Chapter 1: The Three Presents of D'Sparkle the Elder
On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Mane, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the pegasi flying toward the High Street, leaving their fillies crying at the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their somewhat uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was gathered, 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 other registering in its archives an event of this kind. There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the princess, who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain, which made war against the king. Then, in addition to these concealed or public, secret or open wars, there were robbers, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made war upon everypony. The citizens always took up arms readily against thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said first Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de Richelhoof, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When arrived there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.
A young mare--we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a Donkey Xote of eighteen; a Donkey Xote without his corselet, without a coat of mail, without a cuisses; a Donkey Xote clothed in a wooden doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly azure; face long and brown; high cheek bones, a sign of sagacity; the maxillary muscles enormously developed, an infallible sign by which a Gascon may always be detected, even without a cap--and our young mare wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye open and intelligent; the muzzle hooked, but finely chiseled. Too big for a youth, too small for a grown mare, an experienced eye might have taken her for a farmer's filly upon a journey had it not been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric, hit against the flanks of its owner as she trotted.
And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young d'Sparkle--for so was the Donkey Xote of this second Rosinante named--from his not being able to conceal from herself the ridiculous appearance that such a saddle gave her, good pony as she was. She had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift of the saddle from M. d'Sparkle the elder. She was not ignorant that such a trinket was worth at least twenty livres; and the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.
"My daughter," said the old Gascon gentlecolt, in that pure Bearn PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid himself, "At court, provided you have ever the honor to go there," continued M. d'Sparkle the elder, "--an honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives you the right--sustain worthily your name of gentlemare, which has been worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anypony except Monsieur the Cardinal and the princess. It is by her courage, please observe, by her courage alone, that a gentlepony can make their way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second fortune held out to them. You are young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the second is that you are my daughter. Never fear quarrels, but seek adventures. I have taught you how to use a sword; you have thews of iron, a hoof of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight the more for duels being forbidden, since consequently there is twice as much courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you, but fifteen crowns, a saddle, and the counsels you have just heard. Your dam will add to them a recipe for a certain balsam, which she had from a Baahemian and which has the miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that do not reach the heart. 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 Poneville, who was formerly my neigh-bor, and who had the honor to be, as a foal, the play-fellow of our princess, may she live forever! Sometimes their play degenerated into battles, and in these battles the princess was not always the stronger. The blows which she received increased greatly her esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Poneville. Afterward, Monsieur de Poneville fought with others: in his first journey to Canterlot, five times; 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 Musketmares; that is to say, chief of a legion of Caesars, whom the princess holds in great esteem and whom the cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing, as it is said. Still further, Monsieur de Poneville 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'Sparkle the elder girded his own sword round his daughter, kissed her tenderly on both cheeks, and gave her his benediction.
On leaving the paternal chamber, the young mare found her mother, who was waiting for her 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'Sparkle did not love his filly, who was his only offspring, but M. d'Sparkle was a colt, and he would have considered it unworthy of a colt to give way to his feelings; whereas Mme. d'Sparkle was a mare, and still more, a mother. She wept abundantly; and--let us speak it to the praise of M. d'Sparkle the younger--notwithstanding the efforts she made to remain firm, as a future Musketmare ought, nature prevailed, and she shed many tears, of which she succeeded with great difficulty in concealing the half.
The same day the young mare set forward on her journey, furnished with the three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we have said, of fifteen crowns, the saddle, and the letter for M. de Poneville-- the counsels being thrown into the bargain.
With such a VADE MECUM d'Sparkle was morally and physically an exact copy of the hero of Cervantes, to whom we so happily compared her when our duty of an historian placed us under the necessity of sketching her portrait. Donkey Xote took windmills for giants, and sheep for armies; d'Sparkle took every smile for an insult, and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted that from Tarbes to Mane her hoof was constantly doubled, or her hoof on the hilt of her sword; and yet the hoof did not descend upon any jaw, nor did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was not that the sight of the wretched saddle 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 over prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like the masks of the ancients. D'Sparkle, then, remained majestic and intact in her susceptibility, till she came to this unlucky city of Mane.
But there, as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the Jolly Miller, without anyone--host, waiter, or hostler--coming to hold his stirrup or clean her saddle, d'Sparkle spied, though an open window on the ground floor, a gentlemare, well-made and of good carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking with two ponies who appeared to listen to him with respect. d'Sparkle fancied quite naturally, according to her custom, that she must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This time d'Sparkle was only in part mistaken; she himself was not in question, but his saddle was. The gentleman appeared to be enumerating all her qualities to her auditors; and, as I have said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for the narrator, they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the young mare, the effect produced upon her by this vociferous mirth may be easily imagined.
Nevertheless, d'Sparkle was desirous of examining the appearance of this impertinent personage who ridiculed her. He fixed his haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a mare of roughly the same age, with blue and piercing eyes, pale blue coat, a strongly marked nose, and a light pale blue mane. She was dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet color, with aiguillettes of the same color, without any other ornaments than the customary slashes, through which the shirt appeared. This doublet and hose, though new, were creased, like traveling clothes for a long time packed in a portmanteau. d'Sparkle made all these remarks with the rapidity of a most minute observer, and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that this stranger was destined to have a great influence over her future life.
