WHERE, PROBABLY, MOLIERE FORMED HIS FIRST IDEA OF THE BOURGEOIS
GENTILHOMME.
D'Artagnan found Porthos in the adjoining chamber; but no longer an
irritated Porthos, or a disappointed Porthos, but Porthos radiant,
blooming, fascinating, and chatting with Moliere, who was looking upon
him with a species of idolatry, and as a man would who had not only
never seen anything better, but not even ever anything so good. Aramis
went straight up to Porthos and offered him his delicate white hand,
which lost itself in the gigantic hand of his old friend--an operation
which Aramis never hazarded without a certain uneasiness. But the
friendly pressure having been performed not too painfully for him, the
bishop of Vannes passed over to Moliere.
"Well, monsieur," said he, "will you come with me to Saint-Mandé?"
"I will go anywhere you like, monseigneur," answered Moliere.
"To Saint-Mandé!" cried Porthos, surprised at seeing the proud bishop of
Vannes fraternizing with a journeyman tailor. "What, Aramis, are you
going to take this gentleman to Saint-Mandé?"
"Yes," said Aramis, smiling, "our work is pressing."
"And besides, my dear Porthos," continued D'Artagnan, "M. Moliere is not
altogether what he seems."
"In what way?" asked Porthos.
"Why, this gentleman is one of M. Percerin's chief clerks, and is
expected at Saint-Mandé to try on the dresses which M. Fouquet has
ordered for the Epicureans."
"'Tis precisely so," said Moliere.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Come, then, my dear M. Moliere," said Aramis, "that is, if you have
done with M. de Valon?"
"We have finished," replied Porthos.
"And you are satisfied?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Completely so," replied Porthos.
Moliere took his leave of Porthos with much ceremony, and grasped the
hand which the captain of the musketeers furtively offered him.
"Pray, monsieur," concluded Porthos, mincingly, "above all, be exact."
"You will have your dress after to-morrow, Monsieur le Baron," answered
Moliere. And he left with Aramis.
Then D'Artagnan, taking Porthos' arm, "What has this tailor done for
you, my dear Porthos," he asked, "that you are so pleased with him?"
"What has he done for me, my friend! done for me!" cried Porthos,
enthusiastically.
"Yes, I ask you, what has he done for you?"
"My friend, he has done that which no tailor ever yet accomplished--he
has taken my measure without touching me!"
"Ah, bah! tell me how he did it!"
"First, then, they went, I don't know where, for a number of lay
figures, of all heights and sizes, hoping there would be one to suit
mine; but the largest--that of the drum-major of the Swiss guard--was
two inches too short, and half a foot too slender."
"Indeed!"
"It is exactly as I tell you, D'Artagnan; but he is a great man, or at
the very least a great tailor, is this M. Moliere. He was not at all put
at fault by the circumstance."
"What did he do, then?"
"Oh! it is a very simple matter. I'faith, 'tis an unheard-of thing that
people should have been so stupid as not to have discovered this method
from the first. What annoyance and humiliation they would have spared
me!"
"Not to speak of the dresses, my dear Porthos."
"Yes, thirty dresses."
"Well, my dear Porthos, tell me M. Moliere's plan."
"Moliere? You call him so, do you? I shall make a point of recollecting
his name."
"Yes; or Poquelin, if you prefer that."
"No; I like Moliere best. When I wish to recollect his name, I shall
think of Voliere (an aviary); and as I have one at Pierrefonds--"
"Capital!" returned D'Artagnan; "and M. Moliere's plan?"
"'Tis this: instead of pulling me to pieces, as all these rascals do--of
making me bend in my back, and double my joints--all of them low and
dishonorable practices--"
D'Artagnan made a sign of approbation with his head.
[Illustration: ARAMIS SAW THAT THE YOUNG MAN WAS STRETCHED UPON HIS
BED, HIS FACE HALF-CONCEALED BY HIS ARMS.--_Page 294._]
"'Monsieur,' he said to me," continued Porthos, "'a gentleman ought to
measure himself. Do me the pleasure to draw near this glass,' and I drew
near the glass. I must own I did not exactly understand what this good
M. Voliere wanted with me."
"Moliere."
"Ah! yes, Moliere--Moliere. And as the fear of being measured still
possessed me, 'Take care,' said I to him, 'what you are going to do with
me; I am very ticklish, I warn you.' But he, with his soft voice (for he
is a courteous fellow, we must admit, my friend), he with his soft
voice, 'Monsieur,' said he, 'that your dress may fit you well, it must
be made according to your figure. Your figure is exactly reflected in
this mirror. We shall take the measure of this reflection.'"
"In fact," said D'Artagnan, "you saw yourself in the glass; but where
did they find one in which could see your whole figure?"
"My good friend, it is the very glass in which the king sees himself."
"Yes; but the king is a foot and a half shorter than you are."
"Ah! well, I know not how that may be; it would no doubt be a way of
flattering the king; but the looking-glass was too large for me. 'Tis
true that its height was made up of three Venetian plates of glass,
placed one above another, and its breadth of the three similar pieces in
juxtaposition."
"Oh, Porthos! what excellent words you have command of. Where in the
world did you make the collection?"
"At Belle-Isle. Aramis explained them to the architect."
"Ah! very good. Let us return to the glass, my friend."
"Then, this good M. Voliere--"
"Moliere."
