The Three Musketeers: Compare Translations

On the first Monday of April 1625, the market town of Meung, the birthplace of the author of the Roman de la Rose, was in a wild state of excitement. The commotion could not have been greater if the Huguenots had arrived to make a second La Rochelle of it. Many of the wealthier citizens, seeing the women running towards the High Street and hearing the child- ren screaming on the doorsteps of their houses, hastily buckled on their cuirasses and, to give themselves an air of greater assurance than they really possessed, seized muskets or halberds. Thus armed they made for the Jolly Miller Inn, where they found a dense and excited throng of people swarming in from all directions.

At that time panics were frequent and few days passed with- out one town or another recording in its archives some event of this kind. Noblemen were at war with one another: the King was at war with the Cardinal: Spain was at war with the King. And besides these public and private wars there were other elements which kept the French countryside in a state of almost perpetual unrest, notably thieves, beggars, Huguenots, and rabble of all sorts. The citizens always took up arms against this rabble; they often fought the noblemen and the Huguenots, sometimes even the King, though never Spain or the Cardinal. So, from sheer force of habit, on this bright April morning, hearing an uproar and seeing neither the red and yellow standard of Spain nor the Duc de Richelieu’s livery, the citizens rushed in a body to the Jolly Miller Inn, prepared for battle.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the town of Meung appeared to be in such a state of revolt it was almost as if the Huguenots had made it into a second La Rochelle. The men of Meung, seeing their women running toward the high street, leaving their babies crying in their doorways, hurriedly donned whatever armor they had. Then, propping up their shaky courage with muskets or pole-arms, they headed for the Inn of the Jolly Miller, in front of which a jostling, noisy, and curious crowd was growing minute by minute.

In those times panics were frequent, and few days passed without some city in France suffering a similar event. Nobles fought each other, the king contended with the cardinal, and the Spanish warred on the king. Besides these conflicts, overt or covert, there were also robbers, vagrants, wolves, rogues, and Huguenots, who were at odds with everybody. The citizens always took up arms against robbers, wolves, or rogues, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the cardinal or Spain. So the citizens of Meung, hearing an uproar, and seeing neither the red and yellow flag of Spain nor the livery of Cardinal Richelieu, rushed toward the Jolly Miller.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the small town of Meung, the birth-place of the author of the Romance of the Rose, was in as complete a state of revolution, as it the huguenots had come to turn it into a second Rochelle. Many of the townsmen, when they saw the women rushing down the principal streets and heard the children bawling at the thresholds of the doors, hastened to don their armor, and shouldering their muskets or pikes, directed their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was congregated a crowd, increasing every moment, clamorous and full of curiosity.

At that period, panics were of frequent occurrence, and few days passed in which one town or another did not register some event of this description upon its archives. There were the lords who made war upon one another; there was the king who made war upon the cardinal; there was the Spaniard who made war upon the king. And, besides these contests, private or public, secret or open, there were thieves, beggars, huguenots, ruffians and lacqueys, who made war upon everybody.

The citizens constantly went armed against the thieves, ruffians and lacqueys; often against the lords and the huguenots; sometimes against the king; but never against the cardinal and the Spaniard. In consequence of this state of things, upon the aforesaid Monday in April, 1625, the citizens, hearing a noise and seeing neither the red and yellow standard nor the livery of the cardinal, rushed fearlessly to the hotel of the Jolly Miller.

On the first Monday of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of the Romance of the Rose was born, seemed to be in as much of a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just turned it into a second La Rochelle. Many of the men, seeing the women rushing toward the main street and hearing the children crying at their doorways, hurriedly put on their breastplates, added further support to their uncertain courage by picking up a musket or a partisan, and headed for the Franc Meunier inn, in front of which was gathering an ever-growing, noisy, and curious crowd.