Now, as at the moment in which d'Sparkle fixed her eyes upon the gentlemare in the violet doublet, the gentlemare made one of her most knowing and profound remarks respecting the saddle, her two auditors laughed even louder than before, and she herself, though contrary to her custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may allowed to use such an expression) to stray over her countenance. This time there could be no doubt; d'Sparkle was really insulted. Full, then, of this conviction, she pulled his cap down over her horn, and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs she had picked up in Gascony among young traveling nobles, she advanced with one hoof on the hilt of her sword and the other resting on his hip. Unfortunately, as she advanced, her anger increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty speech she had prepared as a prelude to her challenge, she found nothing at the tip of her tongue but a gross personality, which she accompanied with a furious gesture.
"I say, you, who are hiding yourself behind that shutter--yes, you, tell me what you are laughing at, and we will laugh together!"
The gentlemare raised her eyes slowly from the nag to her cavalier, as if she required some time to ascertain whether it could be to her that such strange reproaches were addressed; then, when she could not possibly entertain any doubt of the matter, her eyebrows slightly bent, and with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to be described, she replied to d'Sparkle, "I was not speaking to you, sir."
"But I am speaking to you!" replied the young mare, additionally exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners, of politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at her again with a slight smile, and retiring from the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow trot, and placed herself before the saddle, within two paces of d'Sparkle. Her quiet manner and the ironical expression of her countenance redoubled the mirth of the ponies with whom she had been talking, and who still remained at the window.
D'Sparkle, seeing her approach, drew her sword a foot out of the scabbard, her horn ablaze with magic
"This saddle is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a buttercup," resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks he had begun, and addressing herself to her auditors at the window, without paying the least attention to the exasperation of d'Sparkle, who, however placed herself between her and them. "It is a color very well known in botany, but till the present time very rare among saddles."
"There are people who laugh at the saddle that would not dare to laugh at the wearer," cried the young emulator of the furious Poneville.
"I do not often laugh," replied the stranger, "as you may perceive by the expression of my countenance; but nevertheless I retain the privilege of laughing when I please."
"And I," cried d'Sparkle, "will allow no pony to laugh when it displeases me!"
"Indeed," continued the stranger, more calm than ever; "well, that is perfectly right!" and turning on her hoof, was about to re-enter the hostelry by the front gate, beneath which d'Sparkle on arriving had observed another saddle.
But, d'Sparkle was not of a character to allow a mare to escape her thus who had the insolence to ridicule her. She drew her sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed her, crying, "Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!"
"Strike me!" said the other, turning on her hooves, and surveying the young mare with as much astonishment as contempt. "Why, my good mare, you must be mad!" Then, in a suppressed tone, as if speaking to herself, "This is annoying," continued she. "What a godsend this would be for her Majesty, who is seeking everywhere for brave fellows to recruit for his Musketmares!"
She had scarcely finished, when d'Sparkle made such a furious lunge at him that if she had not sprung nimbly backward, it is probable she would have jested for the last time. The stranger, then perceiving that the matter went beyond raillery, drew her sword, saluted her adversary, and seriously placed herself on guard. But at the same moment, her two auditors, accompanied by the host, fell upon d'Sparkle with sticks, shovels and tongs. This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack that d'Sparkle's adversary, while the latter turned round to face this shower of blows, sheathed her sword with the same precision, and instead of an actor, which he had nearly been, became a spectator of the fight--a part in which she acquitted herself with her usual impassiveness, muttering, nevertheless, "A plague upon these Gascons! Place the saddle on this horse, and let her begone!"
"Not before I have killed you, poltroon!" cried d'Sparkle, making the best face possible, and never retreating one trot before her three assailants, who continued to shower blows upon her.
"Another gasconade!" murmured the gentlemare. "By my honor, these Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since she will have it so. When she is tired, she will perhaps tell us that she has had enough of it."
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do with; d'Sparkle was not the mare ever to cry for quarter. The fight was therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length d'Sparkle dropped her sword, which was broken in two pieces by the blow of a stick. Another blow full upon her forehead at the same moment brought her to the ground, covered with blood and almost fainting.
It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of action from all sides. The host, fearful of consequences, with the help of her servants carried the wounded mare into the kitchen, where some trifling attentions were bestowed upon her.
As to the gentlemare, she resumed her place at the window, and surveyed the crowd with a certain impatience, evidently annoyed by their remaining undispersed.
"Well, how is it with this madmare?" exclaimed she, turning round as the noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who came in to inquire if she was unhurt.
"Your excellency is safe and sound?" asked the host.
"Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to know what has become of our young mare."
"She is better," said the host, "she fainted quite away."
"Indeed!" said the gentlemare.
"But before she fainted, she collected all his strength to challenge you, and to defy you while challenging you."
"Why, this mare must be Discord in the flesh!" cried the stranger.
"Oh, no, your Excellency, she is not that devil," replied the host, with a grin of contempt; "for during her fainting we rummaged her valise and found nothing but a clean shirt and eleven crowns-- which however, did not prevent her saying, as she was fainting, that if such a thing had happened in Paris, you should have cause to repent of it at a later period."
