It was that doublet, issuing from M. Percerin’s workshop, which the Parisians rejoiced in hacking into so many pieces with the human flesh it covered. Notwithstanding the favor Concino Concini had shown Percerin, the King Louis XIII had the generosity to bear no malice to his tailor and to retain him in his service. At the time when Louis the Just afforded this great example of equity, Percerin had brought up two sons, one of whom made his debut at the marriage of Anne of Austria, invented that admirable Spanish costume in which Richelieu danced a saraband, made the costumes for the tragedy of “Mirame,” and stitched on to Buckingham’s mantle those famous pearls which were destined to be scattered on the floors of the Louvre. A man becomes easily illustrious who has made the dresses of M. de Buckingham, M. de Cinq-Mars, Mademoiselle Ninon, M. de Beaufort, and Marion de Lorme. And thus Percerin III had attained the summit of his glory when his father died.
This same Percerin III, old, famous, and wealthy, yet further dressed Louis XIV; and having no son, which was a great cause of sorrow to him, seeing that with himself his dynasty would end, he had brought up several hopeful pupils. He possessed a carriage, a country-house, lackeys the tallest in Paris; and by special authority from Louis XIV, a pack of hounds. He worked for Messieurs de Lyonne and Letellier, under a sort of patronage; but, politic man as he was, and versed in State secrets, he never succeeded in fitting M. Colbert. This is beyond explanation; it is a matter for intuition. Great geniuses of every kind live upon unseen, intangible ideas; they act without themselves knowing why. The great Percerin (for, contrary to the rule of dynasties, it was, above all, the last of the Percerins who deserved the name of Great),- the great Percerin was inspired when he cut a robe for the Queen or a coat for the King; he could invent a mantle for Monsieur, a clock for Madame’s stocking; but in spite of his supreme genius, he could never hit the measure of M. Colbert. “That man,” he used often to say, “is beyond my art; my needle never can hit him off.” We need scarcely say that Percerin was M. Fouquet’s tailor, and that the superintendent highly esteemed him.
M. Percerin was nearly eighty years old,- nevertheless, still fresh, and at the same time so dry, the courtiers used to say, that he was positively brittle. His renown and his fortune were great enough for Monsieur the Prince, that king of fops, to take his arm when talking over the fashions; and for those least eager to pay never to dare to leave their accounts in arrear with him,- for M. Percerin would for the first time make clothes upon credit, but the second never, unless paid for the former order.
It is easy to see that a tailor of such standing, instead of running after customers, would make difficulties about receiving new ones. And so Percerin declined to fit bourgeois, or those who had but recently obtained patents of nobility. It was stated, even, that M. de Mazarin, in return for a full suit of ceremonial vestments as cardinal, one fine day slipped letters of nobility into his pocket.
Percerin was endowed with intelligence and wit. He might be called very lively. At eighty years of age he still took with a steady hand the measure of women’s waists.
It was to the house of this great lord of tailors that d’Artagnan took the despairing Porthos; who, as they were going along, said to his friend: “Take care, my good d’Artagnan, not to compromise the dignity of a man such as I am with the arrogance of this Percerin, who will, I expect, be very impertinent; for I give you notice, my friend, that if he is wanting in respect to me I will chastise him.”
“Presented by me,” replied d’Artagnan, “you have nothing to fear, even though you were- what you are not.”
“Ah! ’tis because-”
“What! Have you anything against Percerin, Porthos?”
“I think that I once sent Mouston to a fellow of that name.”
“The fellow refused to supply me.”
“Oh, a misunderstanding, no doubt, which ’tis pressing to set right! Mouston must have made a mistake.”
“He has confused the names.”
“Possibly. That rascal Mouston never can remember names.”
“I will take it all upon myself.”
“Stop the carriage, Porthos; here we are!”
“Here! how here? We are at the Halles; and you told me the house was at the corner of the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec.”
“’Tis true; but look!”
“Well, I do look, and I see-”
“Pardieu! that we are at the Halles!”
“You do not, I suppose, want our horses to clamber up on the top of the carriage in front of us?”
“Nor the carriage in front of us to mount on the one in front of it?”
“Nor that the second should be driven over the roofs of the thirty or forty others which have arrived before us?”
“No; you are right, indeed. What a number of people! And what are they all about?”