In those times panics were common, and few days passed without some city or other recording such an event in its archives. Noblemen made war against each other; the king made war against the cardinal; Spain made war against the king. Then, in addition to these concealed or public wars, there were robbers, beggars, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made war on everybody. The citizens always took up arms against robbers, wolves, or scoundrels; often against noblemen or Huguenots; some- times against the king but never against the cardinal or Spain. And that was why the townsmen, on that first Monday of April, 1625, hearing the clamor and seeing neither the red and yellow Spanish flag nor the livery of the Duc de Richelieu, made their way to the Franc Meunier inn.

On the first Monday of the month of April 1625, the village of Meung, where the author of the Romance of the Rose was born, seemed to be in as total an upheaval as if the Huguenots had come to make a second La Rochelle. Many of the townsmen, seeing women fleeing along the main street, hearing children crying on the doorsills, hastened to put on their breastplates and, backing up their somewhat uncertain countenances with a musket or a partisan, headed for the Jolly Miller Inn, before which jostled a compact group, noisy, full of curiosity, and growing every minute.

At that time panics were frequent, and few days passed with- out one town or another recording some such event in its archives. There were lords who fought among themselves; there was the king who made war on the cardinal; there was the Spaniard who made war on the king. Then, besides these hidden or public, secret or open wars, there were also the robbers, the beggars, the Huguenots, the wolves, and the lackeys, who made war on everybody. The townsfolk always took up arms against the robbers, against the wolves, against the lackeys—often against the lords and the Huguenots-and sometimes against the king—but never against the cardinal or the Spaniard. The result of this acquired habit thus was that, on the first Monday of the month of April 1625, the townsmen, hearing noise, and seeing neither the yellow-and-red standard, nor the livery of the duc de Richelieu, rushed for the Jolly Miller Inn.

Meung, a pretty market town on the Loire and the birthplace of Jean de Meung, author of the Romance of the Rose, was more or less used to disturbances of one sort or another because of the troublous times. But on the first Monday in April, 1625, it appeared as though all the armed hosts of the Huguenots had descended upon the place in order to make of it a second La Rochelle. The citizens, seeing the women fleeing over by the main street and hearing the abandoned children crying from the doorsteps, hurriedly donned their breastplates. Then, bolstering up their somewhat uncertain courage by seizing musket, axe or pike, they sped toward the hostelry At the Sign of the Jolly Miller. There they found a compact, ever-swelling group, all agog, milling about, full of curiosity and clamor.

Panics were frequent in France at that period; few days passed without some city or another recording an event of this sort in its archives. There were the nobles fighting among themselves, the King making war upon the Cardinal, and Spain battling against the King. Besides these conflicts, concealed or public, secret or patent, other riots were occasioned by brigands, beggars, Huguenots, wolves and knaves who attacked all comers. The citizenry always took up arms against brigands and wolves and knaves, often against the nobles and Huguenots, sometimes against the King, but never against the Cardinal or Spain.

Accordingly, custom being what it was, on the first Monday in April 1625, the burghers of Meung, hearing the tumult and seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard of Spain nor the livery of the Cardinal Duc de Richelieu, rushed toward The Sign of the Jolly Miller. One glance was enough to make clear to everybody what was causing all this hullabaloo.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the small town of Meung, the birthplace of the author of the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ appeared to be in a state of revolution, as complete as if the Huguenots were come to make a second siege of La Rochelle. Many of the townsmen, observing the flight along the high street, of women who left their children to squall at the doorsteps, hastened to don their armour, and, fortifying their courage, which was inclined to fail, with a musket or a partisan, proceeded towards the inn of the Jolly Miller, to which a vast and accumulating mob was hastening with intense curiosity.