"Then," said the stranger coolly, "she must be some princess in disguise."
"I have told you this, good mare," resumed the host, "in order that you may be on your guard."
"Did she name no one in her passion?"
"Yes; she struck her pocket and said, 'We shall see what Monsieur de Poneville will think of this insult offered to her protege.'"
"Monsieur de Poneville?" said the stranger, becoming attentive, "she put her hoof upon her saddlebag pocket while pronouncing the name of Monsieur de Poneville? Now, my dear host, while your young mare was insensible, you did not fail, I am quite sure, to ascertain what that pocket contained. What was there in it?"
"A letter addressed to Monsieur de Poneville, captain of the Musketmares."
"Indeed!"
"Exactly as I have the honor to tell your Excellency."
The host, who was not endowed with great perspicacity, did not observe the expression which her words had given to the physiognomy of the stranger. The latter rose from the front of the window, upon the sill of which she had leaned with herelbow, and knitted her brow like a horse disquieted.
"The devil!" murmured she, between her teeth. "Can Poneville have set this Gascon upon me? She is very young; but a sword thrust is a sword thrust, whatever be the age of she who gives it, and a youth is less to be suspected than an older man," and the stranger fell into a reverie which lasted some minutes. "A weak obstacle is sometimes sufficient to overthrow a great design.
"Host," said she, "could you not contrive to get rid of this frantic filly for me? In conscience, I cannot kill her; and yet," added she, with a coldly menacing expression, "she annoys me. Where is she?"
"In my wife's chamber, on the first flight, where they are dressing her wounds."
"Her things and his bag are with him? Has she taken off her doublet?"
"On the contrary, everything is in the kitchen. But if she annoys you, this young fool--"
"To be sure she does. She causes a disturbance in your hostelry, which respectable ponies cannot put up with. Go; make out my bill and notify my servant."
"What, ma'am, will you leave us so soon?"
"You know that very well, as I gave my order to saddle. Have they not obeyed me?"
"It is done; as your Excellency may have observed, your saddle is in the great gateway, ready for your departure."
"That is well; do as I have directed you, then."
"What the devil!" said the host to himself. "Can he be afraid of this filly?" But an imperious glance from the stranger stopped her short; she bowed humbly and retired.
"It is not necessary for Milady* to be seen by this fellow," continued the stranger. "She will soon pass; she is already late. I had better get on, and go and meet her. I should like, however, to know what this letter addressed to Poeville contains."
*We are well aware that this term, milady, is only properly used when followed by a family name. But we find it thus in the manuscript, and we do not choose to take upon ourselves to alter it.
And the stranger, muttering to herself, directed her steps toward the kitchen.
In the meantime, the host, who entertained no doubt that it was the presence of the young mare that drove the stranger from his hostelry, re-ascended to his wife's chamber, and found d'Sparkle just recovering his senses. Giving her to understand that the police would deal with her pretty severely for having sought a quarrel with a great lord--for the opinion of the host the stranger could be nothing less than a great lord--she insisted that notwithstanding her weakness d'Sparkle should get up and depart as quickly as possible. D'Sparkle, half stupefied, without her doublet, and with her mane bound up in a linen cloth, arose then, and urged by the host, began to descend the stairs; but on arriving at the kitchen, the first thing she saw was her antagonist talking calmly at the step of a heavy carriage, drawn by two large Norman ponies.
Her interlocutor, whose head appeared through the carriage window, was a griffin of a respectable age. We have already observed with what rapidity d'Sparkle seized the expression of a countenance. She perceived then, at a glance, that this griffon was young and beautiful; and her style of beauty struck her more forcibly from its being totally different from that of the southern countries in which d'Sparkle had hitherto resided. She was pale and fair, with long feather falling in profusion over her wings, had large, blue, languishing eyes, golden beak, and hands of alabaster. She was talking with great animation with the stranger.
"His Eminence, then, orders me--" said the lady.
"To return instantly to Trotland, and to inform him as soon as the duke leaves London."
"And as to my other instructions?" asked the fair traveler.
"They are contained in this box, which you will not open until you are on the other side of the Channel."
"Very well; and you--what will you do?"
"I--I return to Paris."
"What, without chastising this insolent foal?" asked the griffon.
The stranger was about to reply; but at the moment she opened her mouth, d'Artagnan, who had heard all, precipitated herself over the threshold of the door.
"This insolent foal chastises others," cried she; "and I hope that this time she whom she ought to chastise will not escape her as before."
"Will not escape her?" replied the stranger, knitting her brow.
"No; before a lady you would dare not fly, I presume?"
"Remember," said Milady, seeing the stranger lay her hand on her sword, "the least delay may ruin everything."
"You are right," cried the gentlemare; "begone then, on your part, and I will depart as quickly on mine." And bowing to the lady, sprang into his saddle, while her coachpony called to horses. The two interlocutors thus separated, taking opposite directions, at full gallop.
"Pay him!" cried the stranger to her servant, without checking the speed of her horse; and the man, after throwing two or three silver pieces at the foot of mine host, galloped after her master.
