The Three Musketeers
Alexandre Dumas
Contents
Author's Preface
1. THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
2. THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TREVILLE
3. THE AUDIENCE
4. THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND THE
HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS
5. THE KING'S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL'S GUARDS
6. HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII
7. THE INTERIOR OF "THE MUSKETEERS"
8. CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
9. D'ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF
10. A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
11. IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
12. GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
13. MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
14. THE MAN OF MEUNG
15. MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
16. M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL,
IN ORDER TO RING IT, AS HE DID BEFORE
17. BONACIEUX AT HOME
18. LOVER AND HUSBAND
19. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
20. THE JOURNEY
21. THE COUNTESS DE WINTER
22. THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON
23. THE RENDEZVOUS
24. THE PAVILION
25. PORTHOS
26. ARAMIS AND HIS THESIS
27. THE WIFE OF ATHOS
28. THE RETURN
29. HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS
30. D'ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN
31. ENGLISH AND FRENCH
32. A PROCURATOR'S DINNER
33. SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS
34. IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED OF
35. A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID
36. DREAM OF VENGEANCE
37. MILADY'S SECRET
38. HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMODING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURED HIS EQUIPMENT
39. A VISION
40. A TERRIBLE VISION
41. THE SEIGE OF LA ROCHELLE
42. THE ANJOU WINE
43. THE SIGN OF THE RED DOVECOT
44. THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES
45. A CONJUGAL SCENE
46. THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS
47. THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
48. A FAMILY AFFAIR
49. FATALITY
50. CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER
51. OFFICER
52. CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY
53. CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY
54. CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD DAY
55. CAPTIVITY: THE FOURTH DAY
56. CAPTIVITY: THE FIFTH DAY
57. MEANS FOR CLASSICAL TRAGEDY
58. ESCAPE
59. WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH
60. IN FRANCE
61. THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BETHUNE
62. TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS
63. THE DROP OF WATER
64. THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
65. TRIAL
66. EXECUTION
67. CONCLUSION
EPILOGUE
The Three Musketeers
Alexandre Dumas
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
In which it is proved that, notwithstanding their names' ending
in OS and IS, the heroes of the story which we are about to have
the honor to relate to our readers have nothing mythological
about them.
A short time ago, while making researches in the Royal Library
for my History of Louis XIV, I stumbled by chance upon the
Memoirs of M. D'Artagnan, printed--as were most of the works of
that period, in which authors could not tell the truth without
the risk of a residence, more or less long, in the Bastille--at
Amsterdam, by Pierre Rouge. The title attracted me; I took them
home with me, with the permission of the guardian, and devoured
them.
It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this
curious work; and I shall satisfy myself with referring such of
my readers as appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages.
They will therein find portraits penciled by the hand of a
master; and although these squibs may be, for the most part,
traced upon the doors of barracks and the walls of cabarets, they
will not find the likenesses of Louis XIII, Anne of Austria,
Richelieu, Mazarin, and the courtiers of the period, less
faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.
But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the
poet is not always what affects the mass of readers. Now, while
admiring, as others doubtless will admire, the details we have to
relate, our main preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one
before ourselves had given a thought.
D'Artagnan relates that on his first visit to M. de Treville,
captain of the king's Musketeers, he met in the antechamber three
young men, serving in the illustrious corps into which he was
soliciting the honor of being received, bearing the names of
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
We must confess these three strange names struck us; and it
immediately occurred to us that they were but pseudonyms, under
which D'Artagnan had disguised names perhaps illustrious, or else
that the bearers of these borrowed names had themselves chosen
them on the day in which, from caprice, discontent, or want of
fortune, they had donned the simple Musketeer's uniform.
>From the moment we had no rest till we could find some trace in
contemporary works of these extraordinary names which had so
strongly awakened our curiosity.
The catalogue alone of the books we read with this object would
fill a whole chapter, which, although it might be very
instructive, would certainly afford our readers but little
amusement. It will suffice, then, to tell them that at the
moment at which, discouraged by so many fruitless investigations,
we were about to abandon our search, we at length found, guided
by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulin Paris, a
manuscript in folio, endorsed 4772 or 4773, we do not recollect
which, having for title, "Memoirs of the Comte de la Fere,
Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the
Reign of King Louis XIII and the Commencement of the Reign of
King Louis XIV."
It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when, in turning
over this manuscript, our last hope, we found at the twentieth
page the name of Athos, at the twenty-seventh the name of
Porthos, and at the thirty-first the name of Aramis.
The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in
which historical science is carried to such a high degree
appeared almost miraculous. We hastened, therefore, to obtain
permission to print it, with the view of presenting ourselves
someday with the pack of others at the doors of the Academie des
Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, if we should not succeed--a very
probable thing, by the by--in gaining admission to the Academie
Francaise with our own proper pack. This permission, we feel
bound to say, was graciously granted; which compels us here to
give a public contradiction to the slanderers who pretend that we
live under a government but moderately indulgent to men of
letters.
Now, this is the first part of this precious manuscript which we
offer to our readers, restoring it to the title which belongs to
it, and entering into an engagement that if (of which we have no
doubt) this first part should obtain the success it merits, we
will publish the second immediately.
In the meanwhile, as the godfather is a second father, we beg the
reader to lay to our account, and not to that of the Comte de la
Fere, the pleasure or the ENNUI he may experience.
This being understood, let us proceed with our history.
1 THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town
of Meung, in which the author of 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 La Rochelle of it. Many
citizens, seeing the women flying toward the High 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 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
Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When
arrived there, the cause of the 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 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 his cap--and
our young man wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye
open and intelligent; the 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 the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric,
hit against the calves of its owner as he walked, and against the
rough side of his steed when he was on horseback.
For our young man had a steed which was the 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 head
lower than his knees, rendering a martingale quite unnecessary,
contrived nevertheless to perform his eight leagues a day.
Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were so well concealed
under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable gait, that
at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh, the
appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place he had
entered about a quarter of an hour before, by the 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 the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante
named--from his not being able to conceal from himself the
ridiculous appearance that such a steed gave him, good horseman
as he was. He had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the
gift of the pony from M. D'Artagnan the elder. He was not
ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and
the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.
"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn
PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid himself, "this horse was
born in the house of your father 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
the honor to go there," continued M. D'Artagnan the elder, "--an
honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives you the
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 the sake of those who belong to you. By the
latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from
anyone except Monsieur the Cardinal and the king. It is by his
courage, please observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman
can make his way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second
perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second
fortune held out to him. 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 son. Never fear quarrels, but seek
adventures. I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have
thews of iron, a wrist 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,
my son, but fifteen crowns, my horse, and the counsels you have
just heard. Your mother will add to them a recipe for a certain
balsam, which she had from a Bohemian 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 Treville, who was formerly my neighbor, and who had
the honor to be, as a child, the play-fellow of our king, Louis
XIII, whom God preserve! Sometimes their play degenerated into
battles, and in these battles the king was not always the
stronger. The blows which he received increased greatly his
esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Treville. Afterward,
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
over prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like
the masks of the ancients. D'Artagnan, then, remained majestic
and intact in his susceptibility, till he came to this unlucky
city of Meung.
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 take his horse, D'Artagnan spied, though an
open window on the ground floor, a gentleman, well-made and of
good carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking
with two persons who appeared to listen to him with respect.
D'Artagnan fancied quite naturally, according to his custom, that
he must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This
time D'Artagnan was only in part mistaken; he himself was not in
question, but his horse was. The gentleman appeared to be
enumerating all his qualities to his 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 man, the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth
may be easily imagined.
Nevertheless, D'Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance
of this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his
haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a man of from forty
to forty-five years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale
complexion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and well-shaped
mustache. He 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'Artagnan 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 his
future life.
Now, as at the moment in which D'Artagnan fixed his eyes upon the
gentleman in the violet doublet, the gentleman made one of his
most knowing and profound remarks respecting the Bearnese pony,
his two auditors laughed even louder than before, and he himself,
though contrary to his custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may
allowed to use such an expression) to stray over his countenance.
This time there could be no doubt; D'Artagnan was really
insulted. Full, then, of this conviction, he pulled his cap down
over his eyes, and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs he
had picked up in Gascony among young traveling nobles, he
advanced with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other
resting on his hip. Unfortunately, as he advanced, his anger
increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty
speech he had prepared as a prelude to his challenge, he found
nothing at the tip of his tongue but a gross personality, which
he accompanied with a furious gesture.
"I say, sir, you sir, who are hiding yourself behind that
shutter--yes, you, sir, tell me what you are laughing at, and we
will laugh together!"
The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his
cavalier, as if he required some time to ascertain whether it
could be to him that such strange reproaches were addressed;
then, when he could not possibly entertain any doubt of the
matter, his eyebrows slightly bent, and with an accent of irony
and insolence impossible to be described, he replied to
D'Artagnan, "I was not speaking to you, sir."
"But I am speaking to you!" replied the young man, additionally
exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners, of
politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile, and
retiring from the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow
step, and placed himself before the horse, within two paces of
D'Artagnan. His quiet manner and the ironical expression of his
countenance redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom he had
been talking, and who still remained at the window.
D'Artagnan, seeing him approach, drew his sword a foot out of the
scabbard.
"This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a
buttercup," resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks he had
begun, and addressing himself to his auditors at the window,
without paying the least attention to the exasperation of
D'Artagnan, who, however placed himself between him and them.
"It is a color very well known in botany, but till the present
time very rare among horses."
"There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to
laugh at the master," cried the young emulator of the furious
Treville.
"I do not often laugh, sir," 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'Artagnan, "will allow no man to laugh when it
displeases me!"
"Indeed, sir," continued the stranger, more calm than ever;
"well, that is perfectly right!" and turning on his heel, was
about to re-enter the hostelry by the front gate, beneath which
D'Artagnan on arriving had observed a saddled horse.
But, D'Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape
him thus who had the insolence to ridicule him. He drew his
sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed him, crying,
"Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!"
"Strike me!" said the other, turning on his heels, and surveying
the young man with as much astonishment as contempt. "Why, my
good fellow, you must be mad!" Then, in a suppressed tone, as if
speaking to himself, "This is annoying," continued he. "What a
godsend this would be for his Majesty, who is seeking everywhere
for brave fellows to recruit for his Musketeers!"
He had scarcely finished, when D'Artagnan made such a furious
lunge at him that if he had not sprung nimbly backward, it is
probable he would have jested for the last time. The stranger,
then perceiving that the matter went beyond raillery, drew his
sword, saluted his adversary, and seriously placed himself on
guard. But at the same moment, his two auditors, accompanied by
the host, fell upon D'Artagnan with sticks, shovels and tongs.
This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack
that D'Artagnan's adversary, while the latter turned round to
face this shower of blows, sheathed his 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 he acquitted
himself with his usual impassiveness, muttering, nevertheless, "A
plague upon these Gascons! Replace him on his orange horse, and
let him begone!"
"Not before I have killed you, poltroon!" cried D'Artagnan,
making the best face possible, and never retreating one step
before his three assailants, who continued to shower blows upon
him.
"Another gasconade!" murmured the gentleman. "By my honor, these
Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he will
have it so. When he is tired, he will perhaps tell us that he
has had enough of it."
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do
with; D'Artagnan was not the man ever to cry for quarter. The
fight was therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length
D'Artagnan dropped his sword, which was broken in two pieces by
the blow of a stick. Another blow full upon his forehead at the
same moment brought him 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 his servants carried the wounded man into the
kitchen, where some trifling attentions were bestowed upon him.
As to the gentleman, he resumed his place at the window, and
surveyed the crowd with a certain impatience, evidently annoyed
by their remaining undispersed.
"Well, how is it with this madman?" exclaimed he, turning round
as the noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who
came in to inquire if he 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 man."
"He is better," said the host, "he fainted quite away."
"Indeed!" said the gentleman.
"But before he fainted, he collected all his strength to
challenge you, and to defy you while challenging you."
"Why, this fellow must be the devil in person!" cried the
stranger.
"Oh, no, your Excellency, he is not the devil," replied the host,
with a grin of contempt; "for during his fainting we rummaged his
valise and found nothing but a clean shirt and eleven crowns--
which however, did not prevent his saying, as he 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, "he must be some prince in
disguise."
"I have told you this, good sir," resumed the host, "in order
that you may be on your guard."
"Did he name no one in his passion?"
"Yes; he struck his pocket and said, 'We shall see what Monsieur
de Treville will think of this insult offered to his protege.'"
"Monsieur de Treville?" said the stranger, becoming attentive,
"he put his hand upon his pocket while pronouncing the name of
Monsieur de Treville? Now, my dear host, while your young man
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 Treville, captain of the
Musketeers."
"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 his words had given to the
physiognomy of the stranger. The latter rose from the front of
the window, upon the sill of which he had leaned with his elbow,
and knitted his brow like a man disquieted.
"The devil!" murmured he, between his teeth. "Can Treville have
set this Gascon upon me? He is very young; but a sword thrust is
a sword thrust, whatever be the age of him 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 he, "could you not contrive to get rid of this
frantic boy for me? In conscience, I cannot kill him; and yet,"
added he, with a coldly menacing expression, "he annoys me.
Where is he?"
"In my wife's chamber, on the first flight, where they are
dressing his wounds."
"His things and his bag are with him? Has he taken off his
doublet?"
"On the contrary, everything is in the kitchen. But if he annoys
you, this young fool--"
"To be sure he does. He causes a disturbance in your hostelry,
which respectable people cannot put up with. Go; make out my
bill and notify my servant."
"What, monsieur, will you leave us so soon?"
"You know that very well, as I gave my order to saddle my horse.
Have they not obeyed me?"
"It is done; as your Excellency may have observed, your horse is
in the great gateway, ready saddled 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 boy?" But an imperious glance from the stranger stopped him
short; he 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 horseback, and go and meet her. I
should like, however, to know what this letter addressed to
Treville 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 himself, directed his steps toward
the kitchen."
In the meantime, the host, who entertained no doubt that it was
the presence of the young man that drove the stranger from his
hostelry, re-ascended to his wife's chamber, and found D'Artagnan
just recovering his senses. Giving him to understand that the
police would deal with him 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--he insisted
that notwithstanding his weakness D'Artagnan should get up and
depart as quickly as possible. D'Artagnan, half stupefied,
without his doublet, and with his head 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 he saw was his
antagonist talking calmly at the step of a heavy carriage, drawn
by two large Norman horses.
His interlocutor, whose head appeared through the carriage
window, was a woman of from twenty to two-and-twenty years. We
have already observed with what rapidity D'Artagnan seized the
expression of a countenance. He perceived then, at a glance,
that this woman was young and beautiful; and her style of beauty
struck him more forcibly from its being totally different from
that of the southern countries in which D'Artagnan had hitherto
resided. She was pale and fair, with long curls falling in
profusion over her shoulders, had large, blue, languishing eyes,
rosy lips, 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 England, 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 boy?" asked the lady.
The stranger was about to reply; but at the moment he opened his
mouth, D'Artagnan, who had heard all, precipitated himself over
the threshold of the door.
"This insolent boy chastises others," cried he; "and I hope that
this time he whom he ought to chastise will not escape him as
before."
"Will not escape him?" replied the stranger, knitting his brow.
"No; before a woman you would dare not fly, I presume?"
"Remember," said Milady, seeing the stranger lay his hand on his
sword, "the least delay may ruin everything."
"You are right," cried the gentleman; "begone then, on your part,
and I will depart as quickly on mine." And bowing to the lady,
sprang into his saddle, while her coachman applied his whip
vigorously to his horses. The two interlocutors thus separated,
taking opposite directions, at full gallop.
"Pay him, booby!" cried the stranger to his servant, without
checking the speed of his horse; and the man, after throwing two
or three silver pieces at the foot of mine host, galloped after
his master.
"Base coward! false gentleman!" cried D'Artagnan, springing
forward, in his turn, after the servant. But his wound had
rendered him too weak to support such an exertion. Scarcely had
he gone ten steps when his ears began to tingle, a faintness
seized him, a cloud of blood passed over his eyes, and he fell in
the middle of the street, crying still, "Coward! coward! coward!"
"He is a coward, indeed," grumbled the host, drawing near to
D'Artagnan, and endeavoring by this little flattery to make up
matters with the young man, as the heron of the fable did with
the snail he had despised the evening before.
"Yes, a base coward," murmured D'Artagnan; "but she--she was very
beautiful."
"What she?" demanded the host.
"Milady," faltered D'Artagnan, 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'Artagnan's purse.
The host had reckoned upon eleven days of confinement at a crown
a day, but he had reckoned without his guest. On the following
morning at five o'clock D'Artagnan 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 his mother's recipe in his hand composed a
balsam, with which he anointed his numerous wounds, replacing his
bandages himself, and positively refusing the assistance of any
doctor, D'Artagnan walked about that same evening, and was almost
cured by the morrow.
But when the time came to pay for his rosemary, this oil, and the
wine, the only expense the master had incurred, as he had
preserved a strict abstinence--while on the contrary, the yellow
horse, by the account of the hostler at least, had eaten three
times as much as a horse of his size could reasonably supposed to
have done--D'Artagnan found nothing in his pocket but his little
old velvet purse with the eleven crowns it contained; for as to
the letter addressed to M. de Treville, it had disappeared.
The young man commenced his search for the letter with the
greatest patience, turning out his pockets of all kinds over and
over again, rummaging and rerummaging in his valise, and opening
and reopening his purse; but when he found that he had come to
the conviction that the letter was not to be found, he flew, for
the third time, into such a rage as was near costing him 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 his letter were not found, the
host seized a spit, his wife a broom handle, and the servants the
same sticks they had used the day before.
"My letter of recommendation!" cried D'Artagnan, "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 his sword had been in his first
conflict broken in two, and which he had entirely forgotten.
Hence, it resulted when D'Artagnan proceeded to draw his sword in
earnest, he 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 man if the host had not reflected that the reclamation
which his 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'Artagnan. "In the first
place, I warn you that that letter is for Monsieur de Treville,
and it must be found, he will not know how to find it."
His threat completed the intimidation of the host. After the
king and the cardinal, M. de Treville was the man 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 his way at court. "It contained my
fortune!"
"Bills upon Spain?" asked the disturbed host.
"Bills upon his Majesty's private treasury," answered D'Artagnan,
who, reckoning upon entering into the king'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'Artagnan, 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." He would not have risked more if he
had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty
restrained him.
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'Artagnan.
"No, it has been stolen from you."
"Stolen? By whom?"
"By the gentleman who was here yesterday. He came down into the
kitchen, where your doublet was. He remained there some time
alone. I would lay a wager he has stolen it."
"Do you think so?" answered D'Artagnan, but little convinced, as
he 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 his servants, none of the
travelers present, could have gained anything by being possessed
of this paper.
"Do you say," resumed D'Artagnan, "that you suspect that
impertinent gentleman?"
"I tell you I am sure of it," continued the host. "When I
informed him that your lordship was the protege of Monsieur de
Treville, and that you even had a letter for that illustrious
gentleman, he appeared to be very much disturbed, and asked me
where that letter was, and immediately came down into the
kitchen, where he knew your doublet was."
"Then that's my thief," replied D'Artagnan. "I will complain to
Monsieur de Treville, and Monsieur de Treville will complain to
the king." He then drew two crowns majestically from his purse
and gave them to the host, who accompanied him, cap in hand, to
the gate, and remounted his yellow horse, which bore him without
any further accident to the gate of St. Antoine at Paris, where
his owner sold him for three crowns, which was a very good price,
considering that D'Artagnan had ridden him hard during the last
stage. Thus the dealer to whom D'Artagnan sold him for the nine
livres did not conceal from the young man that he only gave that
enormous sum for him on the account of the originality of his
color.
Thus D'Artagnan entered Paris on foot, carrying his little packet
under his arm, and walked about till he found an apartment to be
let on terms suited to the scantiness of his 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'Artagnan took possession
of his lodging, and passed the remainder of the day in sewing
onto his doublet and hose some ornamental braiding which his
mother had taken off an almost-new doublet of the elder M.
D'Artagnan, and which she had given her son secretly. Next he
went to the Quai de Feraille to have a new blade put to his
sword, and then returned toward the Louvre, inquiring of the
first Musketeer he met for the situation of the hotel of M. de
Treville, which proved to be in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier; that
is to say, in the immediate vicinity of the chamber hired by
D'Artagnan--a circumstance which appeared to furnish a happy
augury for the success of his journey.
After this, satisfied with the way in which he had conducted
himself at Meung, without remorse for the past, confident in the
present, and full of hope for the future, he retired to bed and
slept the sleep of the brave.
This sleep, provincial as it was, brought him to nine o'clock in
the morning; at which hour he rose, in order to repair to the
residence of M. de Treville, the third personage in the kingdom
paternal estimation.
2 THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TREVILLE
M. de Troisville, as his family was still called in Gascony, or
M. de Treville, as he has ended by styling himself in Paris, had
really commenced life as D'Artagnan now did; that is to say,
without a sou in his pocket, but with a fund of audacity,
shrewdness, and intelligence which makes the poorest Gascon
gentleman often derive more in his hope from the paternal
inheritance than the richest Perigordian or Berrichan gentleman
derives in reality from his. 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 king, who honored highly, as everyone
knows, the memory of his father, Henry IV. The father of M. de
Treville had served him so faithfully in his wars against the
league that in default of money--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 money, we repeat, he
authorized him, after the reduction of Paris, to assume for his
arms 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 great Henry 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
Treville was admitted into the household of the young prince
where he made such good use of his sword, and was so faithful to
his motto, that Louis XIII, one of the good blades of his
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,
himself first, and Treville next--or even, perhaps, before
himself.
Thus Louis XIII had a real liking for Treville--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 men as Treville. Many might take for their device the
epithet STRONG, which formed the second part of his motto, but
very few gentlemen could lay claim to the FAITHFUL, which
constituted the first. Treville 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 hand to
strike this displeasing personage, whether a Besme, a Maurevers,
a Poltiot de Mere, or a Vitry. In short, up to this period
nothing had been wanting to Treville 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 Louis XIII made Treville the
captain of his Musketeers, who were to Louis XIII in devotedness,
or rather in fanaticism, what his Ordinaries had been to Henry
III, and his Scotch Guard to Louis XI.