At that period alarms were frequent, and few days passed without some bourg or other registering in its archives an event of this description. There were the nobles, who made war on each other; there was the king, who made war on the cardinal; there was the Spaniard, who made war on the king; then, besides these wars, concealed or overt, secret or public, there were bandits, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves and lacqueys, who made war on the whole world. The townsmen always armed themselves against the bandits, the wolves, and the lacqueys; frequently against the nobles and the Huguenots; sometimes against the king; but never against the cardinal or the Spaniard. From this custom, therefore, it arose, that on the aforesaid first Monday in the month of April, 1625, the burghers, hearing a noise, and seeing neither the yellow and red flag, nor the livery of the Duke of Richelieu, rushed towards the inn of the Jolly Miller.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1626, the market town of Meung, in which the author of the Romance of the Rose was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the women flying toward the Grand Street, leaving their children 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 king, 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 everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against thieves, wolves, or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said first Monday of April, 1626, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When arrived there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the small town of Meung, the birthplace of the author of the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ appeared to be in a state of revolution, as complete as if the Huguenots were come to make a second siege of La Rochelle. Many of the townsmen, observing the flight along the high street, of women who left their children to squall at the doorsteps, hastened to don their armour, and, fortifying their courage, which was inclined to fail, with a musket or a partisan, proceeded towards the inn of the Jolly Miller, to which a vast and accumulating mob was hastening with intense curiosity.

At that period alarms were frequent, and few days passed without some bourg or other registering in its archives an event of this description. There were the nobles, who made war on each other; there was the king, who made war on the cardinal; there was the Spaniard, who made war on the king; then, besides these wars, concealed or overt, secret or public, there were bandits, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and lacqueys, who made war on the whole world. The townsmen always armed themselves against the bandits, the wolves, and the lacqueys; frequently against the nobles and the Huguenots; sometimes against the king; but never against the cardinal or the Spaniard. From this custom, therefore, it arose, that on the aforesaid first Monday in the month of April, 1625, the burghers, hearing a noise, and seeing neither the yellow and red flag, nor the livery of the Duke of Richelieu, rushed towards the inn of the Jolly Miller.

On the first Monday in the month of April 1625, the little market town of Meung, birthplace of the author of The Romance of the Rose, appeared to be in the throes of as full-blown a revolution as if the Huguenots had come to make it a second La Rochelle. Several townsmen, seeing women running off in the direction of the High Street and hearing children wailing on doorsteps, hurriedly strapped on their breastplates and, stiffening their somewhat uncertain resolve with a musket or a halberd, made for the Honest Miller inn, in front of which swarmed a dense, noisy, intensely curious throng that was growing larger by the minute.

Alarms were frequent in those times, and few days passed without one or other town recording an event of this sort in its archives. There were the nobles, who were warring among themselves; there was the king, who was making war on the cardinal; there were the Spanish, who were making war on the king. And then, besides these veiled or public, clandestine or overt wars, there were also the robbers, the beggars, the Huguenots, the wolves and the lackeys, who made war on everybody. The townspeople always armed themselves against the robbers, the wolves and the lackeys; more often than not against the nobles and the Huguenots; occasionally against the king; but never against the cardinal and the Spanish. This settled way of doing things meant, therefore, that when the townspeople heard a commotion on the aforesaid first Monday in April 1625 and saw neither the yellow and red flag nor the Duke de Richelieu’s livery, they rushed to the Honest Miller.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1626, the market-town of Meung, in which the author of the ‘Romance of the Rose’ was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the women flying towards the High Street and leaving their children 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 towards 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 enregistering in its archives an event of this kind. There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the king, 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 everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against thieves, wolves, or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said first Monday of the month of April, 1626, the citizens, on hearing the clamour, and seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de Richelieu, rushed towards the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When arrived there, the cause of this hubbub was apparent to all.

On the first Monday of April, 1625, the market town of Meung. birthplace of the author of the Roman de la Rose, seemed to be in as great a turmoil as if the Huguenots had come to turn it into a second La Rochelle. A number of townsmen, seeing women running in the direction of the main street and hearing children shouting on doorsteps, hastened to put on their breastplates and, steadying their rather uncertain self-assurance with a musket or a halberd, made their way toward the inn, the Hôtellerie du Franc Meunier, in front of which a noisy, dense, and curious throng was growing larger by the minute.