"Base coward! false gentlepony!" cried d'Sparkle, springing forward, in her turn, after the servant. But her wound had rendered her too weak to support such an exertion. Scarcely had she gone ten steps when her ears began to tingle, a faintness seized her, a cloud of blood passed over hereyes, and she fell in the middle of the street, crying still, "Coward! coward! coward!"
"She is a coward, indeed," grumbled the host, drawing near to d'Sparkle, and endeavoring by this little flattery to make up matters with the young mare, as the heron of the fable did with the snail she had despised the evening before.
"Yes, a base coward," murmured d'Sparkle; "but she--she was very beautiful."
"What she?" demanded the host.
"Milady," faltered d'Sparkle, and fainted a second time.
"Ah, it's all one," said the host; "I have lost two customers, but this one remains, of whom I am pretty certain for some days to come. There will be eleven crowns gained."
It is to be remembered that eleven crowns was just the sum that remained in d'Sparkle's purse.
The host had reckoned upon eleven days of confinement at a crown a day, but she had reckoned without his guest. On the following morning at five o'clock d'Sparkle arose, and descending to the kitchen without help, asked, among other ingredients the list of which has not come down to us, for some oil, some wine, and some rosemary, and with her mother's recipe in her hand composed a balsam, with which she anointed her numerous wounds, replacing her bandages herself, and positively refusing the assistance of any doctor, d'Sparkle walked about that same evening, and was almost cured by the morrow.
But when the time came to pay for her rosemary, this oil, and the wine, the only expense the master had incurred, as she had preserved a strict abstinence--d'Sparkle found nothing in her saddlebags but her little old velvet purse with the eleven crowns it contained; for as to the letter addressed to M. de Poneville, it had disappeared.
The young mare commenced her search for the letter with the greatest patience, turning out her pockets of all kinds over and over again, rummaging and rerummaging in her valise, and opening and reopening her purse; but when she found that she had come to the conviction that the letter was not to be found, she flew, for the third time, into such a rage as was near costing her a fresh consumption of wine, oil, and rosemary--for upon seeing this hot- headed youth become exasperated and threaten to destroy everything in the establishment if her letter were not found, the host seized a spit, her wife a broom handle, and the servants the same sticks they had used the day before.
"My letter of recommendation!" cried d'Sparkle, "my letter of recommendation! or, the holy blood, I will spit you all like ortolans!"
Unfortunately, there was one circumstance which created a powerful obstacle to the accomplishment of this threat; which was, as we have related, that her sword had been in his first conflict broken in two, and which she had entirely forgotten. Hence, it resulted when d'Sparkle proceeded to draw her sword in earnest, she found himself purely and simply armed with a stump of a sword about eight or ten inches in length, which the host had carefully placed in the scabbard. As to the rest of the blade, the master had slyly put that on one side to make himself a larding pin.
But this deception would probably not have stopped our fiery young mare if the host had not reflected that the reclamation which her guest made was perfectly just.
"But, after all," said he, lowering the point of his spit, "where is this letter?"
"Yes, where is this letter?" cried d'Sparkle. "In the first place, I warn you that that letter is for Monsieur de Poneville, and it must be found, she will know how to find it."
Her threat completed the intimidation of the host. After the Princess and the cardinal, M. de Poneville was the colt whose name was perhaps most frequently repeated by the military, and even by citizens. There was, to be sure, Father Joseph, but his name was never pronounced but with a subdued voice, such was the terror inspired by his Gray Eminence, as the cardinal's familiar was called.
Throwing down his spit, and ordering his wife to do the same with her broom handle, and the servants with their sticks, he set the first example of commencing an earnest search for the lost letter.
"Does the letter contain anything valuable?" demanded the host, after a few minutes of useless investigation.
"Zounds! I think it does indeed!" cried the Gascon, who reckoned upon this letter for making her way at court. "It contained my fortune!"
"Bills upon Spain?" asked the disturbed host.
"Bills upon her Majesty's private treasury," answered d'Sparkle, who, reckoning upon entering into the Princess's service in consequence of this recommendation, believed he could make this somewhat hazardous reply without telling of a falsehood.
"The devil!" cried the host, at his wit's end.
"But it's of no importance," continued d'Sparkle, with natural assurance; "it's of no importance. The money is nothing; that letter was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand pistoles than have lost it." She would not have risked more if she had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty restrained her.
A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as he was giving himself to the devil upon finding nothing.
"That letter is not lost!" cried he.
"What!" cried d'Sparkle.
"No, it has been stolen from you."
"Stolen? By whom?"
"By the gentlemare who was here yesterday. She came down into the kitchen, where your doublet was. She remained there some time alone. I would lay a wager she has stolen it."
"Do you think so?" answered d'Sparkle, but little convinced, as she knew better than anyone else how entirely personal the value of this letter was, and was nothing in it likely to tempt cupidity. The fact was that none of her servants, none of the travelers present, could have gained anything by being possessed of this paper.
"Do you say," resumed d'Sparkle, "that you suspect that impertinent gentlemare?"