On his part, the cardinal was not behind the king in this
respect. When he saw the formidable and chosen body with which
Louis XIII had surrounded himself, this second, or rather this
first king of France, became desirous that he, too, should have
his guard. He had his Musketeers therefore, as Louis XIII had
his, and these two powerful rivals vied with each other in
procuring, not only from all the provinces of France, but even
from all foreign states, the most celebrated swordsmen. It was
not uncommon for Richelieu and Louis XIII to dispute over their
evening game of chess upon the merits of their servants. Each
boasted the bearing and the courage of his own people. 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 man who was
concerned in some few of these defeats and in many of these
victories.
Treville had grasped the weak side of his master; and it was to
this address that he owed the long and constant favor of a king
who has not left the reputation behind him of being very faithful
in his friendships. He paraded his Musketeers before the
Cardinal Armand Duplessis with an insolent air which made the
gray moustache of his Eminence curl with ire. Treville
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 king's Musketeers, or rather M.
de Treville's, spread themselves about in the cabarets, in the
public walks, and the public sports, shouting, twisting their
mustaches, 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 Treville being there to
claim them. Thus M. de Treville 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 Treville employed this powerful weapon for the king, in the
first place, and the friends of the king--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 gentleman blamed even by his enemies; and he had many such
among men of the pen as well as among men of the sword. In no
instance, let us say, was this worthy gentleman 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 man. 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 Treville were talked of as those
of M. de Bassompierre had been talked of twenty years before, and
that was not saying a little. The captain of the Musketeers was
therefore admired, feared, and loved; and this constitutes the
zenith of human fortune.
Louis XIV absorbed all the smaller stars of his court in his own
vast radiance; but his father, a sun PLURIBUS IMPAR, left his
personal splendor to each of his favorites, his individual value
to each of his courtiers. In addition to the leeves of the king
and the cardinal, there might be reckoned in Paris at that time
more than two hundred smaller but still noteworthy leeves. Among
these two hundred leeves, that of Treville was one of the most
sought.
The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier,
resembled a camp from by six o'clock in the morning in summer and
eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty Musketeers, 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 Paris, who ran after any sort of
favor--gentlemen from the provinces anxious to be enrolled, and
servants in all sorts of liveries, bringing and carrying messages
between their masters and M. de Treville. In the antechamber,
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 Treville, in his
office contiguous to this antechamber, received visits, listened
to complaints, gave his orders, and like the king in his balcony
at the Louvre, had only to place himself at the window to review
both his men and arms.
The day on which D'Artagnan presented himself 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'Artagnan
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 swordsmen, 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 woman.
It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our
young man advanced with a beating heat, ranging his long rapier
up his lanky leg, and keeping one hand on the edge of his cap,
with that half-smile of the embarrassed a provincial who wishes
to put on a good face. When he had passed one group he began to
breathe more freely; but he could not help observing that they
turned round to look at him, and for the first time in his life
D'Artagnan, who had till that day entertained a very good opinion
of himself, felt ridiculous.
Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four
Musketeers 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 hand,
prevented, or at least endeavored to prevent, the three others
from ascending.
These three others fenced against him with their agile swords.
D'Artagnan at first took these weapons for foils, and believed
them to be buttoned; but he 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 madmen.
He who at the moment occupied the upper step kept his adversaries
marvelously in check. A circle was formed around them. The
conditions required that at every hit the man touched should quit
the game, yielding his turn for the benefit of the adversary who
had hit him. In five minutes three were slightly wounded, one on
the hand, another on the ear, by the defender of the stair, who
himself remained intact--a piece of skill which was worth to him,
according to the rules agreed upon, three turns of favor,
However difficult it might be, or rather as he pretended it was,
to astonish our young traveler, this pastime really astonished
him. He had seen in his 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 him the strongest he
had ever heard of even in Gascony. He believed himself
transported into that famous country of giants into which
Gulliver afterward went and was so frightened; and yet he had not
gained the goal, for there were still the landing place and the
antechamber.
On the landing they were no longer fighting, but amused
themselves with stories about women, and in the antechamber, with
stories about the court. On the landing D'Artagnan blushed; in
the antechamber he trembled. His warm and fickle imagination,
which in Gascony had rendered formidable to young chambermaids,
and even sometimes their 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 his morals were shocked on the landing, his respect for
the cardinal was scandalized in the antechamber. There, to his
great astonishment, D'Artagnan heard the policy which made all
Europe 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 man who was so
revered by D'Artagnan the elder served as an object of ridicule
to the Musketeers of Treville, who cracked their jokes upon his
bandy legs 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'Artagnan
monstrous impossibilities.
Nevertheless, when the name of the king 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 Treville; 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'Artagnan, "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'Artagnan dared not join
in the conversation, only he looked with all his eyes and
listened with all his ears, stretching his five senses so as to
lose nothing; and despite his confidence on the paternal
admonitions, he felt himself carried by his tastes and led by his
instincts to praise rather than to blame the unheard-of things
which were taking place.
Although he was a perfect stranger in the court of M. de
Treville's courtiers, and this his first appearance in that
place, he was at length noticed, and somebody came and asked him
what he wanted. At this demand D'Artagnan gave his name very
modestly, emphasized the title of compatriot, and begged the
servant who had put the question to him to request a moment's
audience of M. de Treville--a request which the other, with an
air of protection, promised to transmit in due season.
D'Artagnan, a little recovered from his first surprise, had now
leisure to study costumes and physiognomy.
The center of the most animated group was a Musketeer of great
height and haughty countenance, dressed in a costume so peculiar
as to attract general attention. He 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 his shoulders, disclosing in
front the splendid baldric, from which was suspended a gigantic
rapier. This Musketeer had just come off guard, complained of
having a cold, and coughed from time to time affectedly. It was
for this reason, as he said to those around him, that he had put
on his cloak; and while he spoke with a lofty air and twisted his
mustache disdainfully, all admired his embroidered baldric, and
D'Artagnan more than anyone.
"What would you have?" said the Musketeer. "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, Porthos!" 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 lady I met you with the other Sunday,
near the gate St. Honor‚."
"No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentleman, I bought it with
the contents of my own purse," answered he whom they designated
by the name Porthos.
"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 Porthos; "and the proof is that I paid
twelve pistoles for it."
The wonder was increased, though the doubt continued to exist.
"Is it not true, Aramis?" said Porthos, turning toward another
Musketeer.
This other Musketeer formed a perfect contrast to his
interrogator, who had just designated him by the name of Aramis.
He was a stout man, of about two- or three-and-twenty, with an
open, ingenuous countenance, a black, mild eye, and cheeks rosy
and downy as an autumn peach. His delicate mustache marked a
perfectly straight line upon his upper lip; he appeared to dread
to lower his hands lest their veins should swell, and he pinched
the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their delicate
pink transparency. Habitually he spoke little and slowly, bowed
frequently, laughed without noise, showing his teeth, which were
fine and of which, as the rest of his person, he appeared to take
great care. He answered the appeal of his 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 Musketeer, without addressing anyone in particular, but
on the contrary speaking to everybody.
"And what does he say?" asked Porthos, in a self-sufficient tone.
"He relates that he met at Brussels Rochefort, the AME DAMNEE of
the cardinal disguised as a Capuchin, and that this cursed
Rochefort, thanks to his disguise, had tricked Monsieur de
Laigues, like a ninny as he is."
"A ninny, indeed!" said Porthos; "but is the matter certain?"
"I had it from Aramis," replied the Musketeer.
"Indeed?"
"Why, you knew it, Porthos," said Aramis. "I told you of it
yesterday. Let us say no more about it."
"Say no more about it? That's YOUR opinion!" replied Porthos.
"Say no more about it! PESTE! You come to your conclusions
quickly. What! The cardinal sets a spy upon a gentleman, 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, Chalais's throat cut, under the stupid pretext
that he wanted to kill the king and marry Monsieur to the queen!
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
Aramis, patiently.
"This Rochefort," 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 Aramis.
"Oh, the Red Duke! Bravo! Bravo! The Red Duke!" cried Porthos,
clapping his hands 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 abbe you
would have made!"
"Oh, it's only a temporary postponement," replied Aramis; "I
shall be one someday. You very well know, Porthos, that I
continue to study theology for that purpose."
"He will be one, as he says," cried Porthos; "he will be one,
sooner or later."
"Sooner." said Aramis.
"He only waits for one thing to determine him to resume his
cassock, which hangs behind his uniform," said another Musketeer.
"What is he waiting for?" asked another.
"Only till the queen has given an heir to the crown of France."
"No jesting upon that subject, gentlemen," said Porthos; "thank
God the queen is still of an age to give one!"
"They say that Monsieur de Buckingham is in France," replied
Aramis, with a significant smile which gave to this sentence,
apparently so simple, a tolerably scandalous meaning.
"Aramis, my good friend, this time you are wrong," interrupted
Porthos. "Your wit is always leading you beyond bounds; if
Monsieur de Treville heard you, you would repent of speaking
thus."
"Are you going to give me a lesson, Porthos?" cried Aramis, from
whose usually mild eye a flash passed like lightning.
"My dear fellow, be a Musketeer or an abbe. Be one or the other,
but not both," replied Porthos. "You know what Athos told you
the other day; you eat at everybody's mess. Ah, don't be angry,
I beg of you, that would be useless; you know what is agreed upon
between you, Athos 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, good Lord! 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 the devil don't you make use of it with respect
to her Majesty? Let whoever likes talk of the king and the
cardinal, and how he likes; but the queen is sacred, and if
anyone speaks of her, let it be respectfully."
"Porthos, you are as vain as Narcissus; I plainly tell you so,"
replied Aramis. "You know I hate moralizing, except when it is
done by Athos. As to you, good sir, you wear too magnificent a
baldric to be strong on that head. I will be an abbe if it suits
me. In the meanwhile I am a Musketeer; in that quality I say
what I please, and at this moment it pleases me to say that you
weary me."
"Aramis!"
"Porthos!"
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" cried the surrounding group.
"Monsieur de Treville awaits Monsieur d'Artagnan," cried a
servant, throwing open the door of the cabinet.
At this announcement, during which the door remained open,
everyone became mute, and amid the general silence the young man
crossed part of the length of the antechamber, and entered the
apartment of the captain of the Musketeers, congratulating
himself with all his heart at having so narrowly escaped the end
of this strange quarrel.
3 THE AUDIENCE
M. de Treville was at the moment in rather ill-humor,
nevertheless he saluted the young man politely, who bowed to the
very ground; and he smiled on receiving D'Artagnan's response,
the Bearnese accent of which recalled to him at the same time
his youth and his country--a double remembrance which makes a man
smile at all ages; but stepping toward the antechamber and making
a sign to D'Artagnan with his hand, as if to ask his permission
to finish with others before he began with him, he called three
times, with a louder voice at each time, so that he ran through
the intervening tones between the imperative accent and the angry
accent.
"Athos! Porthos! Aramis!"
The two Musketeers with whom we have already made acquaintance,
and who answered to the last of these three names, immediately
quitted the group of which they had formed a part, and advanced
toward the cabinet, the door of which closed after them as soon
as they had entered. Their appearance, although it was not quite
at ease, excited by its carelessness, at once full of dignity and
submission, the admiration of D'Artagnan, who beheld in these two
men demigods, and in their leader an Olympian Jupiter, armed with
all his thunders.
When the two Musketeers had entered; when the door was closed
behind them; when the buzzing murmur of the antechamber, to which
the summons which had been made had doubtless furnished fresh
food, had recommenced; when M. de Treville had three or four
times paced in silence, and with a frowning brow, the whole
length of his cabinet, passing each time before Porthos and
Aramis, who were as upright and silent as if on parade--he
stopped all at once full in front of them, and covering them from
head to foot with an angry look, "Do you know what the king said
to me," cried he, "and that no longer ago then yesterday
evening--do you know, gentlemen?"
"No," replied the two Musketeers, after a moment's silence, "no,
sir, we do not."
"But I hope that you will do us the honor to tell us," added
Aramis, in his politest tone and with his most graceful bow.
"He told me that he should henceforth recruit his Musketeers from
among the Guards of Monsieur the Cardinal."
"The Guards of the cardinal! And why so?" asked Porthos, warmly.
"Because he plainly perceives that his piquette* stands in need
of being enlivened by a mixture of good wine."
*A watered liquor, made from the second pressing of the grape.
The two Musketeers reddened to the whites of their eyes.
D'Artagnan did not know where he was, and wished himself a
hundred feet underground.
"Yes, yes," continued M. de Treville, growing warmer as he spoke,
"and his majesty was right; for, upon my honor, it is true that
the Musketeers make but a miserable figure at court. The
cardinal related yesterday while playing with the king, with an
air of condolence very displeasing to me, that the day before
yesterday those DAMNED MUSKETEERS, those DAREDEVILS--he dwelt
upon those words with an ironical tone still more displeasing to
me--those BRAGGARTS, added he, glancing at me with his tiger-
cat's eye, had made a riot in the Rue Ferou in a cabaret, and
that a party of his Guards (I thought he was going to laugh in my
face) had been forced to arrest the rioters! MORBLEU! You must
know something about it. Arrest Musketeers! You were among
them--you were! Don't deny it; you were recognized, and the
cardinal named you. But it's all my fault; yes, it's all my
fault, because it is myself who selects my men. You, Aramis, why
the devil did you ask me for a uniform when you would have been
so much better in a cassock? And you, Porthos, do you only wear
such a fine golden baldric to suspend a sword of straw from it?
And Athos--I don't see Athos. Where is he?"
"Ill--very ill, say you? And of what malady?"
"It is feared that it may be the smallpox, sir," replied Porthos,
desirous of taking his turn in the conversation; "and what is
serious is that it will certainly spoil his face."
"The smallpox! That's a great story to tell me, Porthos! Sick
of the smallpox at his age! No, no; but wounded without doubt,
killed, perhaps. Ah, if I knew! S'blood! Messieurs Musketeers,
I will not have this haunting of bad places, this quarreling in
the streets, this swordplay at the crossways; and above all, I
will not have occasion given for the cardinal's Guards, who are
brave, quiet, skillful men who never put themselves in a
position to be arrested, and who, besides, never allow themselves
to be arrested, to laugh at you! I am sure of it--they would
prefer dying on the spot to being arrested or taking back a step.
To save yourselves, to scamper away, to flee--that is good for
the king's Musketeers!"
Porthos and Aramis trembled with rage. They could willingly have
strangled M. de Treville, if, at the bottom of all this, they had
not felt it was the great love he bore them which made him speak
thus. They stamped upon the carpet with their feet; they bit
their lips till the blood came, and grasped the hilts of their
swords with all their might. All without had heard, as we have
said, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis called, and had guessed, from M.
de Treville's tone of voice, that he was very angry about
something. Ten curious heads were glued to the tapestry and
became pale with fury; for their ears, closely applied to the
door, did not lose a syllable of what he said, while their mouths
repeated as he went on, the insulting expressions of the captain
to all the people in the antechamber. In an instant, from the
door of the cabinet to the street gate, the whole hotel was
boiling.
"Ah! The king's Musketeers are arrested by the Guards of the
cardinal, are they?" continued M. de Treville, as furious at
heart as his soldiers, but emphasizing his words and plunging
them, one by one, so to say, like so many blows of a stiletto,
into the bosoms of his auditors. "What! Six of his Eminence's
Guards arrest six of his Majesty's Musketeers! MORBLEU! My part
is taken! I will go straight to the louvre; I will give in my
resignation as captain of the king's Musketeers to take a
lieutenancy in the cardinal's Guards, and if he refuses me,
MORBLEU! I will turn abbe."
At these words, the murmur without became an explosion; nothing
was to be heard but oaths and blasphemies. The MORBLUES, the
SANG DIEUS, the MORTS TOUTS LES DIABLES, crossed one another in
the air. D'Artagnan looked for some tapestry behind which he
might hide himself, and felt an immense inclination to crawl
under the table.
"Well, my Captain," said Porthos, quite beside himself, "the
truth is that we were six against six. But we were not captured
by fair means; and before we had time to draw our swords, two of
our party were dead, and Athos, grievously wounded, was very
little better. For you know Athos. Well, Captain, he endeavored
twice to get up, and fell again twice. And we did not
surrender--no! They dragged us away by force. On the way we
escaped. As
for Athos, they believed him to be dead, and left him very quiet
on the field of battle, not thinking it worth the trouble to
carry him away. That's the whole story. What the devil,
Captain, one cannot win all one's battles! The great Pompey lost
that of Pharsalia; and Francis the First, who was, as I have
heard say, as good as other folks, nevertheless lost the Battle
of Pavia."
"And I have the honor of assuring you that I killed one of them
with his own sword," said Aramis; "for mine was broken at the
first parry. Killed him, or poniarded him, sir, as is most
agreeable to you."
"I did not know that," replied M. de Treville, in a somewhat
softened tone. "The cardinal exaggerated, as I perceive."
"But pray, sir," continued Aramis, who, seeing his captain become
appeased, ventured to risk a prayer, "do not say that Athos is
wounded. He would be in despair if that should come to the ears
of the king; and as the wound is very serious, seeing that after
crossing the shoulder it penetrates into the chest, it is to be feared--"
At this instant the tapestry was raised and a noble and handsome
head, but frightfully pale, appeared under the fringe.
"Athos!" cried the two Musketeers.
"Athos!" repeated M. de Treville himself.
"You have sent for me, sir," said Athos to M. de Treville, in a
feeble yet perfectly calm voice, "you have sent for me, as my
comrades inform me, and I have hastened to receive your orders.
I am here; what do you want with me?"
And at these words, the Musketeer, in irreproachable costume,
belted as usual, with a tolerably firm step, entered the cabinet.
M. de Treville, moved to the bottom of his heart by this proof of
courage, sprang toward him.
"I was about to say to these gentlemen," added he, "that I forbid
my Musketeers to expose their lives needlessly; for brave men are
very dear to the king, and the king knows that his Musketeers are
the bravest on the earth. Your hand, Athos!"
And without waiting for the answer of the newcomer to this proof
of affection, M. de Treville seized his right hand and pressed it
with all his might, without perceiving that Athos, whatever might
be his self-command, allowed a slight murmur of pain to escape
him, and if possible, grew paler than he was before.
The door had remained open, so strong was the excitement produced
by the arrival of Athos, whose wound, though kept as a secret,
was known to all. A burst of satisfaction hailed the last words
of the captain; and two or three heads, carried away by the
enthusiasm of the moment, appeared through the openings of the
tapestry. M. de Treville was about to reprehend this breach of
the rules of etiquette, when he felt the hand of Athos, who had
rallied all his energies to contend against pain, at length
overcome by it, fell upon the floor as if he were dead.
"A surgeon!" cried M. de Treville, "mine! The king's! The best! A
surgeon! Or, s'blood, my brave Athos will die!"
At the cries of M. de Treville, the whole assemblage rushed into
the cabinet, he not thinking to shut the door against anyone, and
all crowded round the wounded man. But all this eager attention
might have been useless if the doctor was so loudly called for
had chanced to be in the hotel. He pushed through the crowd,
approached Athos, still insensible, and as all this noise and
commotion inconvenienced him greatly, he required, as the first
and most urgent thing, that the Musketeer should be carried into
an adjoining chamber. Immediately M. de Treville opened and
pointed the way to Porthos and Aramis, who bore their comrade in
their arms. Behind this group walked the surgeon; and behind the
surgeon the door closed.
The cabinet of M. de Treville, generally held so sacred, became
in an instant the annex of the antechamber. Everyone spoke,
harangued, and vociferated, swearing, cursing, and consigning the
cardinal and his Guards to all the devils.
An instant after, Porthos and Aramis re-entered, the surgeon and
M. de Treville alone remaining with the wounded.
At length, M. de Treville himself returned. The injured man had
recovered his senses. The surgeon declared that the situation of
the Musketeer had nothing in it to render his friends uneasy, his
weakness having been purely and simply caused by loss of blood.
Then M. de Treville made a sign with his hand, and all retired
except D'Artagnan, who did not forget that he had an audience,
and with the tenacity of a Gascon remained in his place.
When all had gone out and the door was closed, M. de Treville, on
turning round, found himself alone with the young man. The event
which had occurred had in some degree broken the thread of his
ideas. He inquired what was the will of his persevering visitor.
D'Artagnan then repeated his name, and in an instant recovering
all his remembrances of the present and the past, M. de Treville
grasped the situation.
"Pardon me," said he, smiling, "pardon me my dear compatriot, but
I had wholly forgotten you. But what help is there for it! A
captain is nothing but a father of a family, charged with even a
greater responsibility than the father of an ordinary family.
Soldiers are big children; but as I maintain that the orders of
the king, and more particularly the orders of the cardinal,
should be executed--"
D'Artagnan could not restrain a smile. By this smile M. de
Treville judged that he had not to deal with a fool, and changing
the conversation, came straight to the point.
"I respected your father very much," said he. "What can I do for
the son? Tell me quickly; my time is not my own."
"Monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "on quitting Tarbes and coming
hither, it was my intention to request of you, in remembrance of
the friendship which you have not forgotten, the uniform of a
Musketeer; but after all that I have seen during the last two
hours, I comprehend that such a favor is enormous, and tremble
lest I should not merit it."
"It is indeed a favor, young man," replied M. de Treville, "but
it may not be so far beyond your hopes as you believe, or rather
as you appear to believe. But his majesty's decision is always
necessary; and I inform you with regret that no one becomes a
Musketeer without the preliminary ordeal of several campaigns,
certain brilliant actions, or a service of two years in some
other regiment less favored than ours."
D'Artagnan bowed without replying, feeling his desire to don the
Musketeer's uniform vastly increased by the great difficulties
which preceded the attainment of it.
"But," continued M. de Treville, fixing upon his compatriot a
look so piercing that it might be said he wished to read the
thoughts of his heart, "on account of my old companion, your
father, as I have said, I will do something for you, young man.
Our recruits from Bearn are not generally very rich, and I have
no reason to think matters have much changed in this respect
since I left the province. I dare say you have not brought too
large a stock of money with you?"
D'Artagnan drew himself up with a proud air which plainly said,
"I ask alms of no man."
"Oh, that's very well, young man," continued M. de Treville,
"that's all very well. I know these airs; I myself came to Paris
with four crowns in my purse, and would have fought with anyone
who dared to tell me I was not in a condition to purchase the
Louvre."
D'Artagnan's bearing became still more imposing. Thanks to the
sale of his horse, he commenced his career with four more crowns
than M. de Treville possessed at the commencement of his.
"You ought, I say, then, to husband the means you have, however
large the sum may be; but you ought also to endeavor to perfect
yourself in the exercises becoming a gentleman. I will write a
letter today to the Director of the Royal Academy, and tomorrow
he will admit you without any expense to yourself. Do not refuse
this little service. Our best-born and richest gentlemen
sometimes solicit it without being able to obtain it. You will
learn horsemanship, swordsmanship in all its branches, and
dancing. You will make some desirable acquaintances; and from
time to time you can call upon me to tell you how you are getting
on and to say whether I can be of further service to you."