Panics were frequent in those times, and few days went by when an event of this kind was not recorded in the archives of one town or another. Noblemen fought among themselves; the king was at war with the cardinal; the Spanish were at war with the king. And then, besides all this secret or open warfare, there were robbers, beggars, Huguenots, wolves, and lackeys, who were at war with everyone. The townsmen always took up arms against robbers, wolves, and lackeys, often against noblemen and Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the cardinal or the Spanish. It was because of these habits that the townsmen, on that first Monday of April, 1625, hearing a commotion and seeing neither a red and yellow Spanish flag nor the livery of Cardinal Richelieu, hurried toward the Franc Meunier inn.

It was in the year 1625 and the first Monday in the month of April, as the chronicles tell us, and the town of Meung (where the author of the ” Romance of the Rose” was born) was in a veritable state of uproar. You might really have supposed the Huguenots were up in arms and a second Rochelle being enacted. Women were running out into the High Street, and their children crying on the doorstep while the burghers, hastily donning their armour and grasping musket and partisan to back up their somewhat precarious valour, rushed off in the direction of the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, where a dense swarm of noisy and inquisitive folks had collected, more and more dashing up every moment to swell the crowd.

In those good old days such panics were only too common, as was natural enough at a period when social order was continually threatened by party strife and undermined by Court intrigue. Sometimes it was the nobles quarrelling amongst themselves; or the King plotting against the Cardinal; or else the Spaniard intriguing against the King. Then, besides Court cabals and open wars, gangs of robbers had to be reckoned with, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and desperadoes, who were the general enemies of mankind. Robbers, wolves, and banditti kept the burghers in a constant state of alarm; nobles and Huguenots often drove them into rebellion. Sometimes they even rose in revolt against the King, but never against the Cardinal or the Spaniard. But on this particular Monday in the month of April, no red and yellow standard was fluttering in the breeze, nor were Richelieu’s soldiers to be seen in the streets; so the good citizens made for the inn of the Jolly Miller, where they soon learned the cause of the disturbance.

Le premier lundi du mois d’avril 1625, le bourg de Meung, où naquit l’auteur du Roman de la Rose, semblait être dans une révolution aussi entière que si les huguenots en fussent venus faire une seconde Rochelle. Plusieurs bourgeois, voyant s’enfuir les femmes du côté de la Grande-Rue, entendant les enfants crier sur le seuil des portes, se hâtaient d’endosser la cuirasse et, appuyant leur contenance quelque peu incertaine d’un mousquet ou d’une pertuisane, se dirigeaient vers l’hôtellerie du Franc-Meunier, devant laquelle s’empressait, en grossissant de minute en minute, un groupe compact, bruyant et plein de curiosité.

En ce temps-là les paniques étaient fréquentes, et peu de jours se passaient sans qu’une ville ou l’autre enregistrât sur ses archives quelque événement de ce genre. Il y avait les seigneurs qui guerroyaient entre eux; il y avait le roi qui faisait la guerre au cardinal; il y avait l’Espagnol qui faisait la guerre au roi. Puis, outre ces guerres sourdes ou publiques, secrètes ou patentes, il y avait encore les voleurs, les mendiants, les huguenots, les loups et les laquais, qui faisaient la guerre à tout le monde. Les bourgeois s’armaient toujours contre les voleurs, contre les loups, contre les laquais, — souvent contre les seigneurs et les huguenots, — quelquefois contre le roi, — mais jamais contre le cardinal et l’Espagnol. Il résulta donc de cette habitude prise, que, ce susdit premier lundi du mois d’avril 1625, les bourgeois, entendant du bruit, et ne voyant ni le guidon jaune et rouge, ni la livrée du duc de Richelieu, se précipitèrent du côté de l’hôtel du Franc-Meunier.