"I tell you I am sure of it," continued the host. "When I informed her that your lordship was the protege of Monsieur de Poneville, and that you even had a letter for that illustrious gentlecolt, she appeared to be very much disturbed, and asked me where that letter was, and immediately came down into the kitchen, where she knew your doublet was."
"Then that's my thief," replied d'Sparkle. "I will complain to Monsieur de Poneville, and Monsieur de Poneville will complain to the Princess." She then drew two crowns majestically from her saddlebag and gave them to the host, who accompanied him, cap in hoof, to the gate, and put on her saddle, which bore her without any further accident to the gate of St. Antoine at Paris, where its owner sold it for three crowns, which was a very good price, considering that d'Sparkle had worn it hard during the last stage. Thus the dealer to whom d'Sparkle sold it for the nine livres did not conceal from the young mare that he only gave that enormous sum for him on the account of the originality of its color.
Thus d'Sparkle entered Canterlot on hoof, carrying her little packet in her saddlebags, and walked about till she found an apartment to be let on terms suited to the scantiness of her means. This chamber was a sort of garret, situated in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, near the Luxembourg.
As soon as the earnest money was paid, d'Sparkle took possession of her lodging, and passed the remainder of the day in sewing onto her doublet and hose some ornamental braiding which her mother had taken off an almost-new doublet of the elder M. d'Sparkle, and which she had given her son secretly. Next she went to the Quai de Feraille to have a new blade put to her sword, and then returned toward the Louvre, inquiring of the first Musketmare she met for the situation of the hotel of M. de Poneville, which proved to be in the Rue du Vieux-Coltombier; that is to say, in the immediate vicinity of the chamber hired by d'Sparkle--a circumstance which appeared to furnish a happy augury for the success of her journey.
After this, satisfied with the way in which she had conducted herself at Mane, without remorse for the past, confident in the present, and full of hope for the future, she retired to bed and slept the sleep of the brave.
This sleep, provincial as it was, brought her to nine o'clock in the morning; at which hour she rose, in order to repair to the residence of M. de Poneville, the third personage in the kingdom, in the paternal estimation. _
Chapter 2: The Antestable of M. de Poneville
_ M. de Ponyville, as his family was still called in Gascony, or M. de Poneville, as he has ended by styling himself in Canterlot, had really commenced life as d'Sparkle now did; that is to say, without a bit in their saddlebags, but with a fund of audacity, shrewdness, and intelligence which makes the poorest Gascon gentlepony often derive more in hope from the paternal inheritance than the richest Perigordian or Berrichan gentlepony derives in reality from theirs. His insolent bravery, his still more insolent success at a time when blows poured down like hail, had borne him to the top of that difficult ladder called Court Favor, which he had climbed four steps at a time.
He was the friend of the Princess, who , as everypony knows, has a memory as long as Equestria, honored highly the service of M. de Poneville's father. The father of M. de Poneville had served her so faithfully in her wars against the league that in default of bits--a thing to which the Bearnais was accustomed all his life, and who constantly paid his debts with that of which he never stood in need of borrowing, that is to say, with ready wit--in default of bits, we repeat, he authorized him, after the reduction of Canterlot, to assume for his family crest a golden lion passant upon gules, with the motto FIDELIS ET FORTIS. This was a great matter in the way of honor, but very little in the way of wealth; so that when the illustrious companion of the Princess died, the only inheritance he was able to leave his son was his sword and his motto. Thanks to this double gift and the spotless name that accompanied it, M. de Poneville was admitted into the household of the princess where he made such good use of his sword, and was so faithful to his motto, that Celestia, one of the good blades of her kingdom, was accustomed to say that if he had a friend who was about to fight, he would advise him to choose as a second, herself first, and Poneville next--or even, perhaps, before herself.
Thus Celestia had a real liking for Poneville--a royal liking, a self-interested liking, it is true, but still a liking. At that unhappy period it was an important consideration to be surrounded by such ponies as Poneville. Many might take for their device the epithet STRONG, which formed the second part of his motto, but very few gentlecolts could lay claim to the FAITHFUL, which constituted the first. Poneville was one of these latter. His was one of those rare organizations, endowed with an obedient intelligence like that of the dog; with a blind valor, a quick eye, and a prompt hand; to whom sight appeared only to be given to see if the king were dissatisfied with anyone, and the hoof to strike this displeasing personage, whether a Besme, a Maurevers, a Poltiot de Mare, or a Vitry. In short, up to this period nothing had been wanting to Poneville but opportunity; but he was ever on the watch for it, and he faithfully promised himself that he would not fail to seize it by its three hairs whenever it came within reach of his hand. At last Celestia made Poneville the captain of her Musketmares, who were to Celestia in devotedness, or rather in fanaticism, what her Ordinaries had been to her in previous centuries, and the Lunar Guard to her sister long ago.
