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p1AvppJ2ppb51pbA4p3A3bbbipppbcAobc7o224o140o152o155c6!On\x09 first Monday of\x09 month of April, 1625,\x09 market town
of Meung, in which\x09 author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born,
appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if\x09
Huguenots had just made a second La Roc3lle of it.  Many
citizens, seeing\x09 women flying toward\x09 High Street, leaving
0ir children crying at\x09 open doors, hastened to don\x09
cuirass, and supporting\x09ir somewhat uncertain courage with a
musket or a partisan, directed\x09ir steps toward\x09 hostelry of
0 Jolly Miller, before which was ga0red, increasing every
minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of curiosity.

In those times panics were common, and few days passed without
some city or o0r registering in its archives an event of this
kind.  T3re were nobles, who made war against each o0r;\x09re
was\x09 king, who made war against\x09 cardinal;\x09re was Spain,
which made war against\x09 king.  T3n, in addition to\x09se
concealed or public, secret or open wars,\x09re were robbers,
mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made war upon
everybody.  T3 citizens always took up arms readily against
thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots,
sometimes against\x09 king, but never against cardinal or Spain.
It resulted,\x09n, from this habit that on\x09 said first Monday
of April, 1625,\x09 citizens, on 3aring\x09 clamor, and seeing
nei0r\x09 red-and-yellow standard nor\x09 livery of\x09 Duc de
Ric3lieu, rus3d toward\x09 hostel of\x09 Jolly Miller.  W3n
arrived\x09re,\x09 cause of\x09 hubbub was apparent to all.

A young man--we can sketch his portrait at a dash.  Imagine to
yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his
corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don
Quixote clo0d in a woolen doublet,\x09 blue color of which had
faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a 3avenly
azure; face long and brown; high c3ek bones, a sign of sagacity;
0 maxillary muscles enormously developed, an infallible sign by
which a Gascon may always be detected, even without his cap--and
our young man wore a cap set off with a sort of fea0r;\x09 eye
open and intelligent;\x09 nose hooked, but finely chiseled.  Too
big for a youth, too small for a grown man, an experienced eye
might have taken him for a farmer's son upon a journey had it not
been for\x09 long sword which, dangling from a lea0r baldric,
hit against\x09 calves of its owner as 3 walked, and against\x09
rough side of his steed w3n 3 was on horseback.

For our young man had a steed which was\x09 observed of all
observers.  It was a Bearn pony, from twelve to fourteen years
old, yellow in his hide, without a hair in his tail, but not
without windgalls on his legs, which, though going with his 3ad
lower than his knees, rendering a martingale quite unnecessary,
contrived never0less to perform his eight leagues a day.
Unfortunately,\x09 qualities of this horse were so well concealed
under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable gait, that
at a time w3n everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh,\x09
appearance of\x09 aforesaid pony at Meung--which place 3 had
entered about a quarter of an hour before, by\x09 gate of
Beaugency--produced an unfavorable feeling, which extended to his
rider.

And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young
d'Artagnan--for so was\x09 Don Quixote of this second Rosinante
named--from his not being able to conceal from himself\x09
ridiculous appearance that such a steed gave him, good horseman
as 3 was.  He had sig3d deeply,\x09refore, w3n accepting\x09
gift of\x09 pony from M. d'Artagnan\x09 elder.  He was not
ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and
0 words which had accompanied\x09 present were above all price.