“’Tis very simple,- they are waiting their turn.”
“Bah! Have the comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne shifted their quarters?”
“No; their turn to obtain an entrance to M. Percerin’s house.”
“And we are going to wait too?”
“Oh, we shall show ourselves more ready and less proud than they!”
What are we to do, then?”
“Get down, pass through the footmen and lackeys, and enter the tailor’s house, which I will answer for our doing, especially if you go first.”
“Come, then,” said Porthos.
They both alighted, and made their way on foot towards the establishment. The cause of the confusion was that M. Percerin’s doors were closed, while a servant standing before them was explaining to the illustrious customers of the illustrious tailor that just then M. Percerin could not receive anybody. It was bruited about outside still, on the authority of what the great lackey had said confidentially to some great noble whom he favored, that M. Percerin was engaged upon five dresses for the King, and that, owing to the urgency of the case, he was meditating in his office on the ornaments, colors, and cut of these five suits. Some, contented with this reason, went away again, happy to repeat it to others; but others, more tenacious, insisted on having the doors opened,- and among these last, three Blue Ribbons, intended to take part in a ballet which would inevitably fail unless the said three had their costumes shaped by the very hand of the great Percerin himself.
D’Artagnan, pushing on Porthos, who scattered the groups of people right and left, succeeded in gaining the counter behind which the journeymen tailors were doing their best to answer questions. We forgot to mention that at the door they wanted to put off Porthos, like the rest; but d’Artagnan, showing himself, pronounced merely these words, “The King’s order,” and was let in with his friend. Those poor devils had enough to do, and did their best, to reply to the demands of the customers in the absence of their master, leaving off drawing a stitch to turn a sentence; and when wounded pride or disappointed expectation brought down upon them too cutting rebukes, he who was attacked made a dive and disappeared under the counter.
The line of discontented lords formed a picture full of curious details. Our captain of Musketeers, a man of sure and rapid observation, took it all in at a glance; but having run over the groups, his eye rested on a man in front of him. This man, seated upon a stool, scarcely showed his head above the counter which sheltered him. He was about forty years of age, with a melancholy aspect, pale face, and soft luminous eyes. He was looking at d’Artagnan and the rest, with his chin resting upon his hand, like a calm and inquiring spectator. Only, on perceiving and doubtless recognizing our captain, he pulled his hat down over his eyes. It was this action, perhaps, that attracted d’Artagnan’s attention. If so, the gentleman who had pulled down his hat produced an effect entirely different from what he had desired. In other respects, his costume was plain, and his hair evenly cut enough for customers who were not close observers to take him for a mere tailor’s apprentice perched behind the board and carefully stitching cloth or velvet. Nevertheless, this man held up his head too often to be very productively employed with his fingers. D’Artagnan was not deceived,- not he; and he saw at once that if this man was working on anything, it certainly was not on cloth.
“Eh!” said he, addressing this man, “and so you have become a tailor’s boy, M. Moliere?”
“Hush, M. d’Artagnan!” replied the man, softly; “in Heaven’s name! you will make them recognize me.”
“Well, and what harm?”
“The fact is, there is no harm; but “You were going to say there is no good in doing it, either, is it not so?”
“Alas! no; for I was occupied in looking at some excellent figures.”
“Go on, go on, M. Moliere! I quite understand the interest you take in it. I will not disturb your study.”
“But on one condition,- that you tell me where M. Percerin really is.”
“Oh, willingly! in his own room. Only-”
“Only that one can’t enter it?”
“For everybody. He brought me here, so that I might be at my ease to make my observations, and then he went away.”
“Well, my dear M. Moliere, but you will go and tell him I am here.”
“I!” exclaimed Moliere, in the tone of a courageous dog from which you snatch the bone it has legitimately gained; “I disturb myself! Ah, M. d’Artagnan, how hard you are upon me!”
“If you don’t go directly and tell M. Percerin that I am here, my dear Moliere,” said d’Artagnan, in a low tone, “I warn you of one thing,- that I won’t exhibit to you the friend I have brought with me.”
Moliere indicated Porthos by an imperceptible gesture. “This gentleman, is it not?”
Moliere fixed upon Porthos one of those looks which penetrate the minds and hearts of men. The subject doubtless appeared very promising to him, for he immediately rose and led the way into the adjoining chamber.
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