On his part, the cardinal was not behind the Princess in this respect. When he saw the formidable and chosen body with which Celestia had surrounded herself, this second, or rather this first monarch of Equestria, became desirous that he, too, should have his guard. He had his Musketmares therefore, as Celestia had hers, and these two powerful rivals vied with each other in procuring, not only from all the provinces of Equestria, but even from all foreign states, the most celebrated swordsponies. It was not uncommon for Richelhoof and Celestia to dispute over their evening game of chess upon the merits of their servants. Each boasted the bearing and the courage of their own ponies. While exclaiming loudly against duels and brawls, they excited them secretly to quarrel, deriving an immoderate satisfaction or genuine regret from the success or defeat of their own combatants. We learn this from the memoirs of a mare who was concerned in some few of these defeats and in many of these victories.
Poneville had grasped the weak side of his master; and it was to this address that he owed the long and constant favor of a princess who has not left the reputation behind him of being very faithful in her friendships. He paraded his Musketeers before the Cardinal Armane Duponies with an insolent air which made the gray moustache of his Eminence curl with ire. Poneville understood admirably the war method of that period, in which he who could not live at the expense of the enemy must live at the expense of his compatriots. His soldiers formed a legion of devil-may-care fellows, perfectly undisciplined toward all but himself.
Loose, half-drunk, imposing, the Princess' Musketmares, or rather M. de Poneville's, spread themselves about in the cabarets, in the public walks, and the public sports, shouting, twisting their manes, clanking their swords, and taking great pleasure in annoying the Guards of the cardinal whenever they could fall in with them; then drawing in the open streets, as if it were the best of all possible sports; sometimes killed, but sure in that case to be both wept and avenged; often killing others, but then certain of not rotting in prison, M. de Poneville being there to claim them. Thus M. de Poneville was praised to the highest note by these men, who adored him, and who, ruffians as they were, trembled before him like scholars before their master, obedient to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wash out the smallest insult.
M. de Poneville employed this powerful weapon for the princess, in the first place, and the friends of the princess--and then for himself and his own friends. For the rest, in the memoirs of this period, which has left so many memoirs, one does not find this worthy gentlecolt blamed even by his enemies; and he had many such among ponies of the pen as well as among ponies of the sword. In no instance, let us say, was this worthy gentlecolt accused of deriving personal advantage from the cooperation of his minions. Endowed with a rare genius for intrigue which rendered him the equal of the ablest intriguers, he remained an honest colt. Still further, in spite of sword thrusts which weaken, and painful exercises which fatigue, he had become one of the most gallant frequenters of revels, one of the most insinuating lady's men, one of the softest whisperers of interesting nothings of his day; the BONNES FORTUNES of de Poneville were talked of as those of M. de Blossompier had been talked of twenty years before, and that was not saying a little. The captain of the Musketmares was therefore admired, feared, and loved; and this constitutes the zenith of human fortune.
Celestia absorbed all the smaller stars of his court in his own vast radiance; earlier she had been a sun PLURIBUS IMPAR, and left her personal splendor to each of her favorites, her individual value to each of her courtiers. In addition to the leeves of the princess and the cardinal, there might be reckoned in Canterlot at that time more than two hundred smaller but still noteworthy leeves. Among these two hundred leeves, that of Poneville was one of the most sought.
The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Coltombier, resembled a camp from by six o'clock in the morning in summer and eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty Musketmares, who appeared to replace one another in order always to present an imposing number, paraded constantly, armed to the teeth and ready for anything. On one of those immense staircases, upon whose space modern civilization would build a whole house, ascended and descended the office seekers of Canterlot, who ran after any sort of favor--gentleponies from the provinces anxious to be enrolled, and servants in all sorts of liveries, bringing and carrying messages between their masters and M. de Poneville. In the antestable, upon long circular benches, reposed the elect; that is to say, those who were called. In this apartment a continued buzzing prevailed from morning till night, while M. de Poneville, in his office contiguous to this antestable, received visits, listened to complaints, gave his orders, and like the princess in her balcony at the Louvre, had only to place himself at the window to review both his ponies and weapons.
The day on which d'Sparkle presented herself the assemblage was imposing, particularly for a provincial just arriving from his province. It is true that this provincial was a Gascon; and that, particularly at this period, the compatriots of d'Sparkle had the reputation of not being easily intimidated. When he had once passed the massive door covered with long square-headed nails, he fell into the midst of a troop of swordsponies, who crossed one another in their passage, calling out, quarreling, and playing tricks one with another. In order to make one's way amid these turbulent and conflicting waves, it was necessary to be an officer, a great noble, or a pretty pony.
It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our young mare advanced with a beating heat, ranging her long rapier up her lanky leg, and keeping one hoof on the edge of her cap, with that half-smile of the embarrassed a provincial who wishes to put on a good face. When she had passed one group she began to breathe more freely; but she could not help observing that they turned round to look at her, and for the first time in her life d'Sparkle, who had till that day entertained a very good opinion of herself, felt ridiculous.
Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four Musketmares on the bottom steps, amusing themselves with the following exercise, while ten or twelve of their comrades waited upon the landing place to take their turn in the sport.
One of them, stationed upon the top stair, naked sword in hoof, prevented, or at least endeavored to prevent, the three others from ascending.
These three others fenced against her with their agile swords.
D'Sparkle at first took these weapons for foils, and believed them to be buttoned; but she soon perceived by certain scratches that every weapon was pointed and sharpened, and that at each of these scratches not only the spectators, but even the actors themselves, laughed like so many madponies.
