"Dumas, Alexandre - The Three Musketeers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dumas Alexandre)

Monsieur de Treville fought with others: in his first journey to
Paris, five times; from the death of the late king till the young
one came of age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times;
and from that date up to the present day, a hundred times,
perhaps! So that in spite of edicts, ordinances, and decrees,
there he is, captain of the Musketeers; that is to say, chief of
a legion of Caesars, whom the king holds in great esteem and whom
the cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing, as it is said. Still
further, Monsieur de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year;
he is therefore 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 he has done."

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

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

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

With such a VADE MECUM d'Artagnan was morally and physically an
exact copy of the hero of Cervantes, to whom we so happily
compared him when our duty of an historian placed us under the
necessity of sketching his portrait. Don Quixote took windmills
for giants, and sheep for armies; d'Artagnan took every smile for
an insult, and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted
that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was constantly doubled, or his
hand on the hilt of his sword; and yet the fist did not descend
upon any jaw, nor did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was
not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite numerous
smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the side
of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length, and as over
this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty, these
passers-by repressed their hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed