my dear
Moliere," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone, "I warn you of one thing--that
I won't exhibit to you the friend I have brought with me."
Moliere indicated Porthos by an imperceptible gesture. "This gentleman,
is it not?"
"Yes."
Moliere fixed upon Porthos one of those looks which penetrate the minds
and hearts of men. The subject doubtless appeared very promising to him,
for he immediately rose and led the way into the adjoining chamber.