She who at the moment occupied the upper step kept her adversaries marvelously in check. A circle was formed around them. The conditions required that at every hit the mare touched should quit the game, yielding her turn for the benefit of the adversary who had hit them. In five minutes three were slightly wounded, one on the hoof, another on the ear, by the defender of the stair, who herself remained intact--a piece of skill which was worth to her, according to the rules agreed upon, three turns of favor.
However difficult it might be, or rather as she pretended it was, to astonish our young traveler, this pastime really astonished her. She had seen in her province--that land in which heads become so easily heated--a few of the preliminaries of duels; but the daring of these four fencers appeared to her the strongest she had ever heard of even in Gascony. She believed herself transported into that famous country of giants into which Coltiver afterward went and was so frightened; and yet she had not gained the goal, for there were still the landing place and the antestable.
On the landing they were no longer fighting, but amused themselves with stories about loves, and in the antestable, with stories about the court. On the landing d'Sparkle blushed; in the antestable he trembled. Her warm and fickle imagination, which in Gascony had rendered formidable to young chamberponies, and even at times their lords, sometimes even thei mistresses, had never dreamed, even in moments of delirium, of half the amorous wonders or a quarter of the feats of gallantry which were here set forth in connection with names the best known and with details the least concealed. But if her morals were shocked on the landing, her respect for the cardinal was scandalized in the antestable. There, to her great astonishment, d'Sparkle heard the policy which made all Equestria tremble criticized aloud and openly, as well as the private life of the cardinal, which so many great nobles had been punished for trying to pry into. That great colt who was so revered by d'Sparkle the elder served as an object of ridicule to the Musketmares of Poneville, who cracked their jokes upon his bandy hooves and his crooked back. Some sang ballads about Mme. d'Aguillon, his mistress, and Mme. Cambalet, his niece; while others formed parties and plans to annoy the pages and guards of the cardinal duke--all things which appeared to d'Sparkle monstrous impossibilities.
Nevertheless, when the name of the Princess was now and then uttered unthinkingly amid all these cardinal jests, a sort of gag seemed to close for a moment on all these jeering mouths. They looked hesitatingly around them, and appeared to doubt the thickness of the partition between them and the office of M. de Poneville; but a fresh allusion soon brought back the conversation to his Eminence, and then the laughter recovered its loudness and the light was not withheld from any of his actions.
"Certes, these fellows will all either be imprisoned or hanged," thought the terrified d'Sparkle, "and I, no doubt, with them; for from the moment I have either listened to or heard them, I shall be held as an accomplice. What would my good father say, who so strongly pointed out to me the respect due to the cardinal, if he knew I was in the society of such pagans?"
We have no need, therefore, to say that d'Sparkle dared not join in the conversation, only she looked with all her eyes and listened with all her ears, stretching her five senses so as to lose nothing; and despite her confidence on the paternal admonitions, she felt herself carried by her tastes and led by her instincts to praise rather than to blame the unheard-of things which were taking place.
Although she was a perfect stranger in the court of M. de Poneville's courtiers, and this her first appearance in that place, she was at length noticed, and somepony came and asked her what she wanted. At this demand d'Sparkle gave her name very modestly, emphasized the title of compatriot, and begged the servant who had put the question to her to request a moment's audience of M. de Poneville--a request which the other, with an air of protection, promised to transmit in due season.
D'Sparkle, a little recovered from her first surprise, had now leisure to study costumes and physiognomy.
The center of the most animated group was a Musketmare of great height and haughty countenance, dressed in a costume so peculiar as to attract general attention. She did not wear the uniform cloak--which was not obligatory at that epoch of less liberty but more independence--but a cerulean-blue doublet, a little faded and worn, and over this a magnificent baldric, worked in gold, which shone like water ripples in the sun. A long cloak of crimson velvet fell in graceful folds from her shoulders, disclosing in front the splendid baldric, from which was suspended a gigantic rapier. This Musketmare had just come off guard, complained of having a cold, and coughed from time to time affectedly. It was for this reason, as she said to those around him, that he had put on his cloak; and while she spoke with a lofty air, all admired her apple-embroidered baldric, and d'Sparkle more than anypony.
"What would you have?" said the Musketmare. "This fashion is coming in. It is a folly, I admit, but still it is the fashion. Besides, one must lay out one's inheritance somehow."
"Ah, Applejack!" cried one of his companions, "don't try to make us believe you obtained that baldric by paternal generosity. It was given to you by that veiled mare I met you with the other Sunday, near the gate St. Honor."
"No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentlemare, I bought it with the contents of my own purse," answered he whom they designated by the name Applejack.
"Yes; about in the same manner," said another Musketeer, "that I bought this new purse with what my mistress put into the old one."
"It's true, though," said Applejack; "and the proof is that I paid twelve bits for it."
The wonder was increased, though the doubt continued to exist.
"Is it not true, Pinkie?" said Porthos, turning toward another Musketmare.