D'Artagnan, stranger as he was to all the manners of a court,
could not but perceive a little coldness in this reception.
"Alas, sir," said he, "I cannot but perceive how sadly I miss the
letter of introduction which my father gave me to present to
you."
"I certainly am surprised," replied M. de Treville, "that you
should undertake so long a journey without that necessary
passport, the sole resource of us poor Bearnese."
"I had one, sir, and, thank God, such as I could wish," cried
D'Artagnan; "but it was perfidiously stolen from me."
He then related the adventure of Meung, described the unknown
gentleman with the greatest minuteness, and all with a warmth and
truthfulness that delighted M. de Treville.
"This is all very strange," said M. de Treville, after meditating
a minute; "you mentioned my name, then, aloud?"
"Yes, sir, I certainly committed that imprudence; but why should
I have done otherwise? A name like yours must be as a buckler to
me on my way. Judge if I should not put myself under its
protection."
Flattery was at that period very current, and M. de Treville
loved incense as well as a king, or even a cardinal. He could
not refrain from a smile of visible satisfaction; but this smile
soon disappeared, and returning to the adventure of Meung, "Tell
me," continued he, "had not this gentlemen a slight scar on his
cheek?"
"Yes, such a one as would be made by the grazing of a ball."
"Was he not a fine-looking man?"
"Yes."
"Of lofty stature."
"Yes."
"Of complexion and brown hair?"
"Yes, yes, that is he; how is it, sir, that you are acquainted
with this man? If I ever find him again--and I will find him, I
swear, were it in hell!"
"He was waiting for a woman," continued Treville.
"He departed immediately after having conversed for a minute with
her whom he awaited."
"You know not the subject of their conversation?"
"He gave her a box, told her not to open it except in London."
"Was this woman English?"
"He called her Milady."
"It is he; it must be he!" murmured Treville. "I believed him
still at Brussels."
"Oh, sir, if you know who this man is," cried D'Artagnan, "tell
me who he is, and whence he is. I will then release you from all
your promises--even that of procuring my admission into the
Musketeers; for before everything, I wish to avenge myself."
"Beware, young man!" cried Treville. "If you see him coming on
one side of the street, pass by on the other. Do not cast
yourself against such a rock; he would break you like glass."
"That will not prevent me," replied D'Artagnan, "if ever I find
him."
"In the meantime," said Treville, "seek him not--if I have a
right to advise you."
All at once the captain stopped, as if struck by a sudden
suspicion. This great hatred which the young traveler manifested
so loudly for this man, who--a rather improbable thing--had
stolen his father's letter from him--was there not some perfidy
concealed under this hatred? Might not this young man be sent by
his Eminence? Might he not have come for the purpose of laying a
snare for him? This pretended D'Artagnan--was he not an emissary
of the cardinal, whom the cardinal sought to introduce into
Treville's house, to place near him, to win his confidence, and
afterward to ruin him as had been done in a thousand other
instances? He fixed his eyes upon D'Artagnan even more earnestly
than before. He was moderately reassured however, by the aspect
of that countenance, full of astute intelligence and affected
humility. "I know he is a Gascon," reflected he, "but he may be
one for the cardinal was well as for me. Let us try him."
"My friend," said he, slowly, "I wish, as the son of an ancient
friend--for I consider this story of the lost letter perfectly
true--I wish, I say, in order to repair the coldness you may have
remarked in my reception of you, to discover to you the secrets
of our policy. The king and the cardinal are the best of
friends; their apparent bickerings are only feints to deceive
fools. I am not willing that a compatriot, a handsome cavalier,
a brave youth, quite fit to make his way, should become the dupe
of all these artifices and fall into the snare after the example
of so many others who have been ruined by it. Be assured that I
am devoted to both these all-powerful masters, and that my
earnest endeavors have no other aim than the service of the king,
and also the cardinal--one of the most illustrious geniuses that
France has ever produced.
"Now, young man, regulate your conduct accordingly; and if you
entertain, whether from your family, your relations, or even from
your instincts, any of these enmities which we see constantly
breaking out against the cardinal, bid me adieu and let us
separate. I will aid you in many ways, but without attaching you
to my person. I hope that my frankness at least will make you my
friend; for you are the only young man to whom I have hitherto
spoken as I have done to you."
Treville said to himself: "If the cardinal has set this young
fox upon me, he will certainly not have failed--he, who knows how
bitterly I execrate him--to tell his spy that the best means of
making his court to me is to rail at him. Therefore, in spite of
all my protestations, if it be as I suspect, my cunning gossip
will assure me that he holds his Eminence in horror."
It, however, proved otherwise. D'Artagnan answered, with the
greatest simplicity: "I came to Paris with exactly such
intentions. My father advised me to stoop to nobody but the
king, the cardinal, and yourself--whom he considered the first
three personages in France."
D'Artagnan added M. de Treville to the others, as may be
perceived; but he thought this addition would do no harm.
"I have the greatest veneration for the cardinal," continued he,
"and the most profound respect for his actions. So much the
better for me, sir, if you speak to me, as you say, with
frankness--for then you will do me the honor to esteem the
resemblance of our opinions; but if you have entertained any
doubt, as naturally you may, I feel that I am ruining myself by
speaking the truth. But I still trust you will not esteem me the
less for it, and that is my object beyond all others."
M. de Treville was surprised to the greatest degree. So much
penetration, so much frankness, created admiration, but did not
entirely remove his suspicions. The more this young man was
superior to others, the more he was to be dreaded of he meant to
deceive him; "You are an honest youth; but at the present moment
I can only do for you that which I just now offered. My hotel
will be always open to you. Hereafter, being able to ask for me
at all hours, and consequently to take advantage of all
opportunities, you will probably obtain that which you desire."
"That is to say," replied D'Artagnan, "that you will wait until I
have proved myself worthy of it. Well, be assured," added he,
with the familiarity of a Gascon, "you shall not wait long." And
he bowed in order to retire, and as if he considered the future
in his own hands.
"But wait a minute," said M. de Treville, stopping him. "I
promised you a letter for the director of the Academy. Are you
too proud to accept it, young gentleman?"
"No, sir," said D'Artagnan; "and I will guard it so carefully
that I will be sworn it shall arrive at its address, and woe be
to him who shall attempt to take it from me!"
M. de Treville smiled at this flourish; and leaving his young man
compatriot in the embrasure of the window, where they had talked
together, he seated himself at a table in order to write the
promised letter of recommendation. While he was doing this,
D'Artagnan, having no better employment, amused himself with
beating a march upon the window and with looking at the
Musketeers, who went away, one after another, following them with
his eyes until they disappeared.
M. de Treville, after having written the letter, sealed it, and
rising, approached the young man in order to give it to him. But
at the very moment when D'Artagnan stretched out his hand to
receive it, M. de Treville was highly astonished to see his
protege make a sudden spring, become crimson with passion, and
rush from the cabinet crying, "S'blood, he shall not escape me
this time!"
"And who?" asked M. de Treville.
"He, my thief!" replied D'Artagnan. "Ah, the traitor!" and he
disappeared.
"The devil take the madman!" murmured M. de Treville, "unless,"
added he, "this is a cunning mode of escaping, seeing that he had
failed in his purpose!"
4 THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND THE
HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS
D'Artagnan, in a state of fury, crossed the antechamber at three
bounds, and was darting toward the stairs, which he reckoned upon
descending four at a time, when, in his heedless course, he ran
head foremost against a Musketeer who was coming out of one of M.
de Treville's private rooms, and striking his shoulder violently,
made him utter a cry, or rather a howl.
"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan, endeavoring to resume his course,
"excuse me, but I am in a hurry."
Scarcely had he descended the first stair, when a hand of iron
seized him by the belt and stopped him.
"You are in a hurry?" said the Musketeer, as pale as a sheet.
"Under that pretense you run against me! You say. 'Excuse me,'
and you believe that is sufficient? Not at all my young man. Do
you fancy because you have heard Monsieur de Treville speak to us
a little cavalierly today that other people are to treat us as he
speaks to us? Undeceive yourself, comrade, you are not Monsieur
de Treville."
"My faith!" replied D'Artagnan, recognizing Athos, who, after the
dressing performed by the doctor, was returning to his own
apartment. "I did not do it intentionally, and not doing it
intentionally, I said 'Excuse me.' It appears to me that this is
quite enough. I repeat to you, however, and this time on my word
of honor--I think perhaps too often--that I am in haste, great
haste. Leave your hold, then, I beg of you, and let me go where
my business calls me."
"Monsieur," said Athos, letting him go, "you are not polite; it
is easy to perceive that you come from a distance."
D'Artagnan had already strode down three or four stairs, but at
Athos's last remark he stopped short.
"MORBLEU, monsieur!" said he, "however far I may come, it is not
you who can give me a lesson in good manners, I warn you."
"Perhaps," said Athos.
"Ah! If I were not in such haste, and if I were not running
after someone," said D'Artagnan.
"Monsieur Man-in-a-hurry, you can find me without running--ME,
you understand?"
"And where, I pray you?"
"Near the Carmes-Deschaux."
"At what hour?"
"About noon."
"About noon? That will do; I will be there."
"Endeavor not to make me wait; for at quarter past twelve I will
cut off your ears as you run."
"Good!" cried D'Artagnan, "I will be there ten minutes before
twelve." And he set off running as if the devil possessed him,
hoping that he might yet find the stranger, whose slow pace could
not have carried him far.
But at the street gate, Porthos was talking with the soldier on
guard. Between the two talkers there was just enough room for a
man to pass. D'Artagnan thought it would suffice for him, and he
sprang forward like a dart between them. But D'Artagnan had
reckoned without the wind. As he was about to pass, the wind
blew out Porthos's long cloak, and D'Artagnan rushed straight
into the middle of it. Without doubt, Porthos had reasons for
not abandoning this part of his vestments, for instead of
quitting his hold on the flap in his hand, he pulled it toward
him, so that D'Artagnan rolled himself up in the velvet by a
movement of rotation explained by the persistency of Porthos.
D'Artagnan, hearing the Musketeer swear, wished to escape from
the cloak, which blinded him, and sought to find his way from
under the folds of it. He was particularly anxious to avoid
marring the freshness of the magnificent baldric we are
acquainted with; but on timidly opening his eyes, he found
himself with his nose fixed between the two shoulders of
Porthos--that is to say, exactly upon the baldric.
Alas, like most things in this world which have nothing in their
favor but appearances, the baldric was glittering with gold in
the front, but was nothing but simple buff behind. Vainglorious
as he was, Porthos could not afford to have a baldric wholly of
gold, but had at least half. One could comprehend the necessity
of the cold and the urgency of the cloak.
"Bless me!" cried Porthos, making strong efforts to disembarrass
himself of D'Artagnan, who was wriggling about his back; "you
must be mad to run against people in this manner."
"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan, reappearing under the shoulder of
the giant, "but I am in such haste--I was running after someone
and--"
"And do you always forget your eyes when you run?" asked Porthos.
"No," replied D'Artagnan, piqued, "and thanks to my eyes, I can
see what other people cannot see."
Whether Porthos understood him or did not understand him, giving
way to his anger, "Monsieur," said he, "you stand a chance of
getting chastised if you rub Musketeers in this fashion."
"Chastised, Monsieur!" said D'Artagnan, "the expression is
strong."
"It is one that becomes a man accustomed to look his enemies in
the face."
"Ah, PARDIEU! I know full well that you don't turn your back to
yours."
And the young man, delighted with his joke, went away laughing
loudly.
Porthos foamed with rage, and made a movement to rush after
D'Artagnan.
"Presently, presently," cried the latter, "when you haven't your
cloak on."
"At one o'clock, then, behind the Luxembourg."
"Very well, at one o'clock, then," replied D'Artagnan, turning
the angle of the street.
But neither in the street he had passed through, nor in the one
which his eager glance pervaded, could he see anyone; however
slowly the stranger had walked, he was gone on his way, or
perhaps had entered some house. D'Artagnan inquired of everyone
he met with, went down to the ferry, came up again by the Rue de
Seine, and the Red Cross; but nothing, absolutely nothing! This
chase was, however, advantageous to him in one sense, for in
proportion as the perspiration broke from his forehead, his heart
began to cool.
He began to reflect upon the events that had passed; they were
numerous and inauspicious. It was scarcely eleven o'clock in the
morning, and yet this morning had already brought him into
disgrace with M. de Treville, who could not fail to think the
manner in which D'Artagnan had left him a little cavalier.
Besides this, he had drawn upon himself two good duels with two
men, each capable of killing three D'Artagnans-with two
Musketeers, in short, with two of those beings whom he esteemed
so greatly that he placed them in his mind and heart above all
other men.
The outlook was sad. Sure of being killed by Athos, it may
easily be understood that the young man was not very uneasy about
Porthos. As hope, however, is the last thing extinguished in the
heart of man, he finished by hoping that he might survive, even
though with terrible wounds, in both these duels; and in case of
surviving, he made the following reprehensions upon his own
conduct:
"What a madcap I was, and what a stupid fellow I am! That brave
and unfortunate Athos was wounded on that very shoulder against
which I must run head foremost, like a ram. The only thing that
astonishes me is that he did not strike me dead at once. He had
good cause to do so; the pain I gave him must have been
atrocious. As to Porthos--oh, as to Porthos, faith, that's a
droll affair!"
And in spite of himself, the young man began to laugh aloud,
looking round carefully, however, to see that his solitary laugh,
without a cause in the eyes of passers-by, offended no one.
"As to Porthos, that is certainly droll; but I am not the less a
giddy fool. Are people to be run against without warning? No!
And have I any right to go and peep under their cloaks to see
what is not there? He would have pardoned me, he would certainly
have pardoned me, if I had not said anything to him about that
cursed baldric--in ambiguous words, it is true, but rather drolly
ambiguous. Ah, cursed Gascon that I am, I get from one hobble
into another. Friend D'Artagnan," continued he, speaking to
himself with all the amenity that he thought due himself, "if you
escape, of which there is not much chance, I would advise you to
practice perfect politeness for the future. You must henceforth
be admired and quoted as a model of it. To be obliging and
polite does not necessarily make a man a coward. Look at Aramis,
now; Aramis is mildness and grace personified. Well, did anybody
ever dream of calling Aramis a coward? No, certainly not, and
from this moment I will endeavor to model myself after him. Ah!
That's strange! Here he is!"
D'Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had arrived within a few
steps of the hotel d'Arguillon and in front of that hotel
perceived Aramis, chatting gaily with three gentlemen; but as he
had not forgotten that it was in presence of this young man that
M. de Treville had been so angry in the morning, and as a witness
of the rebuke the Musketeers had received was not likely to be at
all agreeable, he pretended not to see him. D'Artagnan, on the
contrary, quite full of his plans of conciliation and courtesy,
approached the young men with a profound bow, accompanied by a
most gracious smile. All four, besides, immediately broke off
their conversation.
D'Artagnan was not so dull as not to perceive that he was one too
many; but he was not sufficiently broken into the fashions of the
gay world to know how to extricate himself gallantly from a false
position, like that of a man who begins to mingle with people he
is scarcely acquainted with and in a conversation that does not
concern him. He was seeking in his mind, then, for the least
awkward means of retreat, when he remarked that Aramis had let
his handkerchief fall, and by mistake, no doubt, had placed his
foot upon it. This appeared to be a favorable opportunity to
repair his intrusion. He stooped, and with the most gracious air
he could assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot of the
Musketeer in spite of the efforts the latter made to detain it,
and holding it out to him, said, "I believe, monsieur, that this
is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?"
The handkerchief was indeed richly embroidered, and had a coronet
and arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed excessively, and
snatched rather than took the handkerchief from the hand of the
Gascon.
"Ah, ah!" cried one of the Guards, "will you persist in saying,
most discreet Aramis, that you are not on good terms with Madame
de Bois-Tracy, when that gracious lady has the kindness to lend
you one of her handkerchiefs?"
Aramis darted at D'Artagnan one of those looks which inform a man
that he has acquired a mortal enemy. Then, resuming his mild
air, "You are deceived, gentlemen," said he, "this handkerchief
is not mine, and I cannot fancy why Monsieur has taken it into
his head to offer it to me rather than to one of you; and as a
proof of what I say, here is mine in my pocket."
So saying, he pulled out his own handkerchief, likewise a very
elegant handkerchief, and of fine cambric--though cambric was
dear at the period--but a handkerchief without embroidery and
without arms, only ornamented with a single cipher, that of its
proprietor.
This time D'Artagnan was not hasty. He perceived his mistake;
but the friends of Aramis were not at all convinced by his
denial, and one of them addressed the young Musketeer with
affected seriousness. "If it were as you pretend it is," said
he, "I should be forced, my dear Aramis, to reclaim it myself;
for, as you very well know, Bois-Tracy is an intimate friend of
mine, and I cannot allow the property of his wife to be sported
as a trophy."
"You make the demand badly," replied Aramis; "and while
acknowledging the justice of your reclamation, I refuse it on
account of the form."
"The fact is," hazarded D'Artagnan, timidly, "I did not see the
handkerchief fall from the pocket of Monsieur Aramis. He had his
foot upon it, that is all; and I thought from having his foot
upon it the handkerchief was his."
"And you were deceived, my dear sir," replied Aramis, coldly,
very little sensible to the reparation. Then turning toward that
one of the guards who had declared himself the friend of Bois-
Tracy, "Besides," continued he, "I have reflected, my dear
intimate of Bois-Tracy, that I am not less tenderly his friend
than you can possibly be; so that decidedly this handkerchief is
as likely to have fallen from your pocket as mine."
"No, upon my honor!" cried his Majesty's Guardsman.
"You are about to swear upon your honor and I upon my word, and
then it will be pretty evident that one of us will have lied.
Now, here, Montaran, we will do better than that--let each take a
half."
"Of the handkerchief?"
"Yes."
"Perfectly just," cried the other two Guardsmen, "the judgment of
King Solomon! Aramis, you certainly are full of wisdom!"
The young men burst into a laugh, and as may be supposed, the
affair had no other sequel. In a moment or two the conversation
ceased, and the three Guardsmen and the Musketeer, after having
cordially shaken hands, separated, the Guardsmen going one way
and Aramis another.
"Now is my time to make peace with this gallant man," said
D'Artagnan to himself, having stood on one side during the whole
of the latter part of the conversation; and with this good
feeling drawing near to Aramis, who was departing without paying
any attention to him, "Monsieur," said he, "you will excuse me, I
hope."
"Ah, monsieur," interrupted Aramis, "permit me to observe to you
that you have not acted in this affair as a gallant man ought."
"What, monsieur!" cried D'Artagnan, "and do you suppose--"
"I suppose, monsieur that you are not a fool, and that you knew
very well, although coming from Gascony, that people do not tread
upon handkerchiefs without a reason. What the devil! Paris is
not paved with cambric!"
"Monsieur, you act wrongly in endeavoring to mortify me," said
D'Artagnan, in whom the natural quarrelsome spirit began to speak
more loudly than his pacific resolutions. "I am from Gascony, it
is true; and since you know it, there is no occasion to tell you
that Gascons are not very patient, so that when they have begged
to be excused once, were it even for a folly, they are convinced
that they have done already at least as much again as they ought
to have done."
"Monsieur, what I say to you about the matter," said Aramis, "is
not for the sake of seeking a quarrel. Thank God, I am not a
bravo! And being a Musketeer but for a time, I only fight when I
am forced to do so, and always with great repugnance; but this
time the affair is serious, for here is a lady compromised by
you."
"By US, you mean!" cried D'Artagnan.
"Why did you so maladroitly restore me the handkerchief?"
"Why did you so awkwardly let it fall?"
"I have said, monsieur, and I repeat, that the handkerchief did
not fall from my pocket."
"And thereby you have lied twice, monsieur, for I saw it fall."
"Ah, you take it with that tone, do you, Master Gascon? Well, I
will teach you how to behave yourself."
"And I will send you back to your Mass book, Master Abbe. Draw,
if you please, and instantly--"
"Not so, if you please, my good friend--not here, at least. Do
you not perceive that we are opposite the Hotel d'Arguillon,
which is full of the cardinal's creatures? How do I know that
this is not his Eminence who has honored you with the commission
to procure my head? Now, I entertain a ridiculous partiality for
my head, it seems to suit my shoulders so correctly. I wish to
kill you, be at rest as to that, but to kill you quietly in a
snug, remote place, where you will not be able to boast of your
death to anybody."
"I agree, monsieur; but do not be too confident. Take your
handkerchief; whether it belongs to you or another, you may
perhaps stand in need of it."
"Monsieur is a Gascon?" asked Aramis.
"Yes. Monsieur does not postpone an interview through prudence?"
"Prudence, monsieur, is a virtue sufficiently useless to
Musketeers, I know, but indispensable to churchmen; and as I am
only a Musketeer provisionally, I hold it good to be prudent. At
two o'clock I shall have the honor of expecting you at the hotel
of Monsieur de Treville. There I will indicate to you the best
place and time."
The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis ascending the
street which led to the Luxembourg, while D'Artagnan, perceiving
the appointed hour was approaching, took the road to the
Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I can't draw back;
but at least, if I am killed, I shall be killed by a Musketeer."
5 THE KING'S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL'S GUARDS
D'Artagnan was acquainted with nobody in Paris. He went
therefore to his appointment with Athos without a second,
determined to be satisfied with those his adversary should
choose. Besides, his intention was formed to make the brave
Musketeer all suitable apologies, but without meanness or
weakness, fearing that might result from this duel which
generally results from an affair of this kind, when a young and
vigorous man fights with an adversary who is wounded and
weakened--if conquered, he doubles the triumph of his antagonist;
if a conqueror, he is accused of foul play and want of courage.
Now, we must have badly painted the character of our adventure
seeker, or our readers must have already perceived that
D'Artagnan was not an ordinary man; therefore, while repeating to
himself that his death was inevitable, he did not make up his
mind to die quietly, as one less courageous and less restrained
might have done in his place. He reflected upon the different
characters of men he had to fight with, and began to view his
situation more clearly. He hoped, by means of loyal excuses, to
make a friend of Athos, whose lordly air and austere bearing
pleased him much. He flattered himself he should be able to
frighten Porthos with the adventure of the baldric, which he
might, if not killed upon the spot, relate to everybody a recital
which, well managed, would cover Porthos with ridicule. As to
the astute Aramis, he did not entertain much dread of him; and
supposing he should be able to get so far, he determined to
dispatch him in good style or at least, by hitting him in the
face, as Caesar recommended his soldiers do to those of Pompey,
to damage forever the beauty of which he was so proud.