"Yes--Moliere--you are right. You will see now, my dear friend, that I
shall recollect his name too well. This excellent M. Moliere set to work
tracing out lines on the mirror with a piece of Spanish chalk,
following in all the make of my arms and my shoulders, all the while
expounding this maxim, which I thought admirable: 'It is necessary that
a dress do not incommode its wearer.'"
"In reality," said D'Artagnan, "that is an excellent maxim, which is,
unfortunately, seldom carried out in practice."
"That is why I found it all the more astonishing when he expatiated upon
it."
"Ah! he expatiated?"
"Parbleu!"
"Let me hear his theory."
"'Seeing that,' he continued, 'one may, in awkward circumstances, or in
a troublesome position, have one's doublet on one's shoulder, and not
desire to take one's doublet off--"
"True," said D'Artagnan.
"'And so,' continued M. Voliere--"
"Moliere."
"Moliere, yes. 'And so,' went on M. Moliere, 'you want to draw your
sword, monsieur, and you have your doublet on your back. What do you
do?'
"'I take it off,' I answered.
"'Well, no,' he replied.
"'How no?'
"'I say that the dress should be so well made that it can in no way
encumber you, even in drawing your sword.'
"'Ah, ah! throw yourself on guard,' pursued he.
"I did it with such wondrous firmness that two panes of glass burst out
of the window.
"'Tis nothing, nothing,' said he. 'Keep your position.'
"I raised my left arm in the air, the forearm gracefully bent, the
ruffle drooping, and my wrist curved, while my right arm, half extended,
securely covered my waist with the elbow, and my breast with the wrist."
"Yes," said D'Artagnan, "'tis the true guard--the academic guard."
"You have said the very word, dear friend. In the meanwhile Voliere--"
"Moliere."
"Hold! I should certainly, after all, prefer to call him--what did you
say his other name was?"
"Poquelin."
"I prefer to call him Poquelin."
"And how will you remember this name better than the other?"
"You understand, he calls himself Poquelin, does he not?"
"Yes."
"I shall recall to mind Madame Coquenard."
"Good."
"I shall change _Coc_ into _Poc_, _nard_ into _lin_; and instead of
Coquenard I shall have Poquelin."
"'Tis wonderful," cried D'Artagnan, astounded. "Go on, my friend, I am
listening to you with admiration."
"This Coquelin sketched my arm on the glass."
"I beg your pardon--Poquelin."
"What did I say, then?"
"You said Coquelin."
"Ah! true. This Poquelin, then, sketched my arm on the glass; but he
took his time over it; he kept looking at me a good deal. The fact is,
that I was very handsome. 'Does it weary you?' he asked.
"'A little,' I replied, bending a little in my hands, 'but I could yet
hold out an hour.'
"'No, no, I will not allow it; the willing fellows will make it a duty
to support your arms, as of old, men supported those of the prophet.'
"'Very good,' I answered.
"'That will not be humiliating to you?'
"'My friend,' said I, 'there is, I think, a great difference between
being supported and being measured.'"
"The distinction is full of sense," interrupted D'Artagnan.
"Then," continued Porthos, "he made a sign; two lads approached; one
supported my left arm, while the other, with infinite address, supported
my right arm.
"'Another, my man,' cried he. A third approached. 'Support monsieur by
the waist,' said he. The _garçon_ complied.
"So that you were at rest?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Perfectly; and Pocquenard drew me on the glass."
"Poquelin, my friend."
"Poquelin--you are right. Stay, decidedly I prefer calling him Voliere."
"Yes, and then it was over, wasn't it?"
"During that time Voliere drew me on the mirror."
"'Twas delicate in him."
"I much like the plan: it is respectful, and keeps every one in his
place."
"And there it ended?"
"Without a soul having touched me, my friend."
"Except the three _garçons_ who supported you."
"Doubtless; but I have, I think, already explained to you the difference
there is between supporting and measuring."
"'Tis true," answered D'Artagnan: who said afterward to himself,
"I'faith, I greatly deceive myself, or I have been the means of a good
windfall to that rascal Moliere, and we shall assuredly see the scene
hit off to the life in some comedy or other." Porthos smiled.
"What are you laughing at?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Must I confess it? Well, I was laughing over my good fortune."
"Oh, that is true; I don't know a happier man than you. But what is this
last piece of luck that has befallen you?"
"Well, my dear fellow, congratulate me."
"I desire nothing better."
"It seems I am the first who has had his measure taken in that manner."
"Are you sure of it!"
"Nearly so. Certain signs of intelligence which passed between Voliere
and the other _garçons_ showed me the fact."
"Well, my friend, that does not surprise me from Moliere," said
D'Artagnan.
"Voliere, my friend."
"Oh, no, no, indeed; I am very willing to leave you to say Voliere; but
myself I shall continue to say Moliere. Well, this, I was saying, does
not surprise me, coming from Moliere, who is a very ingenious fellow,
and inspired you with this grand idea."
"It will be of great use to him by-and-by I am sure."
"Won't it be of use to him indeed! I believe you it will, and not a
little so; for you see my friend Moliere is of all known tailors the
man who best clothes our barons, comtes, and marquises--according to
their measure."
On this observation, neither the application nor depth of which shall we
discuss, D'Artagnan and Porthos quitted M. Percerin's house and rejoined
their carriage, wherein we will leave them, in order to look after
Moliere and Aramis at Saint-Mandé.