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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 609 at Prostate Health
is about it!--"
"Ah, true, double rascal that I am! Loret was indeed right in saying I
was a poor creature."
"It was not Loret who said so, my friend."
"Well, then, whoever said so, tis the same to me! And so your
_divertissement_ is called the Facheux? Well, can you not make
_heureux_ rhyme with _fácheux_?"
"If obliged, yes."
"And even with _capricieux_."
"Oh, no, no."
"It would be hazardous, and yet why so?"
"There is too great a difference in the cadences."
"I was fancying," said La Fontaine, leaving Moliere for Loret--"I was
fancying--"
"What were you fancying?" said Loret, in the middle of a sentence. "Make
haste."
"You are writing the prologue to the Facheux, are you not?"
"No! mordieu! it is Pellisson."
"Ah, Pellisson!" cried La Fontaine, going over to him. "I was fancying,"
he continued, "that the nymph of Vaux--"
"Ah, beautiful!" cried Loret. "The nymph of Vaux! thank you, La
Fontaine; you have just given me the two concluding verses of my paper."
"Well, if you can rhyme so well, La Fontaine," said Pellisson, "tell me
now in what way you would begin my prologue?"
"I should say, for instance, Oh! nymph, who-- After who I should
place a verb in the second person singular of the present indicative;
and should go on thus: this grot profound."
"But the verb, the verb?" asked Pellisson.
"To admire the greatest king of all kings round," continued La Fontaine.
"But the verb, the verb," obstinately insisted Pellisson. "This second
person singular of the present indicative?"
"Well then; quittest:--
"O, nymph, who quittest now this grot profound,
To admire the greatest king of all kings round."
"You would put who quittest, would you?"
"Why not?"
"Gentlest after you who?"
"Ah! my dear fellow," exclaimed La Fontaine, "you are a shocking
pedant!"
"Without counting," said Moliere, "that the second verse, king of all
kings round, is very weak, my dear La Fontaine."
"Then you see clearly I am nothing but a poor creature--a shuffler, as
you said."
"I never said so."
"Then, as Loret said."
"And it was not Loret neither; it was Pellisson."
"Well, Pellisson was right a hundred times over. But what annoys me more
than anything, my dear Moliere, is, that I fear we shall not have our
Epicurean dresses."
"You expected yours, then, for the fete?"
"Yes, for the fete, and then for after the fete. My housekeeper told me
that my own is rather faded."
"_Diable!_ Your housekeeper is right; rather more than faded!"
"Ah, you see," resumed La Fontaine, "the fact is, I left it on the floor
in my room, and my cat--"
"Well; your cat--"
"She kittened upon it, which has rather altered its color."
Moliere burst out laughing; Pellisson and Loret followed his example. At
this juncture, the bishop of Vannes appeared, with a roll of plans and
parchments under his arm. As if the angel of death had chilled all gay
and sprightly fancies--as if that wan form had scared away the Graces to
whom Xenocrates sacrificed--silence immediately reigned through the
study, and every one resumed his self-possession and his pen. Aramis
distributed the notes of invitation, and thanked them in the name of M.
Fouquet. "The surintendant," he said, "being kept to his room by
business, could not come and see them, but begged them to send him some
of the fruits of their days work, to enable him to forget the fatigue
of his labor in the night."
At these words, all settled to work. La Fontaine placed himself at a
table, and set his rapid pen running over the vellum; Pellisson made a
fair copy of his prologue; Moliere gave fifty fresh verses, with which
his visit to Percerin had inspired him; Loret, his article on the
marvelous fetes he predicted; and Aramis, laden with booty like the king
of the bees, that great black drone, decked with purple and gold,
re-entered his apartment, silent and busy. But before departing,
"Remember, gentlemen," said he, "we all leave to-morrow evening."
"In that case, I must give notice at home," said Moliere.
"Yes; poor Moliere!" said Loret, smiling; "he loves his home."
"_He_ loves, yes," replied Moliere, with his sad, sweet smile. "He
loves, that does not mean, they love _him_."
"As for me," said La Fontaine, "they love me at Chateau Thierry, I am
very sure."
Aramis here re-entered after a brief disappearance. "Will any one go
with me?" he asked. "I am going by Paris, after having passed a quarter
of an hour with M. Fouquet. I offer my carriage."
"Good," said Moliere, "I accept it. I am in a hurry."
"I shall dine here," said Loret. "M.
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