In addition to this, D'Artagnan possessed that invincible stock
of resolution which the counsels of his father had implanted in
his heart: "Endure nothing from anyone but the king, the
cardinal, and Monsieur de Treville." He flew, then, rather than
walked, toward the convent of the Carmes Dechausses, or rather
Deschaux, as it was called at that period, a sort of building
without a window, surrounded by barren fields--an accessory to
the Preaux-Clercs, and which was generally employed as the place
for the duels of men who had no time to lose.
When D'Artagnan arrived in sight of the bare spot of ground which
extended along the foot of the monastery, Athos had been waiting
about five minutes, and twelve o'clock was striking. He was,
then, as punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous
casuist with regard to duels could have nothing to say.
Athos, who still suffered grievously from his wound, though it
had been dressed anew by M. de Treville's surgeon, was seated on
a post and waiting for his adversary with hat in hand, his
feather even touching the ground.
"Monsieur," said Athos, "I have engaged two of my friends as
seconds; but these two friends are not yet come, at which I am
astonished, as it is not at all their custom."
"I have no seconds on my part, monsieur," said D'Artagnan; "for
having only arrived yesterday in Paris, I as yet know no one but
Monsieur de Treville, to whom I was recommended by my father, who
has the honor to be, in some degree, one of his friends."
Athos reflected for an instant. "You know no one but Monsieur de
Treville?" he asked.
"Yes, monsieur, I know only him."
"Well, but then," continued Athos, speaking half to himself, "if
I kill you, I shall have the air of a boy-slayer."
"Not too much so," replied D'Artagnan, with a bow that was not
deficient in dignity, "since you do me the honor to draw a sword
with me while suffering from a wound which is very inconvenient."
"Very inconvenient, upon my word; and you hurt me devilishly, I
can tell you. But I will take the left hand--it is my custom in
such circumstances. Do not fancy that I do you a favor; I use
either hand easily. And it will be even a disadvantage to you; a
left-handed man is very troublesome to people who are not
prepared for it. I regret I did not inform you sooner of this
circumstance."
"You have truly, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing again, "a
courtesy, for which, I assure you, I am very grateful."
"You confuse me," replied Athos, with his gentlemanly air; "let
us talk of something else, if you please. Ah, s'blood, how you
have hurt me! My shoulder quite burns."
"If you would permit me--" said D'Artagnan, with timidity.
"What, monsieur?"
"I have a miraculous balsam for wounds--a balsam given to me by
my mother and of which I have made a trial upon myself."
"Well?"
"Well, I am sure that in less than three days this balsam would
cure you; and at the end of three days, when you would be cured--
well, sir, it would still do me a great honor to be your man."
D'Artagnan spoke these words with a simplicity that did honor to
his courtesy, without throwing the least doubt upon his courage.
"PARDIEU, monsieur!" said Athos, "that's a proposition that
pleases me; not that I can accept it, but a league off it savors
of the gentleman. Thus spoke and acted the gallant knights of
the time of Charlemagne, in whom every cavalier ought to seek his
model. Unfortunately, we do not live in the times of the great
emperor, we live in the times of the cardinal; and three days
hence, however well the secret might be guarded, it would be
known, I say, that we were to fight, and our combat would be
prevented. I think these fellows will never come."
"If you are in haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, with the same
simplicity with which a moment before he had proposed to him to
put off the duel for three days, "and if it be your will to
dispatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself, I pray you."
"There is another word which pleases me," cried Athos, with a
gracious nod to D'Artagnan. "That did not come from a man
without a heart. Monsieur, I love men of your kidney; and I
foresee plainly that if we don't kill each other, I shall
hereafter have much pleasure in your conversation. We will wait
for these gentlemen, so please you; I have plenty of time, and it
will be more correct. Ah, here is one of them, I believe."
In fact, at the end of the Rue Vaugirard the gigantic Porthos
appeared.
"What!" cried D'Artagnan, "is your first witness Monsieur
Porthos?"
"Yes, that disturbs you?"
"By no means."
"And here is the second."
D'Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos, and
perceived Aramis.
"What!" cried he, in an accent of greater astonishment than
before, "your second witness is Monsieur Aramis?"
"Doubtless! Are you not aware that we are never seen one without
the others, and that we are called among the Musketeers and the
Guards, at court and in the city, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or
the Three Inseparables? And yet, as you come from Dax or Pau--"
"From Tarbes," said D'Artagnan.
"It is probable you are ignorant of this little fact," said
Athos.
"My faith!" replied D'Artagnan, "you are well named, gentlemen;
and my adventure, if it should make any noise, will prove at
least that your union is not founded upon contrasts."
In the meantime, Porthos had come up, waved his hand to Athos,
and then turning toward D'Artagnan, stood quite astonished.
Let us say in passing that he had changed his baldric and
relinquished his cloak.
"Ah, ah!" said he, "what does this mean?"
"This is the gentleman I am going to fight with," said Athos,
pointing to D'Artagnan with his hand and saluting him with the
same gesture.
"Why, it is with him I am also going to fight," said Porthos.
"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.
"And I also am to fight with this gentleman," said Aramis, coming
in his turn onto the place.
"But not until two o'clock," said D'Artagnan, with the same
calmness.
"But what are you going to fight about, Athos?" asked Aramis.
"Faith! I don't very well know. He hurt my shoulder. And you,
Porthos?"
"Faith! I am going to fight--because I am going to fight,"
answered Porthos, reddening.
Athos, whose keen eye lost nothing, perceived a faintly sly smile
pass over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied, "We had a
short discussion upon dress."
"And you, Aramis?" asked Athos.
"Oh, ours is a theological quarrel," replied Aramis, making a
sign to D'Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their duel.
Athos indeed saw a second smile on the lips of D'Artagnan.
"Indeed?" said Athos.
"Yes; a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree,"
said the Gascon.
"Decidedly, this is a clever fellow," murmured Athos.
"And now you are assembled, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "permit
me to offer you my apologies.
At this word APOLOGIES, a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a
haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was
the reply of Aramis.
"You do not understand me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, throwing
up his head, the sharp and bold lines of which were at the moment
gilded by a bright ray of the sun. "I asked to be excused in
case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three; for
Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me first, which I must abate
your valor in your own estimation, Monsieur Porthos, and render
yours almost null, Monsieur Aramis. And now, gentlemen, I
repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--on guard!"
At these words, with the most gallant air possible, D'Artagnan
drew his sword.
The blood had mounted to the head of D'Artagnan, and at that
moment he would have drawn his sword against all the Musketeers
in the kingdom as willingly as he now did against Athos, Porthos,
and Aramis.
It was a quarter past midday. The sun was in its zenith, and the
spot chosen for the scene of the duel was exposed to its full
ardor.
"It is very hot," said Athos, drawing his sword in its turn, "and
yet I cannot take off my doublet; for I just now felt my wound
begin to bleed again, and I should not like to annoy Monsieur
with the sight of blood which he has not drawn from me himself."
"That is true, Monsieur," replied D'Artagnan, "and whether drawn
by myself or another, I assure you I shall always view with
regret the blood of so brave a gentleman. I will therefore fight
in my doublet, like yourself."
"Come, come, enough of such compliments!" cried Porthos.
"Remember, we are waiting for our turns."
"Speak for yourself when you are inclined to utter such
incongruities," interrupted Aramis. "For my part, I think what
they say is very well said, and quite worthy of two gentlemen."
"When you please, monsieur," said Athos, putting himself on
guard.
"I waited your orders," said D'Artagnan, crossing swords.
But scarcely had the two rapiers clashed, when a company of the
Guards of his Eminence, commanded by M. de Jussac, turned the
corner of the convent.
"The cardinal's Guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos at the same
time. "Sheathe your swords, gentlemen, sheathe your swords!"
But it was too late. The two combatants had been seen in a
position which left no doubt of their intentions.
"Halloo!" cried Jussac, advancing toward them and making a sign
to his men to do so likewise, "halloo, Musketeers? Fighting
here, are you? And the edicts? What is become of them?"
"You are very generous, gentlemen of the Guards," said Athos,
full of rancor, for Jussac was one of the aggressors of the
preceding day. "If we were to see you fighting, I can assure you
that we would make no effort to prevent you. Leave us alone,
then, and you will enjoy a little amusement without cost to
yourselves."
"Gentlemen," said Jussac, "it is with great regret that I
pronounce the thing impossible. Duty before everything.
Sheathe, then, if you please, and follow us."
"Monsieur," said Aramis, parodying Jussac, "it would afford us
great pleasure to obey your polite invitation if it depended upon
ourselves; but unfortunately the thing is impossible--Monsieur de
Treville has forbidden it. Pass on your way, then; it is the
best thing to do."
This raillery exasperated Jussac. "We will charge upon you,
then," said he, "if you disobey."
"There are five of them," said Athos, half aloud, "and we are but
three; we shall be beaten again, and must die on the spot, for,
on my part, I declare I will never appear again before the
captain as a conquered man."
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly drew near one another, while
Jussac drew up his soldiers.
This short interval was sufficient to determine D'Artagnan on the
part he was to take. It was one of those events which decide the
life of a man; it was a choice between the king and the
cardinal--the choice made, it must be persisted in. To fight,
that was to disobey the law, that was to risk his head, that was
to make at one blow an enemy of a minister more powerful than the
king himself. All this young man perceived, and yet, to his
praise we speak it, he did not hesitate a second. Turning
towards Athos and his friends, "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
correct your words, if you please. You said you were but three,
but it appears to me we are four."
"But you are not one of us," said Porthos.
"That's true," replied D'Artagnan; "I have not the uniform, but I
have the spirit. My heart is that of a Musketeer; I feel it,
monsieur, and that impels me on."
"Withdraw, young man," cried Jussac, who doubtless, by his
gestures and the expression of his countenance, had guessed
D'Artagnan's design. "You may retire; we consent to that. Save
your skin; begone quickly."
D'Artagnan did not budge.
"Decidedly, you are a brave fellow," said Athos, pressing the
young man's hand.
"Come, come, choose your part," replied Jussac.
"Well," said Porthos to Aramis, "we must do something."
"Monsieur is full of generosity," said Athos.
But all three reflected upon the youth of D'Artagnan, and dreaded
his inexperience.
"We should only be three, one of whom is wounded, with the
addition of a boy," resumed Athos; "and yet it will not be the
less said we were four men."
"Yes, but to yield!" said Porthos.
"That IS difficult," replied Athos.
D'Artagnan comprehended their irresolution.
"Try me, gentlemen," said he, "and I swear to you by my honor
that I will not go hence if we are conquered."
"What is your name, my brave fellow?" said Athos.
"D'Artagnan, monsieur."
"Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"
cried Athos.
"Come, gentlemen, have you decided?" cried Jussac for the third
time.
"It is done, gentlemen," said Athos.
"And what is your choice?" asked Jussac.
"We are about to have the honor of charging you," replied Aramis,
lifting his hat with one hand and drawing his sword with the
other.
"Ah! You resist, do you?" cried Jussac.
"S'blood; does that astonish you?"
And the nine combatants rushed upon each other with a fury which
however did not exclude a certain degree of method.
Athos fixed upon a certain Cahusac, a favorite of the cardinal's.
Porthos had Bicarat, and Aramis found himself opposed to two
adversaries. As to D'Artagnan, he sprang toward Jussac himself.
The heart of the young Gascon beat as if it would burst through
his side--not from fear, God he thanked, he had not the shade of
it, but with emulation; he fought like a furious tiger, turning
ten times round his adversary, and changing his ground and his
guard twenty times. Jussac was, as was then said, a fine blade,
and had had much practice; nevertheless it required all his skill
to defend himself against an adversary who, active and energetic,
departed every instant from received rules, attacking him on all
sides at once, and yet parrying like a man who had the greatest
respect for his own epidermis.
This contest at length exhausted Jussac's patience. Furious at
being held in check by one whom he had considered a boy, he
became warm and began to make mistakes. D'Artagnan, who though
wanting in practice had a sound theory, redoubled his agility.
Jussac, anxious to put an end to this, springing forward, aimed a
terrible thrust at his adversary, but the latter parried it; and
while Jussac was recovering himself, glided like a serpent
beneath his blade, and passed his sword through his body. Jussac
fell like a dead mass.
D'Artagnan then cast an anxious and rapid glance over the field
of battle.
Aramis had killed one of his adversaries, but the other pressed
him warmly. Nevertheless, Aramis was in a good situation, and
able to defend himself.
Bicarat and Porthos had just made counterhits. Porthos had
received a thrust through his arm, and Bicarat one through his
thigh. But neither of these two wounds was serious, and they
only fought more earnestly.
Athos, wounded anew by Cahusac, became evidently paler, but did
not give way a foot. He only changed his sword hand, and fought
with his left hand.
According to the laws of dueling at that period, D'Artagnan was
at liberty to assist whom he pleased. While he was endeavoring
to find out which of his companions stood in greatest need, he
caught a glance from Athos. The glance was of sublime eloquence.
Athos would have died rather than appeal for help; but he could
look, and with that look ask assistance. D'Artagnan interpreted
it; with a terrible bound he sprang to the side of Cahusac,
crying, "To me, Monsieur Guardsman; I will slay you!"
Cahusac turned. It was time; for Athos, whose great courage
alone supported him, sank upon his knee.
"S'blood!" cried he to D'Artagnan, "do not kill him, young man, I
beg of you. I have an old affair to settle with him when I am
cured and sound again. Disarm him only--make sure of his sword.
That's it! Very well done!"
The exclamation was drawn from Athos by seeing the sword of
Cahusac fly twenty paces from him. D'Artagnan and Cahusac sprang
forward at the same instant, the one to recover, the other to
obtain, the sword; but D'Artagnan, being the more active, reached
it first and placed his foot upon it.
Cahusac immediately ran to the Guardsman whom Aramis had killed,
seized his rapier, and returned toward D'Artagnan; but on his way
he met Athos, who during his relief which D'Artagnan had procured
him had recovered his breath, and who, for fear that D'Artagnan
would kill his enemy, wished to resume the fight.
D'Artagnan perceived that it would be disobliging Athos not to
leave him alone; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell, with a sword
thrust through his throat.
At the same instant Aramis placed his sword point on the breast
of his fallen enemy, and forced him to ask for mercy.
There only then remained Porthos and Bicarat. Porthos made a
thousand flourishes, asking Bicarat what o'clock it could be, and
offering him his compliments upon his brother's having just
obtained a company in the regiment of Navarre; but, jest as he
might, he gained nothing. Bicarat was one of those iron men who
never fell dead.
Nevertheless, it was necessary to finish. The watch might come
up and take all the combatants, wounded or not, royalists or
cardinalists. Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan surrounded Bicarat,
and required him to surrender. Though alone against all and with
a wound in his thigh, Bicarat wished to hold out; but Jussac, who
had risen upon his elbow, cried out to him to yield. Bicarat was
a Gascon, as D'Artagnan was; he turned a deaf ear, and contented
himself with laughing, and between two parries finding time to
point to a spot of earth with his sword, "Here," cried he,
parodying a verse of the Bible, "here will Bicarat die; for I
only am left, and they seek my life."
"But there are four against you; leave off, I command you."
"Ah, if you command me, that's another thing," said Bicarat. "As
you are my commander, it is my duty to obey." And springing
backward, he broke his sword across his knee to avoid the
necessity of surrendering it, threw the pieces over the convent
wall, and crossed him arms, whistling a cardinalist air.
Bravery is always respected, even in an enemy. The Musketeers
saluted Bicarat with their swords, and returned them to their
sheaths. D'Artagnan did the same. Then, assisted by Bicarat,
the only one left standing, he bore Jussac, Cahusac, and one of
Aramis's adversaries who was only wounded, under the porch of the
convent. The fourth, as we have said, was dead. They then rang
the bell, and carrying away four swords out of five, they took
their road, intoxicated with joy, toward the hotel of M. de
Treville.
They walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street
and taking in every Musketeer they met, so that in the end it
became a triumphal march. The heart of D'Artagnan swam in
delirium; he marched between Athos and Porthos, pressing them
tenderly.
"If I am not yet a Musketeer," said he to his new friends, as he
passed through the gateway of M. de Treville's hotel, "at least I
have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"
6 HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII
This affair made a great noise. M. de Treville scolded his
Musketeers in public, and congratulated them in private; but as
no time was to be lost in gaining the king, M. de Treville
hastened to report himself at the Louvre. It was already too
late. The king was closeted with the cardinal, and M. de
Treville was informed that the king was busy and could not
receive him at that moment. In the evening M. de Treville
attended the king's gaming table. The king was winning; and as
he was very avaricious, he was in an excellent humor. Perceiving
M. de Treville at a distance--
"Come here, Monsieur Captain," said he, "come here, that I may
growl at you. Do you know that his Eminence has been making
fresh complaints against your Musketeers, and that with so much
emotion, that this evening his Eminence is indisposed? Ah, these
Musketeers of yours are very devils--fellows to be hanged."
"No, sire," replied Treville, who saw at the first glance how
things would go, "on the contrary, they are good creatures, as
meek as lambs, and have but one desire, I'll be their warranty.
And that is that their swords may never leave their scabbards but
in your majesty's service. But what are they to do? The Guards
of Monsieur the Cardinal are forever seeking quarrels with them,
and for the honor of the corps even, the poor young men are
obliged to defend themselves."
"Listen to Monsieur de Treville," said the king; "listen to him!
Would not one say he was speaking of a religious community? In
truth, my dear Captain, I have a great mind to take away your
commission and give it to Mademoiselle de Chemerault, to whom I
promised an abbey. But don't fancy that I am going to take you
on your bare word. I am called Louis the Just, Monsieur de
Treville, and by and by, by and by we will see."
"Ah, sire; it is because I confide in that justice that I shall
wait patiently and quietly the good pleasure of your Majesty."
"Wait, then, monsieur, wait," said the king; "I will not detain
you long."
In fact, fortune changed; and as the king began to lose what he
had won, he was not sorry to find an excuse for playing
Charlemagne--if we may use a gaming phrase of whose origin we
confess our ignorance. The king therefore arose a minute after,
and putting the money which lay before him into his pocket, the
major part of which arose from his winnings, "La Vieuville," said
he, "take my place; I must speak to Monsieur de Treville on an
affair of importance. Ah, I had eighty louis before me; put down
the same sum, so that they who have lost may have nothing to
complain of. Justice before everything."
Then turning toward M. de Treville and walking with him toward
the embrasure of a window, "Well, monsieur," continued he, "you
say it is his Eminence's Guards who have sought a quarrel with
your Musketeers?"
"Yes, sire, as they always do."
"And how did the thing happen? Let us see, for you know, my dear
Captain, a judge must hear both sides."
"Good Lord! In the most simple and natural manner possible.
Three of my best soldiers, whom your Majesty knows by name, and
whose devotedness you have more than once appreciated, and who
have, I dare affirm to the king, his service much at heart--three
of my best soldiers, I say, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, had made
a party of pleasure with a young fellow from Gascony, whom I had
introduced to them the same morning. The party was to take place
at St. Germain, I believe, and they had appointed to meet at the
Carmes-Deschaux, when they were disturbed by De Jussac, Cahusac,
Bicarat, and two other Guardsmen, who certainly did not go there
in such a numerous company without some ill intention against the
edicts."
"Ah, ah! You incline me to think so," said the king. "There is
no doubt they went thither to fight themselves."
"I do not accuse them, sire; but I leave your Majesty to judge
what five armed men could possibly be going to do in such a
deserted place as the neighborhood of the Convent des Carmes."
"Yes, you are right, Treville, you are right!"
"Then, upon seeing my Musketeers they changed their minds, and
forgot their private hatred for partisan hatred; for your Majesty
cannot be ignorant that the Musketeers, who belong to the king
and nobody but the king, are the natural enemies of the
Guardsmen, who belong to the cardinal."
"Yes, Treville, yes," said the king, in a melancholy tone; "and
it is very sad, believe me, to see thus two parties in France,
two heads to royalty. But all this will come to an end, Treville,
will come to an end. You say, then, that the Guardsmen sought a
quarrel with the Musketeers?"
"I say that it is probable that things have fallen out so, but I
will not swear to it, sire. You know how difficult it is to
discover the truth; and unless a man be endowed with that
admirable instinct which causes Louis XIII to be named the
Just--"
"You are right, Treville; but they were not alone, your
Musketeers. They had a youth with them?"
"Yes, sire, and one wounded man; so that three of the king's
Musketeers--one of whom was wounded--and a youth not only
maintained their ground against five of the most terrible of the
cardinal's Guardsmen, but absolutely brought four of them to
earth."
"Why, this is a victory!" cried the king, all radiant, "a
complete victory!"
"Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Ce."
"Four men, one of them wounded, and a youth, say you?"
"One hardly a young man; but who, however, behaved himself so
admirably on this occasion that I will take the liberty of
recommending him to your Majesty."
"How does he call himself?"
"D'Artagnan, sire; he is the son of one of my oldest friends--the
son of a man who served under the king your father, of glorious
memory, in the civil war."
"And you say this young man behaved himself well? Tell me how,
Treville--you know how I delight in accounts of war and
fighting."
And Louis XIII twisted his mustache proudly, placing his hand
upon his hip.
"Sire," resumed Treville, "as I told you, Monsieur d'Artagnan is
little more than a boy; and as he has not the honor of being a
Musketeer, he was dressed as a citizen. The Guards of the
cardinal, perceiving his youth and that he did not belong to the
corps, invited him to retire before they attacked."
"so you may plainly see, Treville," interrupted the king, "it was
they who attacked?"
"That is true, sire; there can be no more doubt on that head.
They called upon him then to retire; but he answered that he was
a Musketeer at heart, entirely devoted to your Majesty, and that
therefore he would remain with Messieurs the Musketeers."
"Brave young man!" murmured the king.
"Well, he did remain with them; and your Majesty has in him so
firm a champion that it was he who gave Jussac the terrible sword
thrust which has made the cardinal so angry."
"He who wounded Jussac!" cried the king, "he, a boy! Treville,
that's impossible!"
"It is as I have the honor to relate it to your Majesty."
"Jussac, one of the first swordsmen in the kingdom?"
"Well, sire, for once he found his master."
"I will see this young, Treville--I will see him; and if anything
can be done--well, we will make it our business."
"When will your Majesty deign to receive him?"
"Tomorrow, at midday, Treville."
"Shall I bring him alone?"
"No, bring me all four together. I wish to thank them all at
once. Devoted men are so rare, Treville, by the back staircase.