This other Musketmare formed a perfect contrast to his interrogator, who had just designated him by the name of Pinkie. She was a stout mare, with an open, ingenuous countenance, a pink cotton candy-like mane, a perpetual smile, and cheeks rosy and downy as an autumn peach. She appeared to dread to lower her hooves lest their veins should swell, and she pinched the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their delicate pink transparency. Habitually she spoke little and slowly, bowed frequently, laughed heartily, showing her teeth, which were fine and of which, as the rest of her pony, she appeared to take great care. She answered the appeal of her friend by an affirmative nod of the head.
This affirmation appeared to dispel all doubts with regard to the baldric. They continued to admire it, but said no more about it; and with a rapid change of thought, the conversation passed suddenly to another subject.
"What do you think of the story Chalais's esquire relates?" asked another Musketmare, without addressing anyone in particular, but on the contrary speaking to everybody.
"And what does she say?" asked Applejack, in a self-sufficient tone.
"He relates that he met at Brussels Rochehoof, the AME DAMNEE of the cardinal disguised as a Capuchin, and that this cursed Rochehoof, thanks to her disguise, had tricked Monsieur de Laigues, like a ninny as he is."
"A ninny, indeed!" said Applejack; "but is the matter certain?"
"I had it from Pinkie," replied the Musketmare.
"Indeed?"
"Well, Gosh , Applejack, you knew it too" said Aramis. "I told you yesterday. Let's say no more about it."
"Say no more about it? That's YOUR opinion!" replied Applejack.
"Say no more about it! PESTE! You come to your conclusions quickly. What! The cardinal sets a spy upon a gentlecolt, has his letters stolen from him by means of a traitor, a brigand, a rascal-has, with the help of this spy and thanks to this correspondence, Filais's throat cut, under the stupid pretext that she wanted to kill the Princess and marry one of her nephews! Nobody knew a word of this enigma. You unraveled it yesterday to the great satisfaction of all; and while we are still gaping with wonder at the news, you come and tell us today, "Let us say no more about it.'"
"Well, then, let us talk about it, since you desire it," replied Pinkie, patiently.
"This Rochehoof," cried Porthos, "if I were the esquire of poor Chalais, should pass a minute or two very uncomfortably with me."
"And you--you would pass rather a sad quarter-hour with the Red Duke," replied Pinkie.
"Oh, the Red Duke! Bravo! Bravo! The Red Duke!" cried Applejack, clapping her hooves and nodding his head. "The Red Duke is capital. I'll circulate that saying, be assured, my dear fellow. Who says this Aramis is not a wit? What a misfortune it is you did not follow your first vocation; what a delicious abbess you would have made!"
"Oh, it's only a temporary postponement," replied Pinkie; "I shall be one someday. You very well know, Applejack, that I continue to study theology for that purpose."
"She will be one, as she says," cried Applejack; "she will be one, sooner or later."
"Sooner." said Pinkie.
"She only waits for one thing to determine her to resume her cassock, which hangs behind her uniform," said another Musketmare.
"What is she waiting for?" asked another.
"Only till the Princess has given an heir to the crown of Equestria."
"No jesting upon that subject, gentlemen," said Appljack; "thank Celestia the princess is still of an age to give one!"
"They say that Monsieur de Buckingham is in Equestria," replied Pinkie, with a significant smile which gave to this sentence, apparently so simple, a tolerably scandalous meaning.
"Pinkie, my good friend, this time you are wrong," interrupted Applejack. "Your wit is always leading you beyond walls; if Monsieur de Poneville heard you, you would repent of speaking thus."
"Are you going to give me a lesson, Applejack?" cried Aramis, from whose usually mild eye a flash passed like lightning.
"My dear fellow, be a Musketmare or an abbess. Be one or the other, but not both," replied Applejack. "You know what Dash told you the other day; you eat at everypony's mess. Ah, don't be angry, I beg of you, that would be useless; you know what is agreed upon between you, Dash and me. You go to Madame d'Aguillon's, and you pay your court to her; you go to Madame de Bois-Tracy's, the cousin of Madame de Chevreuse, and you pass for being far advanced in the good graces of that lady. Oh, sweet Celestia! Don't trouble yourself to reveal your good luck; no one asks for your secret-all the world knows your discretion. But since you possess that virtue, why by discord don't you make use of it with respect to her Majesty? Let whoever likes talk of the princess and the cardinal, and how she likes; but remember that the princess is sacred, and if anyone speaks of her, let it be with a touch of respect."
"Applejack, you are as vain as Narcissus; I plainly tell you so," replied Pinkie. "You know I hate moralizing, except when it is done by Dash. As to you, good ma'am, you wear too magnificent a baldric to be strong on that head. I will be an abbess if it suits me. In the meanwhile I am a Musketmare; in that quality I say what I please, and at this moment it pleases me to say that you weary me."
"Pinkie!"
"Applejack!"
"Gentlemares! Gentlemares!" cried the surrounding group.
"Monsieur de Poneville awaits Monsieur d'Sparkle," cried a servant, throwing open the door of the cabinet.
At this announcement, during which the door remained open, everypony became mute, and amid the general silence the young mare crossed part of the length of the antestable, and entered the apartment of the captain of the Musketmares, congratulating herself with all her heart at having so narrowly escaped the end of this strange quarrel. _