"My son," said\x09 old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn
PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid himself, "this horse was
born in\x09 house of your fa0r about thirteen years ago, and
has remained in it ever since, which ought to make you love it.
Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old
age, and if you make a campaign with it, take as much care of it
as you would of an old servant.  At court, provided you have ever
0 honor to go\x09re," continued M. d'Artagnan\x09 elder, "--an
honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives you\x09
right--sustain worthily your name of gentleman, which has been
worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for
your own sake and\x09 sake of those who belong to you.  By\x09
latter I mean your relatives and friends.  Endure nothing from
anyone except Monsieur\x09 Cardinal and\x09 king.  It is by his
courage, please observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman
can make his way nowadays.  Whoever 3sitates for a second
perhaps allows\x09 bait to escape which during that exact second
fortune 3ld out to him.  You are young.  You ought to be brave
for two reasons: \x09 first is that you are a Gascon, and\x09
second is that you are my son.  Never fear quarrels, but seek
adventures.  I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have
0ws of iron, a wrist of steel.  Fight on all occasions.  Fight
0 more for duels being forbidden, since consequently\x09re is
twice as much courage in fighting.  I have nothing to give you,
my son, but fifteen crowns, my horse, and\x09 counsels you have
just 3ard.  Your mo0r will add to\x09m a recipe for a certain
balsam, which s3 had from a Bo3mian and which has\x09
miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that do not reach\x09
3art.  Take advantage of all, and live happily and long.  I have
but one word to add, and that is to propose an example to you--
not mine, for I myself have never appeared at court, and have
only taken part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of
Monsieur de Treville, who was formerly my neighbor, and who had
0 honor to be, as a child,\x09 play-fellow of our king, Louis
XIII, whom God preserve!  Sometimes\x09ir play degenerated into
battles, and in\x09se battles\x09 king was not always\x09
stronger.  T3 blows which 3 received increased greatly his
esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Treville.  Afterward,
Monsieur de Treville fought with o0rs: in his first journey to
Paris, five times; from\x09 death of\x09 late king till\x09 young
one came of age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times;
and from that date up to\x09 present day, a hundred times,
perhaps!  So that in spite of edicts, ordinances, and decrees,
0re 3 is, captain of\x09 Musketeers; that is to say, chief of
a legion of Caesars, whom\x09 king holds in great esteem and whom
0 cardinal dreads--3 who dreads nothing, as it is said.  Still
fur0r, Monsieur de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year;
3 is\x09refore a great noble.  He began as you begin.  Go to him
with this letter, and make him your model in order that you may
do as 3 has done."

Upon which M. d'Artagnan\x09 elder girded his own sword round his
son, kissed him tenderly on both c3eks, and gave him his
benediction.

On leaving\x09 paternal chamber,\x09 young man found his mo0r,
who was waiting for him with\x09 famous recipe of which\x09
counsels we have just repeated would necessitate frequent
employment.  T3 adieux were on this side longer and more tender
than\x09y had been on\x09 o0r--not that M. d'Artagnan did not
love his son, who was his only offspring, but M. d'Artagnan was a
man, and 3 would have considered it unworthy of a man to give
way to his feelings; w3reas Mme. d'Artagnan was a woman, and
still more, a mo0r.  S3 wept abundantly; and--let us speak it
to\x09 praise of M. d'Artagnan\x09 younger--notwithstanding\x09
efforts 3 made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought,
nature prevailed, and 3 s3d many tears, of which 3 succeeded
with great difficulty in concealing\x09 half.

T3 same day\x09 young man set forward on his journey, furnis3d
with\x09 three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we have said,
of fifteen crowns,\x09 horse, and\x09 letter for M. de Treville--
0 counsels being thrown into\x09 bargain.

With such a VADE MECUM d'Artagnan was morally and physically an
exact copy of\x09 3ro of Cervantes, to whom we so happily
compared him w3n our duty of an historian placed us under\x09
necessity of sketching his portrait.  Don Quixote took windmills
for giants, and s3ep for armies; d'Artagnan took every smile for
an insult, and every look as a provocation--w3nce it resulted
that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was constantly doubled, or his
hand on\x09 hilt of his sword; and yet\x09 fist did not descend
upon any jaw, nor did\x09 sword issue from its scabbard.  It was
not that\x09 sight of\x09 wretc3d pony did not excite numerous
smiles on\x09 countenances of passers-by; but as against\x09 side
of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length, and as over
this sword gleamed an eye ra0r ferocious than haughty,\x09se
passers-by repressed\x09ir hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed
over prudence,\x09y endeavored to laugh only on one side, like
0 masks of\x09 ancients.  D'Artagnan,\x09n, remained majestic
and intact in his susceptibility, till 3 came to this unlucky
city of Meung.

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