It is useless to let the cardinal know."
"Yes, sire."
"You understand, Treville--an edict is still an edict, it is
forbidden to fight, after all."
"But this encounter, sire, is quite out of the ordinary
conditions of a duel. It is a brawl; and the proof is that there
were five of the cardinal's Guardsmen against my three Musketeers
and Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"That is true," said the king; "but never mind, Treville, come
still by the back staircase."
Treville smiled; but as it was indeed something to have prevailed
upon this child to rebel against his master, he saluted the king
respectfully, and with this agreement, took leave of him.
That evening the three Musketeers were informed of the honor
accorded them. As they had long been acquainted with the king,
they were not much excited; but D'Artagnan, with his Gascon
imagination, saw in it his future fortune, and passed the night
in golden dreams. By eight o'clock in the morning he was at the
apartment of Athos.
D'Artagnan found the Musketeer dressed and ready to go out. As
the hour to wait upon the king was not till twelve, he had made a
party with Porthos and Aramis to play a game at tennis in a
tennis court situated near the stables of the Luxembourg. Athos
invited D'Artagnan to follow them; and although ignorant of the
game, which he had never played, he accepted, not knowing what to
do with his time from nine o'clock in the morning, as it then
scarcely was, till twelve.
The two Musketeers were already there, and were playing together.
Athos, who was very expert in all bodily exercises, passed with
D'Artagnan to the opposite side and challenged them; but at the
first effort he made, although he played with his left hand, he
found that his wound was yet too recent to allow of such
exertion. D'Artagnan remained, therefore, alone; and as he
declared he was too ignorant of the game to play it regularly
they only continued giving balls to one another without counting.
But one of these balls, launched by Porthos' herculean hand,
passed so close to D'Artagnan's face that he thought that if,
instead of passing near, it had hit him, his audience would have
been probably lost, as it would have been impossible for him to
present himself before the king. Now, as upon this audience, in
his Gascon imagination, depended his future life, he saluted
Aramis and Porthos politely, declaring that he would not resume
the game until he should be prepared to play with them on more
equal terms, and went and took his place near the cord and in the
gallery.
Unfortunately for D'Artagnan, among the spectators was one of his
Eminence's Guardsmen, who, still irritated by the defeat of his
companions, which had happened only the day before, had promised
himself to seize the first opportunity of avenging it. He
believed this opportunity was now come and addressed his
neighbor: "It is not astonishing that that young man should be
afraid of a ball, for he is doubtless a Musketeer apprentice."
D'Artagnan turned round as if a serpent had stung him, and fixed
his eyes intensely upon the Guardsman who had just made this
insolent speech.
"PARDIEU," resumed the latter, twisting his mustache, "look at me
as long as you like, my little gentleman! I have said what I
have said."
"And as since that which you have said is too clear to require
any explanation," replied D'Artagnan, in a low voice, "I beg you
to follow me."
"And when?" asked the Guardsman, with the same jeering air.
"At once, if you please."
"And you know who I am, without doubt?"
"I? I am completely ignorant; nor does it much disquiet me."
"You're in the wrong there; for if you knew my name, perhaps you
would not be so pressing."
"What is your name?"
"Bernajoux, at your service."
"Well, then, Monsieur Bernajoux," said D'Artagnan, tranquilly, "I
will wait for you at the door."
"Go, monsieur, I will follow you."
"Do not hurry yourself, monsieur, lest it be observed that we go
out together. You must be aware that for our undertaking,
company would be in the way."
"That's true," said the Guardsman, astonished that his name had
not produced more effect upon the young man.
Indeed, the name of Bernajoux was known to all the world,
D'Artagnan alone excepted, perhaps; for it was one of those which
figured most frequently in the daily brawls which all the edicts
of the cardinal could not repress.
Porthos and Aramis were so engaged with their game, and Athos was
watching them with so much attention, that they did not even
perceive their young companion go out, who, as he had told the
Guardsman of his Eminence, stopped outside the door. An instant
after, the Guardsman descended in his turn. As D'Artagnan had no
time to lose, on account of the audience of the king, which was
fixed for midday, he cast his eyes around, and seeing that the
street was empty, said to his adversary, "My faith! It is
fortunate for you, although your name is Bernajoux, to have only
to deal with an apprentice Musketeer. Never mind; be content, I
will do my best. On guard!"
"But," said he whom D'Artagnan thus provoked, "it appears to me
that this place is badly chosen, and that we should be better
behind the Abbey St. Germain or in the Pre-aux-Clercs."
"What you say is full of sense," replied D'Artagnan; "but
unfortunately I have very little time to spare, having an
appointment at twelve precisely. On guard, then, monsieur, on
guard!"
Bernajoux was not a man to have such a compliment paid to him
twice. In an instant his sword glittered in his hand, and he
sprang upon his adversary, whom, thanks to his great
youthfulness, he hoped to intimidate.
But D'Artagnan had on the preceding day served his
apprenticeship. Fresh sharpened by his victory, full of hopes of
future favor, he was resolved not to recoil a step. So the two
swords were crossed close to the hilts, and as D'Artagnan stood
firm, it was his adversary who made the retreating step; but
D'Artagnan seized the moment at which, in this movement, the
sword of Bernajoux deviated from the line. He freed his weapon,
made a lunge, and touched his adversary on the shoulder.
D'Artagnan immediately made a step backward and raised his sword;
but Bernajoux cried out that it was nothing, and rushing blindly
upon him, absolutely spitted himself upon D'Artagnan's sword.
As, however, he did not fall, as he did not declare himself
conquered, but only broke away toward the hotel of M. de la
Tremouille, in whose service he had a relative, D'Artagnan was
ignorant of the seriousness of the last wound his adversary had
received, and pressing him warmly, without doubt would soon have
completed his work with a third blow, when the noise which arose
from the street being heard in the tennis court, two of the
friends of the Guardsman, who had seen him go out after
exchanging some words with D'Artagnan, rushed, sword in hand,
from the court, and fell upon the conqueror. But Athos, Porthos,
and Aramis quickly appeared in their turn, and the moment the two
Guardsmen attacked their young companion, drove them back.
Bernajoux now fell, and as the Guardsmen were only two against
four, they began to cry, "To the rescue! The Hotel de la
Tremouille!" At these cries, all who were in the hotel rushed
out and fell upon the four companions, who on their side cried
aloud, "To the rescue, Musketeers!"
This cry was generally heeded; for the Musketeers were known to
be enemies of the cardinal, and were beloved on account of the
hatred they bore to his Eminence. Thus the soldiers of other
companies than those which belonged to the Red Duke, as Aramis
had called him, often took part with the king's Musketeers in
these quarrels. Of three Guardsmen of the company of M.
Dessessart who were passing, two came to the assistance of the
four companions, while the other ran toward the hotel of M. de
Treville, crying, "To the rescue, Musketeers! To the rescue!"
As usual, this hotel was full of soldiers of this company, who
hastened to the succor of their comrades. The MELEE became
general, but strength was on the side of the Musketeers. The
cardinal's Guards and M. de la Tremouille's people retreated into
the hotel, the doors of which they closed just in time to prevent
their enemies from entering with them. As to the wounded man, he
had been taken in at once, and, as we have said, in a very bad
state.
Excitement was at its height among the Musketeers and their
allies, and they even began to deliberate whether they should not
set fire to the hotel to punish the insolence of M. de la
Tremouille's domestics in daring to make a SORTIE upon the king's
Musketeers. The proposition had been made, and received with
enthusiasm, when fortunately eleven o'clock struck. D'Artagnan
and his companions remembered their audience, and as they would
very much have regretted that such an opportunity should be lost,
they succeeded in calming their friends, who contented themselves
with hurling some paving stones against the gates; but the gates
were too strong. They soon tired of the sport. Besides, those
who must be considered the leaders of the enterprise had quit the
group and were making their way toward the hotel of M. de
Treville, who was waiting for them, already informed of this
fresh disturbance.
"Quick to the Louvre," said he, "to the Louvre without losing an
instant, and let us endeavor to see the king before he is
prejudiced by the cardinal. We will describe the thing to him as
a consequence of the affair of yesterday, and the two will pass
off together."
M. de Treville, accompanied by the four young fellows, directed
his course toward the Louvre; but to the great astonishment of
the captain of the Musketeers, he was informed that the king had
gone stag hunting in the forest of St. Germain. M. de Treville
required this intelligence to be repeated to him twice, and each
time his companions saw his brow become darker.
"Had his Majesty," asked he, "any intention of holding this
hunting party yesterday?"
"No, your Excellency," replied the valet de chambre, "the Master
of the Hounds came this morning to inform him that he had marked
down a stag. At first the king answered that he would not go;
but he could not resist his love of sport, and set out after
dinner."
"And the king has seen the cardinal?" asked M. de Treville.
"In all probability he has," replied the valet, "for I saw the
horses harnessed to his Eminence's carriage this morning, and
when I asked where he was going, they told me, "To St. Germain.'"
"He is beforehand with us," said M. de Treville. "Gentlemen, I
will see the king this evening; but as to you, I do not advise
you to risk doing so."
This advice was too reasonable, and moreover came from a man who
knew the king too well, to allow the four young men to dispute
it. M. de Treville recommended everyone to return home and wait
for news.
On entering his hotel, M. de Treville thought it best to be first
in making the complaint. He sent one of his servants to M. de la
Tremouille with a letter in which he begged of him to eject the
cardinal's Guardsmen from his house, and to reprimand his people
for their audacity in making SORTIE against the king's
Musketeers. But M. de la Tremouille--already prejudiced by his
esquire, whose relative, as we already know, Bernajoux was--
replied that it was neither for M. de Treville nor the Musketeers
to complain, but, on the contrary, for him, whose people the
Musketeers had assaulted and whose hotel they had endeavored to
burn. Now, as the debate between these two nobles might last a
long time, each becoming, naturally, more firm in his own
opinion, M. de Treville thought of an expedient which might
terminate it quietly. This was to go himself to M. de la
Tremouille.
He repaired, therefore, immediately to his hotel, and caused
himself to be announced.
The two nobles saluted each other politely, for if no friendship
existed between them, there was at least esteem. Both were men
of courage and honor; and as M. de la Tremouille--a Protestant,
and seeing the king seldom--was of no party, he did not, in
general, carry any bias into his social relations. This time,
however, his address, although polite, was cooler than usual.
"Monsieur," said M. de Treville, "we fancy that we have each
cause to complain of the other, and I am come to endeavor to
clear up this affair."
"I have no objection," replied M. de la Tremouille, "but I warn
you that I am well informed, and all the fault is with your
Musketeers."
"You are too just and reasonable a man, monsieur!" said Treville,
"not to accept the proposal I am about to make to you."
"Make it, monsieur, I listen."
"How is Monsieur Bernajoux, your esquire's relative?"
"Why, monsieur, very ill indeed! In addition to the sword thrust
in his arm, which is not dangerous, he has received another right
through his lungs, of which the doctor says bad things."
"But has the wounded man retained his senses?"
"Perfectly."
"Does he talk?"
"With difficulty, but he can speak."
"Well, monsieur, let us go to him. Let us adjure him, in the
name of the God before whom he must perhaps appear, to speak the
truth. I will take him for judge in his own cause, monsieur, and
will believe what he will say."
M. de la Tremouille reflected for an instant; then as it was
difficult to suggest a more reasonable proposal, he agreed to it.
Both descended to the chamber in which the wounded man lay. The
latter, on seeing these two noble lords who came to visit him,
endeavored to raise himself up in his bed; but he was too weak,
and exhausted by the effort, he fell back again almost senseless.
M. de la Tremouille approached him, and made him inhale some
salts, which recalled him to life. Then M. de Treville,
unwilling that it should be thought that he had influenced the
wounded man, requested M. de la Tremouille to interrogate him
himself.
That happened which M. de Treville had foreseen. Placed between
life and death, as Bernajoux was, he had no idea for a moment of
concealing the truth; and he described to the two nobles the
affair exactly as it had passed.
This was all that M. de Treville wanted. He wished Bernajoux a
speedy convalescence, took leave of M. de la Tremouille, returned
to his hotel, and immediately sent word to the four friends that
he awaited their company at dinner.
M. de Treville entertained good company, wholly anticardinalst,
though. It may easily be understood, therefore, that the
conversation during the whole of dinner turned upon the two
checks that his Eminence's Guardsmen had received. Now, as
D'Artagnan had been the hero of these two fights, it was upon him
that all the felicitations fell, which Athos, Porthos, and Aramis
abandoned to him, not only as good comrades, but as men who had
so often had their turn that could very well afford him his.
Toward six o'clock M. de Treville announced that it was time to
go to the Louvre; but as the hour of audience granted by his
Majesty was past, instead of claiming the ENTREE by the back
stairs, he placed himself with the four young men in the
antechamber. The king had not yet returned from hunting. Our
young men had been waiting about half an hour, amid a crowd of
courtiers, when all the doors were thrown open, and his Majesty
was announced.
At his announcement D'Artagnan felt himself tremble to the very
marrow of his bones. The coming instant would in all probability
decide the rest of his life. His eyes therefore were fixed in a
sort of agony upon the door through which the king must enter.
Louis XIII appeared, walking fast. He was in hunting costume
covered with dust, wearing large boots, and holding a whip in his
hand. At the first glance, D'Artagnan judged that the mind of
the king was stormy.
This disposition, visible as it was in his Majesty, did not
prevent the courtiers from ranging themselves along his pathway.
In royal antechambers it is worth more to be viewed with an angry
eye than not to be seen at all. The three Musketeers therefore
did not hesitate to make a step forward. D'Artagnan on the
contrary remained concealed behind them; but although the king
knew Athos, Porthos, and Aramis personally, he passed before them
without speaking or looking--indeed, as if he had never seen them
before. As for M. de Treville, when the eyes of the king fell
upon him, he sustained the look with so much firmness that it was
the king who dropped his eyes; after which his Majesty,
grumbling, entered his apartment.
"Matters go but badly," said Athos, smiling; "and we shall not be
made Chevaliers of the Order this time."
"Wait here ten minutes," said M. de Treville; "and if at the
expiration of ten minutes you do not see me come out, return to
my hotel, for it will be useless for you to wait for me longer."
The four young men waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour,
twenty minutes; and seeing that M. de Treville did not return,
went away very uneasy as to what was going to happen.
M. de Treville entered the king's cabinet boldly, and found his
Majesty in a very ill humor, seated on an armchair, beating his
boot with the handle of his whip. This, however, did not prevent
his asking, with the greatest coolness, after his Majesty's
health.
"Bad, monsieur, bad!" replied the king; "I am bored."
This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII, who would
sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say,
"Monsieur So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together."
"How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures
of the chase today?"
"A fine pleasure, indeed, monsieur! Upon my soul, everything
degenerates; and I don't know whether it is the game which leaves
no scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of
ten branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near
being taken--when St.-Simon was already putting his horn to his
mouth to sound the HALALI--crack, all the pack takes the wrong
scent and sets off after a two-year-older. I shall be obliged to
give up hunting, as I have given up hawking. Ah, I am an
unfortunate king, Monsieur de Treville! I had but one gerfalcon,
and he died day before yesterday."
"Indeed, sire, I wholly comprehend your disappointment. The
misfortune is great; but I think you have still a good number of
falcons, sparrow hawks, and tiercets."
"And not a man to instruct them. Falconers are declining. I
know no one but myself who is acquainted with the noble art of
venery. After me it will all be over, and people will hunt with
gins, snares, and traps. If I had but the time to train pupils!
But there is the cardinal always at hand, who does not leave me a
moment's repose; who talks to me about Spain, who talks to me
about Austria, who talks to me about England! Ah! A PROPOS of
the cardinal, Monsieur de Treville, I am vexed with you!"
This was the chance at which M. de Treville waited for the king.
He knew the king of old, and he knew that all these complaints
were but a preface--a sort of excitation to encourage himself--
and that he had now come to his point at last.
"And in what have I been so unfortunate as to displease your
Majesty?" asked M. de Treville, feigning the most profound
astonishment.
"Is it thus you perform your charge, monsieur?" continued the
king, without directly replying to De Treville's question. "Is
it for this I name you captain of my Musketeers, that they should
assassinate a man, disturb a whole quarter, and endeavor to set
fire to Paris, without your saying a word? But yet," continued
the king, "undoubtedly my haste accuses you wrongfully; without
doubt the rioters are in prison, and you come to tell me justice
is done."
"Sire," replied M. de Treville, calmly, "on the contrary, I come
to demand it of you."
"And against whom?" cried the king.
"Against calumniators," said M. de Treville.
"Ah! This is something new," replied the king. "Will you tell
me that your three damned Musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis,
and your youngster from Bearn, have not fallen, like so many
furies, upon poor Bernajoux, and have not maltreated him in such
a fashion that probably by this time he is dead? Will you tell
me that they did not lay siege to the hotel of the Duc de la
Tremouille, and that they did not endeavor to burn it?--which
would not, perhaps, have been a great misfortune in time of war,
seeing that it is nothing but a nest of Huguenots, but which is,
in time of peace, a frightful example. Tell me, now, can you
deny all this?"
"And who told you this fine story, sire?" asked Treville,
quietly.
"Who has told me this fine story, monsieur? Who should it be but
he who watches while I sleep, who labors while I amuse myself,
who conducts everything at home and abroad--in France as in
Europe?"
"Your Majesty probably refers to God," said M. de Treville; "for
I know no one except God who can be so far above your Majesty."
"No, monsieur; I speak of the prop of the state, of my only
servant, of my only friend--of the cardinal."
"His Eminence is not his holiness, sire."
"What do you mean by that, monsieur?"
"That it is only the Pope who is infallible, and that this
infallibility does not extend to cardinals."
"You mean to say that he deceives me; you mean to say that he
betrays me? You accuse him, then? Come, speak; avow freely that
you accuse him!"
"No, sire, but I say that he deceives himself. I say that he is
ill-informed. I say that he has hastily accused your Majesty's
Musketeers, toward whom he is unjust, and that he has not
obtained his information from good sources."
"The accusation comes from Monsieur de la Tremouille, from the
duke himself. What do you say to that?"
"I might answer, sire, that he is too deeply interested in the
question to be a very impartial witness; but so far from that,
sire, I know the duke to be a royal gentleman, and I refer the
matter to him--but upon one condition, sire."
"What?"
"It is that your Majesty will make him come here, will
interrogate him yourself, TETE-A-TETE, without witnesses, and
that I shall see your Majesty as soon as you have seen the duke."
"What, then! You will bind yourself," cried the king, "by what
Monsieur de la Tremouille shall say?"
"Yes, sire."
"You will accept his judgment?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Any you will submit to the reparation he may require?"
"Certainly."
"La Chesnaye," said the king. "La Chesnaye!"
Louis XIII's confidential valet, who never left the door, entered
in reply to the call.
"La Chesnaye," said the king, "let someone go instantly and find
Monsieur de la Tremouille; I wish to speak with him this
evening."
"Your Majesty gives me your word that you will not see anyone
between Monsieur de la Tremouille and myself?"
"Nobody, by the faith of a gentleman."
"Tomorrow, then, sire?"
"Tomorrow, monsieur."
"At what o'clock, please your Majesty?"
"At any hour you will."
"But in coming too early I should be afraid of awakening your
Majesty."
"Awaken me! Do you think I ever sleep, then? I sleep no longer,
monsieur. I sometimes dream, that's all. Come, then, as early
as you like--at seven o'clock; but beware, if you and your
Musketeers are guilty."
"If my Musketeers are guilty, sire, the guilty shall be placed in
your Majesty's hands, who will dispose of them at your good
pleasure. Does your Majesty require anything further? Speak, I
am ready to obey."
"No, monsieur, no; I am not called Louis the Just without reason.
Tomorrow, then, monsieur--tomorrow."
"Till then, God preserve your Majesty!"
However ill the king might sleep, M. de Treville slept still
worse. He had ordered his three Musketeers and their companion
to be with him at half past six in the morning. He took them
with him, without encouraging them or promising them anything,
and without concealing from them that their luck, and even his
own, depended upon the cast of the dice.
Arrived at the foot of the back stairs, he desired them to wait.
If the king was still irritated against them, they would depart
without being seen; if the king consented to see them, they would
only have to be called.
On arriving at the king's private antechamber, M. de Treville
found La Chesnaye, who informed him that they had not been able
to find M. de la Tremouille on the preceding evening at his
hotel, that he returned too late to present himself at the
Louvre, that he had only that moment arrived and that he was at
that very hour with the king.
This circumstance pleased M. de Treville much, as he thus became
certain that no foreign suggestion could insinuate itself between
M. de la Tremouille's testimony and himself.
In fact, ten minutes had scarcely passed away when the door of
the king's closet opened, and M. de Treville saw M. de la
Tremouille come out. The duke came straight up to him, and said:
"Monsieur de Treville, his Majesty has just sent for me in order
to inquire respecting the circumstances which took place
yesterday at my hotel. I have told him the truth; that is to
say, that the fault lay with my people, and that I was ready to
offer you my excuses. Since I have the good fortune to meet you,
I beg you to receive them, and to hold me always as one of your
friends."
"Monsieur the Duke," said M. de Treville, "I was so confident of
your loyalty that I required no other defender before his Majesty
than yourself. I find that I have not been mistaken, and I thank
you that there is still one man in France of whom may be said,
without disappointment, what I have said of you."
"That's well said," cried the king, who had heard all these
compliments through the open door; "only tell him, Treville,
since he wishes to be considered your friend, that I also wish to
be one of his, but he neglects me; that it is nearly three years
since I have seen him, and that I never do see him unless I send
for him. Tell him all this for me, for these are things which a
king cannot say for himself."
"Thanks, sire, thanks," said the duke; "but your Majesty may be
assured that it is not those--I do not speak of Monsieur de
Treville--whom your Majesty sees at all hours of the day that are
most devoted to you."
"Ah! You have heard what I said? So much the better, Duke, so
much the better," said the king, advancing toward the door. "Ah!
It is you, Treville. Where are your Musketeers? I told you the
day before yesterday to bring them with you; why have you not
done so?"
"They are below, sire, and with your permission La Chesnaye will
bid them come up."
"Yes, yes, let them come up immediately. It is nearly eight
o'clock, and at nine I expect a visit. Go, Monsieur Duke, and
return often. Come in, Treville."
The Duke saluted and retired. At the moment he opened the door,
the three Musketeers and D'Artagnan, conducted by La Chesnaye,
appeared at the top of the staircase.
"Come in, my braves," said the king, "come in; I am going to
scold you."
The Musketeers advanced, bowing, D'Artagnan following closely
behind them.
"What the devil!" continued the king. "Seven of his Eminence's
Guards placed HORS DE COMBAT by you four in two days! That's too
many, gentlemen, too many! If you go on so, his Eminence will be
forced to renew his company in three weeks, and I to put the
edicts in force in all their rigor. One now and then I don't say
much about; but seven in two days, I repeat, it is too many, it
is far too many!"
"Therefore, sire, your Majesty sees that they are come, quite
contrite and repentant, to offer you their excuses."
"Quite contrite and repentant! Hem!" said the king. "I place no
confidence in their hypocritical faces. In particular, there is
one yonder of a Gascon look. Come hither, monsieur."
D'Artagnan, who understood that it was to him this compliment was
addressed, approached, assuming a most deprecating air.
"Why you told me he was a young man? This is a boy, Treville, a
mere boy! Do you mean to say that it was he who bestowed that
severe thrust at Jussac?"
"And those two equally fine thrusts at Bernajoux."
"Truly!"
"Without reckoning," said Athos, "that if he had not rescued me
from the hands of Cahusac, I should not now have the honor of
making my very humble reverence to your Majesty."
"Why he is a very devil, this Bearnais! VENTRE-SAINT-GRIS,
Monsieur de Treville, as the king my father would have said. But
at this sort of work, many doublets must be slashed and many
swords broken. Now, Gascons are always poor, are they not?"
"Sire, I can assert that they have hitherto discovered no gold
mines in their mountains; though the Lord owes them this miracle
in recompense for the manner in which they supported the
pretensions of the king your father."
"Which is to say that the Gascons made a king of me, myself,
seeing that I am my father's son, is it not, Treville? Well,
happily, I don't say nay to it. La Chesnaye, go and see if by
rummaging all my pockets you can find forty pistoles; and if you
can find them, bring them to me. And now let us see, young man,
with your hand upon your conscience, how did all this come to
pass?"
D'Artagnan related the adventure of the preceding day in all its
details; how, not having been able to sleep for the joy he felt
in the expectation of seeing his Majesty, he had gone to his
three friends three hours before the hour of audience; how they
had gone together to the tennis court, and how, upon the fear he
had manifested lest he receive a ball in the face, he had been
jeered at by Bernajoux who had nearly paid for his jeer with his
life and M. de la Tremouille, who had nothing to do with the
matter, with the loss of his hotel.
"This is all very well," murmured the king, "yes, this is just
the account the duke gave me of the affair. Poor cardinal!
Seven men in two days, and those of his very best! But that's
quite enough, gentlemen; please to understand, that's enough.
You have taken your revenge for the Rue Ferou, and even exceeded
it; you ought to be satisfied."
"If your Majesty is so," said Treville, "we are."
"Oh, yes; I am," added the king, taking a handful of gold from La
Chesnaye, and putting it into the hand of D'Artagnan. "Here,"
said he, "is a proof of my satisfaction."
At this epoch, the ideas of pride which are in fashion in our
days did not prevail. A gentleman received, from hand to hand,
money from the king, and was not the least in the world
humiliated. D'Artagnan put his forty pistoles into his pocket
without any scruple--on the contrary, thanking his Majesty
greatly.
"There," said the king, looking at a clock, "there, now, as it is
half past eight, you may retire; for as I told you, I expect
someone at nine. Thanks for your devotedness, gentlemen. I may
continue to rely upon it, may I not?"
"Oh, sire!" cried the four companions, with one voice, "we would
allow ourselves to be cut to pieces in your Majesty's service."
"Well, well, but keep whole; that will be better, and you will be
more useful to me. Treville," added the king, in a low voice, as
the others were retiring, "as you have no room in the Musketeers,
and as we have besides decided that a novitiate is necessary
before entering that corps, place this young man in the company
of the Guards of Monsieur Dessessart, your brother-in-law. Ah,
PARDIEU, Treville! I enjoy beforehand the face the cardinal will
make. He will be furious; but I don't care. I am doing what is
right."
The king waved his hand to Treville, who left him and rejoined
the Musketeers, whom he found sharing the forty pistoles with
D'Artagnan.
The cardinal, as his Majesty had said, was really furious, so
furious that during eight days he absented himself from the
king's gaming table. This did not prevent the king from being as
complacent to him as possible whenever he met him, or from asking
in the kindest tone, "Well, Monsieur Cardinal, how fares it with
that poor Jussac and that poor Bernajoux of yours?"
7 THE INTERIOR OF "THE MUSKETEERS"
When D'Artagnan was out of the Louvre, and consulted his friends
upon the use he had best make of his share of the forty pistoles,
Athos advised him to order a good repast at the Pomme-de-Pin,
Porthos to engage a lackey, and Aramis to provide himself with a
suitable mistress.
The repast was carried into effect that very day, and the lackey
waited at table. The repast had been ordered by Athos, and the
lackey furnished by Porthos. He was a Picard, whom the glorious
Musketeer had picked up on the Bridge Tournelle, making rings and
plashing in the water.
Porthos pretended that this occupation was proof of a reflective
and contemplative organization, and he had brought him this
gentleman, for whom he believed himself to be engaged, had won
Planchet--that was the name of the Picard. He felt a slight
disappointment, however, when he saw that this place was already
taken by a compeer named Mousqueton, and when Porthos signified
to him that the state of his household, though great, would not
support two servants, and that he must enter into the service of
D'Artagnan. Nevertheless, when he waited at the dinner given my
his master, and saw him take out a handful of gold to pay for it,
he believed his fortune made, and returned thanks to heaven for
having thrown him into the service of such a Croesus. He
preserved this opinion even after the feast, with the remnants of
which he repaired his own long abstinence; but when in the
evening he made his master's bed, the chimeras of Planchet faded
away. The bed was the only one in the apartment, which consisted
of an antechamber and a bedroom. Planchet slept in the
antechamber upon a coverlet taken from the bed of D'Artagnan, and
which D'Artagnan from that time made shift to do without.
Athos, on his part, had a valet whom he had trained in his
service in a thoroughly peculiar fashion, and who was named
Grimaud. He was very taciturn, this worthy signor. Be it
understood we are speaking of Athos. During the five or six
years that he had lived in the strictest intimacy with his
companions, Porthos and Aramis, they could remember having often
seen him smile, but had never heard him laugh. His words were
brief and expressive, conveying all that was meant, and no more;
no embellishments, no embroidery, no arabesques. His
conversation a matter of fact, without a single romance.
Although Athos was scarcely thirty years old, and was of great
personal beauty and intelligence of mind, no one knew whether he
had ever had a mistress. He never spoke of women. He certainly
did not prevent others from speaking of them before him, although
it was easy to perceive that this kind of conversation, in which
he only mingled by bitter words and misanthropic remarks, was
very disagreeable to him. His reserve, his roughness, and his
silence made almost an old man of him. He had, then, in order
not to disturb his habits, accustomed Grimaud to obey him upon a
simple gesture or upon a simple movement of his lips. He never
spoke to him, except under the most extraordinary occasions.
Sometimes, Grimaud, who feared his master as he did fire, while
entertaining a strong attachment to his person and a great
veneration for his talents, believed he perfectly understood what
he wanted, flew to execute the order received, and did precisely
the contrary. Athos then shrugged his shoulders, and, without
putting himself in a passion, thrashed Grimaud. On these days he
spoke a little.
Porthos, as we have seen, had a character exactly opposite to
that of Athos. He not only talked much, but he talked loudly,
little caring, we must render him that justice, whether anybody
listened to him or not. He talked for the pleasure of talking
and for the pleasure of hearing himself talk. He spoke upon all
subjects except the sciences, alleging in this respect the
inveterate hatred he had borne to scholars from his childhood.
He had not so noble an air as Athos, and the commencement of
their intimacy often rendered him unjust toward that gentleman,
whom he endeavored to eclipse by his splendid dress. But with
his simple Musketeer's uniform and nothing but the manner in
which he threw back his head and advanced his foot, Athos
instantly took the place which was his due and consigned the
ostentatious Porthos to the second rank. Porthos consoled
himself by filling the antechamber of M. de Treville and the
guardroom of the Louvre with the accounts of his love scrapes,
after having passed from professional ladies to military ladies,
from the lawyer's dame to the baroness, there was question of
nothing less with Porthos than a foreign princess, who was
enormously fond of him.
An old proverb says, "Like master, like man." Let us pass, then,
from the valet of Athos to the valet of Porthos, from Grimaud to
Mousqueton.
Mousqueton was a Norman, whose pacific name of Boniface his
master had changed into the infinitely more sonorous name of
Mousqueton. He had entered the service of Porthos upon condition
that he should only be clothed and lodged, though in a handsome
manner; but he claimed two hours a day to himself, consecrated to
an employment which would provide for his other wants. Porthos
agreed to the bargain; the thing suited him wonderfully well. He
had doublets cut out of his old clothes and cast-off cloaks for
Mousqueton, and thanks to a very intelligent tailor, who made his
clothes look as good as new by turning them, and whose wife was
suspected of wishing to make Porthos descend from his
aristocratic habits, Mousqueton made a very good figure when
attending on his master.
As for Aramis, of whom we believe we have sufficiently explained
the character--a character which, like that of his lackey was
called Bazin. Thanks to the hopes which his master entertained
of someday entering into orders, he was always clothed in black,
as became the servant of a churchman. He was a Berrichon,
thirty-five or forty years old, mild, peaceable, sleek, employing
the leisure his master left him in the perusal of pious works,
providing rigorously for two a dinner of few dishes, but
excellent. For the rest, he was dumb, blind, and deaf, and of
unimpeachable fidelity.
And now that we are acquainted, superficially at least, with the
masters and the valets, let us pass on to the dwellings occupied
by each of them.
Athos dwelt in the Rue Ferou, within two steps of the Luxembourg.
His apartment consisted of two small chambers, very nicely fitted
up, in a furnished house, the hostess of which, still young and
still really handsome, cast tender glances uselessly at him.
Some fragments of past splendor appeared here and there upon the
walls of this modest lodging; a sword, for example, richly
embossed, which belonged by its make to the times of Francis I,
the hilt of which alone, encrusted with precious stones, might be
worth two hundred pistoles, and which, nevertheless, in his
moments of greatest distress Athos had never pledged or offered
for sale. It had long been an object of ambition for Porthos.
Porthos would have given ten years of his life to possess this
sword.
One day, when he had an appointment with a duchess, he endeavored
even to borrow it of Athos. Athos, without saying anything,
emptied his pockets, got together all his jewels, purses,
aiguillettes, and gold chains, and offered them all to Porthos;
but as to the sword, he said it was sealed to its place and
should never quit it until its master should himself quit his
lodgings. In addition to the sword, there was a portrait
representing a nobleman of the time of Henry III, dressed with
the greatest elegance, and who wore the Order of the Holy Ghost;
and this portrait had certain resemblances of lines with Athos,
certain family likenesses which indicated that this great noble,
a knight of the Order of the King, was his ancestor.
Besides these, a casket of magnificent goldwork, with the same
arms as the sword and the portrait, formed a middle ornament to
the mantelpiece, and assorted badly with the rest of the
furniture. Athos always carried the key of this coffer about
him; but he one day opened it before Porthos, and Porthos was
convinced that this coffer contained nothing but letters and
papers--love letters and family papers, no doubt.
Porthos lived in an apartment, large in size and of very
sumptuous appearance, in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier. Every time
he passed with a friend before his windows, at one of which
Mousqueton was sure to be placed in full livery, Porthos raised
his head and his hand, and said, "That is my abode!" But he was
never to be found at home; he never invited anybody to go up with
him, and no one could form an idea of what his sumptuous
apartment contained in the shape of real riches.
As to Aramis, he dwelt in a little lodging composed of a boudoir,
an eating room, and a bedroom, which room, situated, as the
others were, on the ground floor, looked out upon a little fresh
green garden, shady and impenetrable to the eyes of his
neighbors.
With regard to D'Artagnan, we know how he was lodged, and we have
already made acquaintance with his lackey, Master Planchet.
D'Artagnan, who was by nature very curious--as people generally
are who possess the genius of intrigue--did all he could to make
out who Athos, Porthos, and Aramis really were (for under these
pseudonyms each of these young men concealed his family name)--
Athos in particular, who, a league away, savored of nobility. He
addressed himself then to Porthos to gain information respecting
Athos and Aramis, and to Aramis in order to learn something of
Porthos.
Unfortunately Porthos knew nothing of the life of his silent
companion but what revealed itself. It was said Athos had met
with great crosses in love, and that a frightful treachery had
forever poisoned the life of this gallant man. What could this
treachery be? All the world was ignorant of it.
As to Porthos, except his real name (as was the case with those
of his two comrades), his life was very easily known. Vain and
indiscreet, it was as easy to see through him as through a
crystal. The only thing to mislead the investigator would have
been belief in all the good things he said of himself.
With respect to Aramis, though having the air of having nothing
secret about him, he was a young fellow made up of mysteries,
answering little to questions put to him about others, and having
learned from him the report which prevailed concerning the
success of the Musketeer with a princess, wished to gain a little
insight into the amorous adventures of his interlocutor. "And
you, my dear companion," said he, "you speak of the baronesses,
countesses, and princesses of others?"
"PARDIEU! I spoke of them because Porthos talked of them
himself, because he had paraded all these fine things before me.
But be assured, my dear Monsieur D'Artagnan, that if I had
obtained them from any other source, or if they had been confided
to me, there exists no confessor more discreet than myself."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," replied D'Artagnan; "but it seems to me
that you are tolerably familiar with coats of arms--a certain
embroidered handkerchief, for instance, to which I owe the honor
of your acquaintance?"
This time Aramis was not angry, but assumed the most modest air
and replied in a friendly tone, "My dear friend, do not forget
that I wish to belong to the Church, and that I avoid all mundane
opportunities. The handkerchief you saw had not been given to
me, but it had been forgotten and left at my house by one of my
friends. I was obliged to pick it up in order not to compromise
him and the lady he loves. As for myself, I neither have, nor
desire to have, a mistress, following in that respect the very
judicious example of Athos, who has none any more than I have."
"But what the devil! You are not a priest, you are a Musketeer!"
"A Musketeer for a time, my friend, as the cardinal says, a
Musketeer against my will, but a churchman at heart, believe me.
Athos and Porthos dragged me into this to occupy me. I had, at
the moment of being ordained, a little difficulty with--But that
would not interest you, and I am taking up your valuable time."
"Not at all; it interests me very much," cried D'Artagnan; "and
at this moment I have absolutely nothing to do."
"Yes, but I have my breviary to repeat," answered Aramis; "then
some verses to compose, which Madame d'Aiguillon begged of me.
Then I must go to the Rue St. Honore in order to purchase some
rouge for Madame de Chevreuse. So you see, my dear friend, that
if you are not in a hurry, I am very much in a hurry."
Aramis held out his hand in a cordial manner to his young
companion, and took leave of him.
Notwithstanding all the pains he took, D'Artagnan was unable to
learn any more concerning his three new-made friends. He formed,
therefore, the resolution of believing for the present all that
was said of their past, hoping for more certain and extended
revelations in the future. In the meanwhile, he looked upon
Athos as an Achilles, Porthos as an Ajax, and Aramis as a Joseph.
As to the rest, the life of the four young friends was joyous
enough. Athos played, and that as a rule unfortunately.
Nevertheless, he never borrowed a sou of his companions, although
his purse was ever at their service; and when he had played upon
honor, he always awakened his creditor by six o'clock the next
morning to pay the debt of the preceding evening.
Porthos had his fits. On the days when he won he was insolent
and ostentatious; if he lost, he disappeared completely for
several days, after which he reappeared with a pale face and
thinner person, but with money in his purse.
As to Aramis, he never played. He was the worst Musketeer and
the most unconvivial companion imaginable. He had always
something or other to do. Sometimes in the midst of dinner, when
everyone, under the attraction of wine and in the warmth of
conversation, believed they had two or three hours longer to
enjoy themselves at table, Aramis looked at his watch, arose with
a bland smile, and took leave of the company, to go, as he said,
to consult a casuist with whom he had an appointment. At other
times he would return home to write a treatise, and requested his
friends not to disturb him.
At this Athos would smile, with his charming, melancholy smile,
which so became his noble countenance, and Porthos would drink,
swearing that Aramis would never be anything but a village CURE.
Planchet, D'Artagnan's valet, supported his good fortune nobly.
He received thirty sous per day, and for a month he returned to
his lodgings gay as a chaffinch, and affable toward his master.
When the wind of adversity began to blow upon the housekeeping of
the Rue des Fossoyeurs--that is to say, when the forty pistoles
of King Louis XIII were consumed or nearly so--he commenced
complaints which Athos thought nauseous, Porthos indecent, and
Aramis ridiculous. Athos counseled D'Artagnan to dismiss the
fellow; Porthos was of opinion that he should give him a good
thrashing first; and Aramis contended that a master should never
attend to anything but the civilities paid to him.
"This is all very easy for you to say," replied D'Artagnan, "for
you, Athos, who live like a dumb man with Grimaud, who forbid him
to speak, and consequently never exchange ill words with him; for
you, Porthos, who carry matters in such a magnificent style, and
are a god to your valet, Mousqueton; and for you, Aramis, who,
always abstracted by your theological studies, inspire your
servant, Bazin, a mild, religious man, with a profound respect;
but for me, who am without any settled means and without
resources--for me, who am neither a Musketeer nor even a
Guardsman, what I am to do to inspire either the affection, the
terror, or the respect in Planchet?"
"This is serious," answered the three friends; "it is a family
affair. It is with valets as with wives, they must be placed at
once upon the footing in which you wish them to remain. Reflect
upon it."
D'Artagnan did reflect, and resolved to thrash Planchet
provisionally; which he did with the conscientiousness that
D'Artagnan carried into everything. After having well beaten
him, he forbade him to leave his service without his permission.
"For," added he, "the future cannot fail to mend; I inevitably
look for better times. Your fortune is therefore made if you
remain with me, and I am too good a master to allow you to miss
such a chance by granting you the dismissal you require."
This manner of acting roused much respect for D'Artagnan's policy
among the Musketeers. Planchet was equally seized with
admiration, and said no more about going away.
The life of the four young men had become fraternal. D'Artagnan,
who had no settled habits of his own, as he came from his
province into the midst of his world quite new to him, fell
easily into the habits of his friends.
They rose about eight o'clock in the winter, about six in summer,
and went to take the countersign and see how things went on at M.
de Treville's. D'Artagnan, although he was not a Musketeer,
performed the duty of one with remarkable punctuality. He went
on guard because he always kept company with whoever of his
friends was on duty. He was well known at the Hotel of the
Musketeers, where everyone considered him a good comrade. M. de
Treville, who had appreciated him at the first glance and who
bore him a real affection, never ceased recommending him to the
king.
On their side, the three Musketeers were much attached to their
young comrade. The friendship which united these four men, and
the want they felt of seeing another three or four times a day,
whether for dueling, business, or pleasure, caused them to be
continually running after one another like shadows; and the
Inseparables were constantly to be met with seeking one another,
from the Luxembourg to the Place St. Sulpice, or from the Rue du
Vieux-Colombier to the Luxembourg.
In the meanwhile the promises of M. de Treville went on
prosperously. One fine morning the king commanded M. de
Chevalier Dessessart to admit D'Artagnan as a cadet in his
company of Guards. D'Artagnan, with a sigh, donned his uniform,
which he would have exchanged for that of a Musketeer at the
expense of ten years of his existence. But M. de Treville
promised this favor after a novitiate of two years--a novitiate
which might besides be abridged if an opportunity should present
itself for D'Artagnan to render the king any signal service, or
to distinguish himself by some brilliant action. Upon this
promise D'Artagnan withdrew, and the next day he began service.
Then it became the turn of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to mount
guard with D'Artagnan when he was on duty. The company of M. le
Chevalier Dessessart thus received four instead of one when it
admitted D'Artagnan.
8 CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
In the meantime, the forty pistoles of King Louis XIII, like all
other things of this world, after having had a beginning had an
end, and after this end our four companions began to be somewhat
embarrassed. At first, Athos supported the association for a
time with his own means.
Porthos succeeded him; and thanks to one of those disappearances
to which he was accustomed, he was able to provide for the wants
of all for a fortnight. At last it became Aramis's turn, who
performed it with a good grace and who succeeded--as he said, by
selling some theological books--in procuring a few pistoles.
Then, as they had been accustomed to do, they had recourse to M.
de Treville, who made some advances on their pay; but these
advances could not go far with three Musketeers who were already
much in arrears and a Guardsman who as yet had no pay at all.
At length when they found they were likely to be really in want,
they got together, as a last effort, eight or ten pistoles, with
which Porthos went to the gaming table. Unfortunately he was in
a bad vein; he lost all, together with twenty-five pistoles for
which he had given his word.
Then the inconvenience became distress. The hungry friends,
followed by their lackeys, were seen haunting the quays and Guard
rooms, picking up among their friends abroad all the dinners they
could meet with; for according to the advice of Aramis, it was
prudent to sow repasts right and left in prosperity, in order to
reap a few in time of need.
Athos was invited four times, and each time took his friends and
their lackeys with him. Porthos had six occasions, and contrived
in the same manner that his friends should partake of them;
Aramis had eight of them. He was a man, as must have been
already perceived, who made but little noise, and yet was much
sought after.
As to D'Artagnan, who as yet knew nobody in the capital, he only
found one chocolate breakfast at the house of a priest of his own
province, and one dinner at the house of a cornet of the Guards.
He took his army to the priest's, where they devoured as much
provision as would have lasted him for two months, and to the
cornet's, who performed wonders; but as Planchet said, "People do
not eat at once for all time, even when they eat a good deal."
D'Artagnan thus felt himself humiliated in having only procured
one meal and a half for his companions--as the breakfast at the
priest's could only be counted as half a repast--in return for
the feasts which Athos, Porthos, and Aramis had procured him. He
fancied himself a burden to the society, forgetting in his
perfectly juvenile good faith that he had fed this society for a
month; and he set his mind actively to work. He reflected that
this coalition of four young, brave, enterprising, and active men
ought to have some other object than swaggering walks, fencing
lessons, and practical jokes, more or less witty.
In fact, four men such as they were--four men devoted to one
another, from their purses to their lives; four men always
supporting one another, never yielding, executing singly or
together the resolutions formed in common; four arms threatening
the four cardinal points, or turning toward a single point--must
inevitably, either subterraneously, in open day, by mining, in
the trench, by cunning, or by force, open themselves a way toward
the object they wished to attain, however well it might be
defended, or however distant it may seem. The only thing that
astonished D'Artagnan was that his friends had never thought of
this.
He was thinking by himself, and even seriously racking his brain
to find a direction for this single force four times multiplied,
with which he did not doubt, as with the lever for which
Archimedes sought, they should succeed in moving the world, when
someone tapped gently at his door. D'Artagnan awakened Planchet
and ordered him to open it.
>From this phrase, "D'Artagnan awakened Planchet," the reader must
not suppose it was night, or that day was hardly come. No, it
had just struck four. Planchet, two hours before, had asked his
master for some dinner, and he had answered him with the proverb,
"He who sleeps, dines." And Planchet dined by sleeping.
A man was introduced of simple mien, who had the appearance of a
tradesman. Planchet, by way of dessert, would have liked to hear
the conversation; but the citizen declared to D'Artagnan that
what he had to say being important and confidential, he desired
to be left alone with him.
D'Artagnan dismissed Planchet, and requested his visitor to be
seated. There was a moment of silence, during which the two men
looked at each other, as if to make a preliminary acquaintance,
after which D'Artagnan bowed, as a sign that he listened.
"I have heard Monsieur d'Artagnan spoken of as a very brave young
man," said the citizen; "and this reputation which he justly
enjoys had decided me to confide a secret to him."
"Speak, monsieur, speak," said D'Artagnan, who instinctively
scented something advantageous.
The citizen made a fresh pause and continued, "I have a wife who
is seamstress to the queen, monsieur, and who is not deficient in
either virtue or beauty. I was induced to marry her about three
years ago, although she had but very little dowry, because
Monsieur Laporte, the queen's cloak bearer, is her godfather, and
befriends her."
"Well, monsieur?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Well!" resumed the citizen, "well, monsieur, my wife was
abducted yesterday morning, as she was coming out of her
workroom."
"And by whom was your wife abducted?"
"I know nothing surely, monsieur, but I suspect someone."
"And who is the person whom you suspect?"
"A man who has persued her a long time."
"The devil!"
"But allow me to tell you, monsieur," continued the citizen,
"that I am convinced that there is less love than politics in all
this."
"Less love than politics," replied D'Artagnan, with a reflective
air; "and what do you suspect?"
"I do not know whether I ought to tell you what I suspect."
"Monsieur, I beg you to observe that I ask you absolutely
nothing. It is you who have come to me. It is you who have told
me that you had a secret to confide in me. Act, then, as you
think proper; there is still time to withdraw."
"No, monsieur, no; you appear to be an honest young man, and I
will have confidence in you. I believe, then, that it is not on
account of any intrigues of her own that my wife has been
arrested, but because of those of a lady much greater than
herself."
"Ah, ah! Can it be on account of the amours of Madame de
Bois-Tracy?" said D'Artagnan, wishing to have the air, in the
eyes of the citizen, of being posted as to court affairs."
"Higher, monsieur, higher."
"Of Madame d'Aiguillon?"
"Still higher."
"Of Madame de Chevreuse?"
"Of the--" D'Artagnan checked himself.
"Yes, monsieur," replied the terrified citizen, in a tone so low
that he was scarcely audible.
"And with whom?"
"With whom can it be, if not the Duke of--"
"The Duke of--"
"Yes, monsieur," replied the citizen, giving a still fainter
intonation to his voice.
"But how do you know all this?"
"How do I know it?"
"Yes, how do you know it? No half-confidence, or--you understand!"
"I know it from my wife, monsieur--from my wife herself."
"Who learns it from whom?"
"From Monsieur Laporte. Did I not tell you that she was the
goddaughter of Monsieur Laporte, the confidential man of the
queen? Well, Monsieur Laporte placed her near her Majesty in
order that our poor queen might at least have someone in whom she
could place confidence, abandoned as she is by the king, watched
as she is by the cardinal, betrayed as she is by everybody."
"Ah, ah! It begins to develop itself," said D'Artagnan.
"Now, my wife came home four days ago, monsieur. One of her
conditions was that she should come and see me twice a week; for,
as I had the honor to tell you, my wife loves me dearly--my wife,
then, came and confided to me that the queen at that very moment
entertained great fears."
"Truly!"
"Yes. The cardinal, as it appears, pursues he and persecutes her
more than ever. He cannot pardon her the history of the
Saraband. You know the history of the Saraband?"
"PARDIEU! Know it!" replied D'Artagnan, who knew nothing about
it, but who wished to appear to know everything that was going
on.
"So that now it is no longer hatred, but vengeance."
"Indeed!"
"And the queen believes--"
"Well, what does the queen believe?"
"She believes that someone has written to the Duke of Buckingham
in her name."
"In the queen's name?"
"Yes, to make him come to Paris; and when once come to Paris, to
draw him into some snare."
"The devil! But your wife, monsieur, what has she to do with all
this?"
"Her devotion to the queen is known; and they wish either to
remove her from her mistress, or to intimidate her, in order to
obtain her Majesty's secrets, or to seduce her and make use of
her as a spy."
"That is likely," said D'Artagnan; "but the man who has abducted
her--do you know him?"
"I have told you that I believe I know him."
"His name?"
"I do not know that; what I do know is that he is a creature of
the cardinal, his evil genius."
"But you have seen him?"
"Yes, my wife pointed him out to me one day."
'Has he anything remarkable about him by which one may recognize
him?"
"Oh, certainly; he is a noble of very lofty carriage, black hair,
swarthy complexion, piercing eye, white teeth, and has a scar on
his temple."
"A scar on his temple!" cried D'Artagnan; "and with that, white
teeth, a piercing eye, dark complexion, black hair, and haughty
carriage--why, that's my man of Meung."
"He is your man, do you say?"
"Yes, yes; but that has nothing to do with it. No, I am wrong.
On the contrary, that simplifies the matter greatly. If your man
is mine, with one blow I shall obtain two revenges, that's all;
but where to find this man?"
"I know not."
"Have you no information as to his abiding place?"
"None. One day, as I was conveying my wife back to the Louvre,
he was coming out as she was going in, and she showed him to me."
"The devil! The devil!" murmured D'Artagnan; "all this is vague
enough. From whom have you learned of the abduction of your
wife?"
"From Monsieur Laporte."
"Did he give you any details?"
"He knew none himself."
"And you have learned nothing from any other quarter?"
"Yes, I have received--"
"What?"
"I fear I am committing a great imprudence."
"You always come back to that; but I must make you see this time
that it is too late to retreat."
"I do not retreat, MORDIEU!" cried the citizen, swearing in order
to rouse his courage. "Besides, by the faith of Bonacieux--"
"You call yourself Bonacieux?" interrupted D'Artagnan.
"Yes, that is my name."
"You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux. Pardon me for
interrupting you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar
to me."
"Possibly, monsieur. I am your landlord."
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, half rising and bowing; "you are my
landlord?"
"Yes, monsieur, yes. And as it is three months since you have
been here, and though, distracted as you must be in your
important occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent--as,
I say, I have not tormented you a single instant, I thought you
would appreciate my delicacy."
"How can it be otherwise, my dear Bonacieux?" replied D'Artagnan;
"trust me, I am fully grateful for such unparalleled conduct, and
if, as I told you, I can be of any service to you--"
"I believe you, monsieur, I believe you; and as I was about to
say, by the word of Bonacieux, I have confidence in you."
"Finish, then, what you were about to say."
The citizen took a paper from his pocket, and presented it to
D'Artagnan.
"A letter?" said the young man.
"Which I received this morning."
D'Artagnan opened it, and as the day was beginning to decline, he
approached the window to read it. The citizen followed him.
"'Do not seek your wife,'" read D'Artagnan; "'she will be
restored to you when there is no longer occasion for her. If you
make a single step to find her you are lost.'
"That's pretty positive," continued D'Artagnan; "but after all,
it is but a menace."
"Yes; but that menace terrifies me. I am not a fighting man at
all, monsieur, and I am afraid of the Bastille."
"Hum!" said D'Artagnan. "I have no greater regard for the
Bastille than you. If it were nothing but a sword thrust, why
then--"
"I have counted upon you on this occasion, monsieur."
"Yes?"
"Seeing you constantly surrounded by Musketeers of a very superb
appearance, and knowing that these Musketeers belong to Monsieur
de Treville, and were consequently enemies of the cardinal, I
thought that you and your friends, while rendering justice to
your poor queen, would be pleased to play his Eminence an ill
turn."
"Without doubt."
"And then I have thought that considering three months' lodging,
about which I have said nothing--"
"Yes, yes; you have already given me that reason, and I find it
excellent."
"Reckoning still further, that as long as you do me the honor to
remain in my house I shall never speak to you about rent--"
"Very kind!"
"And adding to this, if there be need of it, meaning to offer you
fifty pistoles, if, against all probability, you should be short
at the present moment."
"Admirable! You are rich then, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux?"
"I am comfortably off, monsieur, that's all; I have scraped
together some such thing as an income of two or three thousand
crown in the haberdashery business, but more particularly in
venturing some funds in the last voyage of the celebrated
navigator Jean Moquet; so that you understand, monsieur--But"
cried the citizen.
"What!" demanded D'Artagnan.
"Whom do I see yonder?"
"Where?"
"In the street, facing your window, in the embrasure of that
door--a man wrapped in a cloak."
"It is he!" cried D'Artagnan and the citizen at the same time,
each having recognized his man.
"Ah, this time," cried D'Artagnan, springing to his sword, "this
time he will not escape me!"
Drawing his sword from its scabbard, he rushed out of the
apartment. On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were
coming to see him. They separated, and D'Artagnan rushed between
them like a dart.
"Pah! Where are you going?" cried the two Musketeers in a breath.
"The man of Meung!" replied D'Artagnan, and disappeared.
D'Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his
adventure with the stranger, as well as the apparition of the
beautiful foreigner, to whom this man had confided some important
missive.
The opinion of Athos was that D'Artagnan had lost his letter in
the skirmish. A gentleman, in his opinion--and according to
D'Artagnan's portrait of him, the stranger must be a gentleman--
would be incapable of the baseness of stealing a letter.
Porthos saw nothing in all this but a love meeting, given by a
lady to a cavalier, or by a cavalier to a lady, which had been
disturbed by the presence of D'Artagnan and his yellow horse.
Aramis said that as these sorts of affairs were mysterious, it
was better not to fathom them.
They understood, then, from the few words which escaped from
D'Artagnan, what affair was in hand, and as they thought that
overtaking his man, or losing sight of him, D'Artagnan would
return to his rooms, they kept on their way.
When they entered D'Artagan's chamber, it was empty; the
landlord, dreading the consequences of the encounter which was
doubtless about to take place between the young man and the
stranger, had, consistent with the character he had given
himself, judged it prudent to decamp.
9 D'ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF
As Athos and Porthos had foreseen, at the expiration of a half
hour, D'Artagnan returned. He had again missed his man, who had
disappeared as if by enchantment. D'Artagnan had run, sword in
hand, through all the neighboring streets, but had found nobody
resembling the man he sought for. Then he came back to the point
where, perhaps, he ought to have begun, and that was to knock at
the door against which the stranger had leaned; but this proved
useless--for though he knocked ten or twelve times in succession,
no one answered, and some of the neighbors, who put their noses
out of their windows or were brought to their doors by the noise,
had assured him that that house, all the openings of which were
tightly closed, had not been inhabited for six months.
While D'Artagnan was running through the streets and knocking at
doors, Aramis had joined his companions; so that on returning him
D'Artagnan found the reunion complete.
"Well!" cried the three Musketeers all together, on seeing
D'Artagnan enter with his brow covered with perspiration and his
countenance upset with anger.
"Well!" cried he, throwing his sword upon the bed, "this man must
be the devil in person; he has disappeared like a phantom, like a shade, like a specter."
"Do you believe in apparitions?" asked Athos of Porthos.
"I never believe in anything I have not seen, and as I never have
seen apparitions, I don't believe in them."
"The Bible," said Aramis, "make our belief in them a law; the
ghost of Samuel appeared to Saul, and it is an article of faith
that I should be very sorry to see any doubt thrown upon,
Porthos."
"At all events, man or devil, body or shadow, illusion or
reality, this man is born for my damnation; for his flight has
caused us to miss a glorious affair, gentlemen--an affair by
which there were a hundred pistoles, and perhaps more, to be
gained."
"How is that?" cried Porthos and Aramis in a breath.
As to Athos, faithful to his system of reticence, he contented
himself with interrogating D'Artagnan by a look.
"Planchet," said D'Artagnan to his domestic, who just then
insinuated his head through the half-open door in order to catch
some fragments of the conversation, "go down to my landlord,
Monsieur Bonacieux, and ask him to send me half a dozen bottles
of Beaugency wine; I prefer that."
"Ah, ah! You have credit with your landlord, then?" asked
Porthos.
"Yes," replied D'Artagnan, "from this very day; and mind, if the
wine is bad, we will send him to find better."
"We must use, and not abuse," said Aramis, sententiously.
"I always said that D'Artagnan had the longest head of the four,"
said Athos, who, having uttered his opinion, to which D'Artagnan
replied with a bow, immediately resumed his accustomed silence.
"But come, what is this about?" asked Porthos.
"Yes," said Aramis, "impart it to us, my dear friend, unless the
honor of any lady be hazarded by this confidence; in that case
you would do better to keep it to yourself."
"Be satisfied," replied D'Artagnan; "the honor of no one will
have cause to complain of what I have to tell.
He then related to his friends, word for word, all that had
passed between him and his host, and how the man who had abducted
the wife of his worthy landlord was the same with whom he had had
the difference at the hostelry of the Jolly Miller.
"Your affair is not bad," said Athos, after having tasted like a
connoisseur and indicated by a nod of his head that he thought
the wine good; "and one may draw fifty or sixty pistoles from
this good man. Then there only remains to ascertain whether
these fifty or sixty pistoles are worth the risk of four heads."
"But observe," cried D'Artagnan, "that there is a woman in the
affair--a woman carried off, a woman who is doubtless threatened,
tortured perhaps, and all because she is faithful to her
mistress."
"Beware, D'Artagnan, beware," said Aramis. "You grow a little
too warm, in my opinion, about the fate of Madame Bonacieux.
Woman was created for our destruction, and it is from her we
inherit all our miseries."
At this speech of Aramis, the brow of Athos became clouded and he
bit his lips.
"It is not Madame Bonacieux about whom I am anxious," cried
D'Artagnan, "but the queen, whom the king abandons, whom the
cardinal persecutes, and who sees the heads of all her friends
fall, one after the other."
"Why does she love what we hate most in the world, the Spaniards
and the English?"
"Spain is her country," replied D'Artagnan; "and it is very
natural that she should love the Spanish, who are the children of
the same soil as herself. As to the second reproach, I have
heard it said that she does not love the English, but an
Englishman."
"Well, and by my faith," said Athos, "it must be acknowledged
that this Englishman is worthy of being loved. I never saw a man
with a nobler air than his."
"Without reckoning that he dresses as nobody else can," said
Porthos. "I was at the Louvre on the day when he scattered his
pearls; and, PARDIEU, I picked up two that I sold for ten
pistoles each. Do you know him, Aramis?"
"As well as you do, gentlemen; for I was among those who seized
him in the garden at Amiens, into which Monsieur Putange, the
queen's equerry, introduced me. I was at school at the time, and
the adventure appeared to me to be cruel for the king."
"Which would not prevent me," said D'Artagnan, "if I knew where
the Duke of Buckingham was, from taking him by the hand and
conducting him to the queen, were it only to enrage the cardinal,
and if we could find means to play him a sharp turn, I vow that I
would voluntarily risk my head in doing it."
"And did the mercer,"* rejoined Athos, "tell you, D'Artagnan,
that the queen thought that Buckingham had been brought over by a
forged letter?"
*Haberdasher
"She is afraid so."
"Wait a minute, then," said Aramis.
"What for?" demanded Porthos.
"Go on, while I endeavor to recall circumstances."
"And now I am convinced," said D'Artagnan, "that this abduction
of the queen's woman is connected with the events of which we are
speaking, and perhaps with the presence of Buckingham in Paris."
"The Gascon is full of ideas," said Porthos, with admiration.
"I like to hear him talk," said Athos; "his dialect amuses me."
"Gentlemen," cried Aramis, "listen to this."
"Listen to Aramis," said his three friends.
"Yesterday I was at the house of a doctor of theology, whom I
sometimes consult about my studies."
Athos smiled.
"He resides in a quiet quarter," continued Aramis; "his tastes
and his profession require it. Now, at the moment when I left
his house--"
Here Aramis paused.
"Well," cried his auditors; "at the moment you left his house?"
Aramis appeared to make a strong inward effort, like a man who,
in the full relation of a falsehood, finds himself stopped by
some unforeseen obstacle; but the eyes of his three companions
were fixed upon him, their ears were wide open, and there were no
means of retreat.
"This doctor has a niece," continued Aramis.
"Ah, he has a niece!" interrupted Porthos.
"A very respectable lady," said Aramis.
The three friends burst into laughter.
"Ah, if you laugh, if you doubt me," replied Aramis, "you shall
know nothing."
"We believe like Mohammedans, and are as mute as tombstones,"
said Athos.
"I will continue, then," resumed Aramis. "This niece comes
sometimes to see her uncle; and by chance was there yesterday at
the same time that I was, and it was my duty to offer to conduct
her to her carriage."
"Ah! She has a carriage, then, this niece of the doctor?"
interrupted Porthos, one of whose faults was a great looseness of
tongue. "A nice acquaintance, my friend!"
"Porthos," replied Aramis, "I have had the occasion to observe to
you more than once that you are very indiscreet; and that is
injurious to you among the women."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried D'Artagnan, who began to get a
glimpse of the result of the adventure, "the thing is serious.
Let us try not to jest, if we can. Go on Aramis, go on."
"All at once, a tall, dark gentleman--just like yours,
D'Artagnan."
"The same, perhaps," said he.
"Possibly," continued Aramis, "came toward me, accompanied by
five or six men who followed about ten paces behind him; and in
the politest tone, 'Monsieur Duke,' said he to me, 'and you
madame,' continued he, addressing the lady on my arm--"
"The doctor's niece?"
"Hold your tongue, Porthos," said Athos; "you are insupportable."
"'--will you enter this carriage, and that without offering the
least resistance, without making the least noise?'"
"He took you for Buckingham!" cried D'Artagnan.
"I believe so," replied Aramis.
"But the lady?" asked Porthos.
"He took her for the queen!" said D'Artagnan.
"Just so," replied Aramis.
"The Gascon is the devil!" cried Athos; "nothing escapes him."
"The fact is," said Porthos, "Aramis is of the same height, and
something of the shape of the duke; but it nevertheless appears
to me that the dress of a Musketeer--"
"I wore an enormous cloak," said Aramis.
"In the month of July? The devil!" said Porthos. "Is the doctor
afraid that you may be recognized?"
"I can comprehend that the spy may have been deceived by the
person; but the face--"
"I had a large hat," said Aramis.
"Oh, good lord," cried Porthos, "what precautions for the study
of theology!"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "do not let us lose our
time in jesting. Let us separate, and let us seek the mercer's
wife--that is the key of the intrigue."
"A woman of such inferior condition! Can you believe so?" said
Porthos, protruding his lips with contempt.
"She is goddaughter to Laporte, the confidential valet of the
queen. Have I not told you so, gentlemen? Besides, it has
perhaps been her Majesty's calculation to seek on this occasion
for support so lowly. High heads expose themselves from afar,
and the cardinal is longsighted."
"Well," said Porthos, "in the first place make a bargain with the
mercer, and a good bargain."
"That's useless," said D'Artagnan; "for I believe if he does not
pay us, we shall be well enough paid by another party."
At this moment a sudden noise of footsteps was heard upon the
stairs; the door was thrown violently open, and the unfortunate
mercer rushed into the chamber in which the council was held.
"Save me, gentlemen, for the love of heaven, save me!" cried he.
"There are four men come to arrest me. Save me! Save me!"
Porthos and Aramis arose.
"A moment," cried D'Artagnan, making them a sign to replace in
the scabbard their half-drawn swords. "It is not courage that is
needed; it is prudence."
"And yet," cried Porthos, "we will not leave--"
"You will leave D'Artagnan to act as he thinks proper," said
Athos. "He has, I repeat, the longest head of the four, and for
my part I declare that I will obey him. Do as you think best,
D'Artagnan."
At this moment the four Guards appeared at the door of the
antechamber, but seeing four Musketeers standing, and their
swords by their sides, they hesitated about going farther.
"Come in, gentlemen, come in," called D'Artagnan; "you are here
in my apartment, and we are all faithful servants of the king and
cardinal."
"Then, gentlemen, you will not oppose our executing the orders we
have received?" asked one who appeared to be the leader of the
party.
"On the contrary, gentlemen, we would assist you if it were
necessary."
"What does he say?" grumbled Porthos.
"You are a simpleton," said Athos. "Silence!"
"But you promised me--" whispered the poor mercer.
"We can only save you by being free ourselves," replied
D'Artagnan, in a rapid, low tone; "and if we appear inclined to
defend you, they will arrest us with you."
"It seems, nevertheless--"
"Come, gentlemen, come!" said D'Artagnan, aloud; "I have no
motive for defending Monsieur. I saw him today for the first
time, and he can tell you on what occasion; he came to demand the
rent of my lodging. Is that not true, Monsieur Bonacieux?
Answer!"
"That is the very truth," cried the mercer; "but Monsieur does
not tell you--"
"Silence, with respect to me, silence, with respect to my
friends; silence about the queen, above all, or you will ruin
everybody without saving yourself! Come, come, gentlemen, remove
the fellow." And D'Artagnan pushed the half-stupefied mercer
among the Guards, saying to him, "You are a shabby old fellow, my
dear. You come to demand money of me--of a Musketeer! To prison
with him! Gentlemen, once more, take him to prison, and keep him
under key as long as possible; that will give me time to pay
him."
The officers were full of thanks, and took away their prey. As
they were going down D'Artagnan laid his hand on the shoulder of
their leader.
"May I not drink to your health, and you to mine?" said
D'Artagnan, filling two glasses with the Beaugency wine which he
had obtained from the liberality of M. Bonacieux.
"That will do me great honor," said the leader of the posse, "and
I accept thankfully."
"Then to yours, monsieur--what is your name?"
"Boisrenard."
"Monsieur Boisrenard."
"To yours, my gentlemen! What is your name, in your turn, if you
please?"
"D'Artagnan."
"To yours, monsieur."
"And above all others," cried D'Artagnan, as if carried away by
his enthusiasm, "to that of the king and the cardinal."
The leader of the posse would perhaps have doubted the sincerity
of D'Artagnan if the wine had been bad; but the wine was good,
and he was convinced.
"What diabolical villainy you have performed here," said Porthos,
when the officer had rejoined his companions and the four friends
found themselves alone. "Shame, shame, for four Musketeers to
allow an unfortunate fellow who cried for help to be arrested is
their midst! And a gentleman to hobnob with a bailiff!"
"Porthos," said Aramis, "Athos has already told you that you are
a simpleton, and I am quite of his opinion. D'Artagnan, you are
a great man; and when you occupy Monsieur de Treville's place, I
will come and ask your influence to secure me an abbey."
"Well, I am in a maze," said Porthos; "do YOU approve of what
D'Artagnan has done?"
"PARBLEU! Indeed I do," said Athos; "I not only approve of what
he has done, but I congratulate him upon it."
"And now, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, without stopping to
explain his conduct to Porthos, "All for one, one for all--that
is our motto, is it not?"
"And yet--" said Porthos.
"Hold out your hand and swear!" cried Athos and Aramis at once.
Overcome by example, grumbling to himself, nevertheless, Porthos
stretched out his hand, and the four friends repeated with one
voice the formula dictated by D'Artagnan:
"All for one, one for all."
"That's well! Now let us everyone retire to his own home," said
D'Artagnan, as if he had done nothing but command all his life;
"and attention! For from this moment we are at feud with the
cardinal."
10 A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
The invention of the mousetrap does not date from our days; as
soon as societies, in forming, had invented any kind of police,
that police invented mousetraps.
As perhaps our readers are not familiar with the slang of the Rue
de Jerusalem, and as it is fifteen years since we applied this
word for the first time to this thing, allow us to explain to
them what is a mousetrap.
When in a house, of whatever kind it may be, an individual
suspected of any crime is arrested, the arrest is held secret.
Four or five men are placed in ambuscade in the first room. The
door is opened to all who knock. It is closed after them, and
they are arrested; so that at the end of two or three days they
have in their power almost all the HABITUES of the establishment.
And that is a mousetrap.
The apartment of M. Bonacieux, then, became a mousetrap; and
whoever appeared there was taken and interrogated by the
cardinal's people. It must be observed that as a separate
passage led to the first floor, in which D'Artagnan lodged, those
who called on him were exempted from this detention.
Besides, nobody came thither but the three Musketeers; they had
all been engaged in earnest search and inquiries, but had
discovered nothing. Athos had even gone so far as to question M.
de Treville--a thing which, considering the habitual reticence of
the worthy Musketeer, had very much astonished his captain. But
M. de Treville knew nothing, except that the last time he had
seen the cardinal, the king, and the queen, the cardinal looked
very thoughtful, the king uneasy, and the redness of the queen's
eyes donated that she had been sleepless or tearful. But this
last circumstance was not striking, as the queen since her
marriage had slept badly and wept much.
M. de Treville requested Athos, whatever might happen, to be
observant of his duty to the king, but particularly to the queen,
begging him to convey his desires to his comrades.
As to D'Artagnan, he did not budge from his apartment. He
converted his chamber into an observatory. From his windows he
saw all the visitors who were caught. Then, having removed a
plank from his floor, and nothing remaining but a simple ceiling
between him and the room beneath, in which the interrogatories
were made, he heard all that passed between the inquisitors and
the accused.
The interrogatories, preceded by a minute search operated upon
the persons arrested, were almost always framed thus: "Has Madame
Bonacieux sent anything to you for her husband, or any other
person? Has Monsieur Bonacieux sent anything to you for his
wife, or for any other person? Has either of them confided
anything to you by word of mouth?"
"If they knew anything, they would not question people in this
manner," said D'Artagnan to himself. "Now, what is it they want
to know? Why, they want to know if the Duke of Buckingham is in
Paris, and if he has had, or is likely to have, an interview with
the queen."
D'Artagnan held onto this idea, which, from what he had heard,
was not wanting in probability.
In the meantime, the mousetrap continued in operation, and
likewise D'Artagnan's vigilance.
On the evening of the day after the arrest of poor Bonacieux, as
Athos had just left D'Artagnan to report at M. de Treville's, as
nine o'clock had just struck, and as Planchet, who had not yet
made the bed, was beginning his task, a knocking was heard at the
street door. The door was instantly opened and shut; someone was
taken in the mousetrap.
D'Artagnan flew to his hole, laid himself down on the floor at
full length, and listened.
Cries were soon heard, and then moans, which someone appeared to
be endeavoring to stifle. There were no questions.
"The devil!" said D'Artagnan to himself. "It seems like a woman!
They search her; she resists; they use force--the scoundrels!"
In spite of his prudence, D'Artagnan restrained himself with
great difficulty from taking a part in the scene that was going
on below.
"But I tell you that I am the mistress of the house, gentlemen!
I tell you I am Madame Bonacieux; I tell you I belong to the
queen!" cried the unfortunate woman.
"Madame Bonacieux!" murmured D'Artagnan. "Can I be so lucky as
to find what everybody is seeking for?"
The voice became more and more indistinct; a tumultuous movement
shook the partition. The victim resisted as much as a woman
could resist four men.
"Pardon, gentlemen--par--" murmured the voice, which could now
only be heard in inarticulate sounds.
"They are binding her; they are going to drag her away," cried
D'Artagnan to himself, springing up from the floor. "My sword!
Good, it is by my side! Planchet!"
"Monsieur."
"Run and seek Athos, Porthos and Aramis. One of the three will
certainly be at home, perhaps all three. Tell them to take arms,
to come here, and to run! Ah, I remember, Athos is at Monsieur
de Treville's."
"But where are you going, monsieur, where are you going?"
"I am going down by the window, in order to be there the sooner,"
cried D'Artagnan. "You put back the boards, sweep the floor, go
out at the door, and run as I told you."
"Oh, monsieur! Monsieur! You will kill yourself," cried
Planchet.
"Hold your tongue, stupid fellow," said D'Artagnan; and laying
hold of the casement, he let himself gently down from the first
story, which fortunately was not very elevated, without doing
himself the slightest injury.
He then went straight to the door and knocked, murmuring, "I will
go myself and be caught in the mousetrap, but woe be to the cats
that shall pounce upon such a mouse!"
The knocker had scarcely sounded under the hand of the young man
before the tumult ceased, steps approached, the door was opened,
and D'Artagnan, sword in hand, rushed into the rooms of M.
Bonacieux, the door of which doubtless acted upon by a spring,
closed after him.
Then those who dwelt in Bonacieux's unfortunate house, together
with the nearest neighbors, heard loud cries, stamping of feet,
clashing of swords, and breaking of furniture. A moment after,
those who, surprised by this tumult, had gone to their windows to
learn the cause of it, saw the door open, and four men, clothed
in black, not COME out of it, but FLY, like so many frightened
crows, leaving on the ground and on the corners of the furniture,
feathers from their wings; that is to say, patches of their
clothes and fragments of their cloaks.
D'Artagnan was conqueror--without much effort, it must be
confessed, for only one of the officers was armed, and even he
defended himself for form's sake. It is true that the three
others had endeavored to knock the young man down with chairs,
stools, and crockery; but two or three scratches made by the
Gascon's blade terrified them. Ten minutes sufficed for their
defeat, and D'Artagnan remained master of the field of battle.
The neighbors who had opened their windows, with the coolness
peculiar to the inhabitants of Paris in these times of perpetual
riots and disturbances, closed them again as soon as they saw the
four men in black flee--their instinct telling them that for the
time was all over. Besides, it began to grow late, and then, as
today, people went to bed early in the quarter of the Luxembourg.
On being left alone with Mme. Bonacieux, D'Artagnan turned toward
her; the poor woman reclined where she had been left,
half-fainting upon an armchair. D'Artagnan examined her with a
rapid glance.
She was a charming woman of twenty-five or twenty-six years, with
dark hair, blue eyes, and a nose slightly turned up, admirable
teeth, and a complexion marbled with rose and opal. There,
however, ended the signs which might have confounded her with a
lady of rank. The hands were white, but without delicacy; the
feet did not bespeak the woman of quality. Happily, D'Artagnan
was not yet acquainted with such niceties.
While D'Artagnan was examining Mme. Bonacieux, and was, as we
have said, close to her, he saw on the ground a fine cambric
handkerchief, which he picked up, as was his habit, and at the
corner of which he recognized the same cipher he had seen on the
handkerchief which had nearly caused him and Aramis to cut each
other's throat.
>From that time, D'Artagnan had been cautious with respect to
handkerchiefs with arms on them, and he therefore placed in the
pocket of Mme. Bonacieux the one he had just picked up.
At that moment Mme. Bonacieux recovered her senses. She opened
her eyes, looked around her with terror, saw that the apartment
was empty and that she was alone with her liberator. She
extended her hands to him with a smile. Mme. Bonacieux had the
sweetest smile in the world.
"Ah, monsieur!" said she, "you have saved me; permit me to thank
you."
"Madame," said D'Artagnan, "I have only done what every gentleman
would have done in my place; you owe me no thanks."
"Oh, yes, monsieur, oh, yes; and I hope to prove to you that you
have not served an ingrate. But what could these men, whom I at
first took for robbers, want with me, and why is Monsieur
Bonacieux not here?"
"Madame, those men were more dangerous than any robbers could
have been, for they are the agents of the cardinal; and as to
your husband, Monsieur Bonacieux, he is not here because he was
yesterday evening conducted to the Bastille."
"My husband in the Bastille!" cried Mme. Bonacieux. "Oh, my God!
What has he done? Poor dear man, he is innocence itself!"
And something like a faint smile lighted the still-terrified
features of the young woman.
"What has he done, madame?" said D'Artagnan. "I believe that his
only crime is to have at the same time the good fortune and the
misfortune to be your husband."
"But, monsieur, you know then--"
"I know that you have been abducted, madame."
"And by whom? Do you know him? Oh, if you know him, tell me!"
"By a man of from forty to forty-five years, with black hair, a
dark complexion, and a scar on his left temple."
"That is he, that is he; but his name?"
"Ah, his name? I do not know that."
"And did my husband know I had been carried off?"
"He was informed of it by a letter, written to him by the
abductor himself."
"And does he suspect," said Mme. Bonacieux, with some
embarrassment, "the cause of this event?"
"He attributed it, I believe, to a political cause."
"I doubted from the first; and now I think entirely as he does.
Then my dear Monsieur Bonacieux has not suspected me a single
instant?"
"So far from it, madame, he was too proud of your prudence, and
above all, of your love."
A second smile, almost imperceptible, stole over the rosy lips of
the pretty young woman.
"But," continued D'Artagnan, "how did you escape?"
"I took advantage of a moment when they left me alone; and as I
had known since morning the reason of my abduction, with the help
of the sheets I let myself down from the window. Then, as I
believed my husband would be at home, I hastened hither."
"To place yourself under his protection?"
"Oh, no, poor dear man! I knew very well that he was incapable
of defending me; but as he could serve us in other ways, I wished
to inform him."
"Of what?"
"Oh, that is not my secret; I must not, therefore, tell you."
"Besides," said D'Artagnan, "pardon me, madame, if, guardsman as
I am, I remind you of prudence--besides, I believe we are not
here in a very proper place for imparting confidences. The men I
have put to flight will return reinforced; if they find us here,
we are lost. I have sent for three of my friends, but who knows
whether they were at home?"
"Yes, yes! You are right," cried the affrighted Mme. Bonacieux;
"let us fly! Let us save ourselves."
At these words she passed her arm under that of D'Artagnan, and
urged him forward eagerly.
"But whither shall we fly--whither escape?"
"Let us first withdraw from this house; afterward we shall see."
The young woman and the young man, without taking the trouble to
shut the door after them, descended the Rue des Fossoyeurs
rapidly, turned into the Rue des Fosses-Monsieur-le-Prince, and
did not stop till they came to the Place St. Sulpice.
"And now what are we to do, and where do you wish me to conduct
you?" asked D'Artagnan.
"I am at quite a loss how to answer you, I admit," said Mme.
Bonacieux. "My intention was to inform Monsieur Laporte, through
my husband, in order that Monsieur Laporte might tell us
precisely what he taken place at the Louvre in the last three
days, and whether there is any danger in presenting myself
there."
"But I," said D'Artagnan, "can go and inform Monsieur Laporte."
"No doubt you could, only there is one misfortune, and that is
that Monsieur Bonacieux is known at the Louvre, and would be
allowed to pass; whereas you are not known there, and the gate
would be closed against you."
"Ah, bah!" said D'Artagnan; "you have at some wicket of the
Louvre a CONCIERGE who is devoted to you, and who, thanks to a
password, would--"
Mme. Bonacieux looked earnestly at the young man.
"And if I give you this password," said she, "would you forget it
as soon as you used it?"
"By my honor, by the faith of a gentleman!" said D'Artagnan, with
an accent so truthful that no one could mistake it.
"Then I believe you. You appear to be a brave young man;
besides, your fortune may perhaps be the result of your
devotedness."
"I will do, without a promise and voluntarily, all that I can do
to serve the king and be agreeable to the queen. Dispose of me,
then, as a friend."
"But I--where shall I go meanwhile?"
"Is there nobody from whose house Monsieur Laporte can come and
fetch you?"
"No, I can trust nobody."
"Stop," said D'Artagnan; "we are near Athos's door. Yes, here it
is."
"Who is this Athos?"
"One of my friends."
"But if he should be at home and see me?"
"He is not at home, and I will carry away the key, after having
placed you in his apartment."
"But if he should return?"
"Oh, he won't return; and if he should, he will be told that I
have brought a woman with me, and that woman is in his
apartment."
"But that will compromise me sadly, you know."
"Of what consequence? Nobody knows you. Besides, we are in a
situation to overlook ceremony."
"Come, then, let us go to your friend's house. Where does he
live?"
"Rue Ferou, two steps from here."
"Let us go!"
Both resumed their way. As D'Artagnan had foreseen, Athos was
not within. He took the key, which was customarily given him as
one of the family, ascended the stairs, and introduced Mme.
Bonacieux into the little apartment of which we have given a
description.
"You are at home," said he. "Remain here, fasten the door
inside, and open it to nobody unless you hear three taps like
this;" and he tapped thrice--two taps close together and pretty
hard, the other after an interval, and lighter.
"That is well," said Mme. Bonacieux. "Now, in my turn, let me
give you my instructions."
"I am all attention."
"Present yourself at the wicket of the Louvre, on the side of the
Rue de l'Echelle, and ask for Germain."
"Well, and then?"
"He will ask you what you want, and you will answer by these two
words, 'Tours' and 'Bruxelles.' He will at once put himself at
your orders."
"And what shall I command him?"
"To go and fetch Monsieur Laporte, the queen's VALET DE CHAMBRE."
"And when he shall have informed him, and Monsieur Laporte is
come?"
"You will send him to me."
"That is well; but where and how shall I see you again?"
"Do you wish to see me again?"
"Certainly."
"Well, let that care be mine, and be at ease."
"I depend upon your word."
"You may."
D'Artagnan bowed to Mme. Bonacieux, darting at her the most
loving glance that he could possibly concentrate upon her
charming little person; and while he descended the stairs, he
heard the door closed and double-locked. In two bounds he was at
the Louvre; as he entered the wicket of L'Echelle, ten o'clock
struck. All the events we have described had taken place within
a half hour.
Everything fell out as Mme. Bonacieux prophesied. On hearing the
password, Germain bowed. In a few minutes, Laporte was at the
lodge; in two words D'Artagnan informed him where Mme. Bonacieux
was. Laporte assured himself, by having it twice repeated, of
the accurate address, and set off at a run. Hardly, however, had
he taken ten steps before he returned.
"Young man," said he to D'Artagnan, "a suggestion."
"What?"
"You may get into trouble by what has taken place."
"You believe so?"
"Yes. Have you any friend whose clock is too slow?"
"Well?"
"Go and call upon him, in order that he may give evidence if your
having been with him at half past nine. In a court of justice
that is called an alibi."
D'Artagnan found his advice prudent. He took to his heels, and
was soon at M. de Treville's; but instead of going into the
saloon with the rest of the crowd, he asked to be introduced to
M. de Treville's office. As D'Artagnan so constantly frequented
the hotel, no difficulty was made in complying with his request,
and a servant went to inform M. de Treville that his young
compatriot, having something important to communicate, solicited a
private audience. Five minutes after, M. de Treville was asking
D'Artagnan what he could do to serve him, and what caused his
visit at so late an hour.
"Pardon me, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, who had profited by the
moment he had been left alone to put back M. de Treville's clock
three-quarters of an hour, "but I thought, as it was yet only
twenty-five minutes past nine, it was not too late to wait upon
you."
"Twenty-five minutes past nine!" cried M. de Treville, looking at
the clock; "why, that's impossible!"
"Look, rather, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "the clock shows it."
"That's true," said M. de Treville; "I believed it later. But
what can I do for you?"
Then D'Artagnan told M. de Treville a long history about the
queen. He expressed to him the fears he entertained with respect
to her Majesty; he related to him what he had heard of the
projects of the cardinal with regard to Buckingham, and all with
a tranquillity and candor of which M. de Treville was the more
the dupe, from having himself, as we have said, observed
something fresh between the cardinal, the king, and the queen.
As ten o'clock was striking, D'Artagnan left M. de Treville, who
thanked him for his information, recommended him to have the
service of the king and queen always at heart, and returned to
the saloon; but at the foot of the stairs, D'Artagnan remembered
he had forgotten his cane. He consequently sprang up again,
re-entered the office, with a turn of his finger set the clock
right again, that it might not be perceived the next day that it
had been put wrong, and certain from that time that he had a
witness to prove his alibi, he ran downstairs and soon found
himself in the street.
11 IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
His visit to M. de Treville being paid, the pensive D'Artagnan took the longest way homeward.
On what was D'Artagnan thinking, that he strayed thus from his
path, gazing at the stars of heaven, and sometimes sighing,
sometimes smiling?
He was thinking of Mme. Bonacieux. For an apprentice Musketeer
the young woman was almost an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious,
initiated in almost all the secrets of the court, which reflected
such a charming gravity over her pleasing features, it might be
surmised that she was not wholly unmoved; and this is an
irresistible charm to novices in love. Moreover, D'Artagnan had
delivered her from the hands of the demons who wished to search
and ill treat her; and this important service had established
between them one of those sentiments of gratitude which so easily
assume a more tender character.
D'Artagnan already fancied himself, so rapid is the flight of our
dreams upon the wings of imagination, accosted by a messenger
from the young woman, who brought him some billet appointing a
meeting, a gold chain, or a diamond. We have observed that young
cavaliers received presents from their king without shame. Let
us add that in these times of lax morality they had no more
delicacy with respect to the mistresses; and that the latter
almost always left them valuable and durable remembrances, as if
they essayed to conquer the fragility of their sentiments by the
solidity of their gifts.
Without a blush, men made their way in the world by the means of
women blushing. Such as were only beautiful gave their beauty,
whence, without doubt, comes the proverb, "The most beautiful
girl in the world can only give what she has." Such as were rich
gave in addition a part of their money; and a vast number of
heroes of that gallant period may be cited who would neither have
won their spurs in the first place, nor their battles afterward,
without the purse, more or less furnished, which their mistress
fastened to the saddle bow.
D'Artagnan owned nothing. Provincial diffidence, that slight
varnish, the ephemeral flower, that down of the peach, had
evaporated to the winds through the little orthodox counsels
which the three Musketeers gave their friend. D'Artagnan,
following the strange custom of the times, considered himself at
Paris as on a campaign, neither more nor less than if he had been
in Flanders--Spain yonder, woman here, In each there was an
enemy to contend with, and contributions to be levied.
But, we must say, at the present moment D'Artagnan was ruled by
as feeling much more noble and disinterested. The mercer had
said that he was rich; the young man might easily guess that
with so weak a man as M. Bonacieux; and interest was almost
foreign to this commencement of love, which had been the
consequence of it. We say ALMOST, for the idea that a young,
handsome, kind, and witty woman is at the same time rich takes
nothing from the beginning of love, but on the contrary
strengthens it.
There are in affluence a crowd of aristocratic cares and caprices
which are highly becoming to beauty. A fine and white stocking,
a silken robe, a lace kerchief, a pretty slipper on the foot, a
tasty ribbon on the head do not make an ugly woman pretty, but
they make a pretty woman beautiful, without reckoning the hands,
which gain by all this; the hands, among women particularly, to
be beautiful must be idle.
Then D'Artagnan, as the reader, from whom we have not concealed
the state of his fortune, very well knows--D'Artagnan was not a
millionaire; he hoped to become one someday, but the time which
in his own mind he fixed upon for this happy change was still far
distant. In the meanwhile, how disheartening to see the woman
one loves long for those thousands of nothings which constitute a
woman's happiness, and be unable to give her those thousands of
nothings. At least, when the woman is rich and the lover is not
that which he cannot offer she offers to herself; and although it
is generally with her husband's money that she procures herself
this indulgence, the gratitude for it seldom reverts to him.
Then D'Artagnan, disposed to become the most tender of lovers,
was at the same time a very devoted friend, In the midst of his
amorous projects for the mercer's wife, he did not forget his
friends. The pretty Mme. Bonacieux was just the woman to walk
with in the Plain St. Denis or in the fair of St. Germain, in
company with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, to whom D'Artagnan had
often remarked this. Then one could enjoy charming little
dinners, where one touches on one side the hand of a friend, and
on the other the foot of a mistress. Besides, on pressing
occasions, in extreme difficulties, D'Artagnan would become the
preserver of his friends.
And M. Bonacieux? whom D'Artagnan had pushed into the hands of
the officers, denying him aloud although he had promised in a
whisper to save him. We are compelled to admit to our readers
that D'Artagnan thought nothing about him in any way; or that if
he did think of him, it was only to say to himself that he was
very well where he was, wherever it might be. Love is the most
selfish of all the passions.
Let our readers reassure themselves. IF D'Artagnan forgets his
host, or appears to forget him, under the pretense of not knowing
where he has been carried, we will not forget him, and we know
where he is. But for the moment, let us do as did the amorous
Gascon; we will see after the worthy mercer later.
D'Artagnan, reflecting on his future amours, addressing himself
to the beautiful night, and smiling at the stars, rescinded the
Rue Cherish-Midi, or Chase-Midi, as it was then called. As he
found himself in the quarter in which Aramis lived, he took it
into his head to pay his friend a visit in order to explain the
motives which had led him to send Planchet with a request that he
would come instantly to the mousetrap. Now, if Aramis had been
at home when Planchet came to his abode, he had doubtless
hastened to the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and finding nobody there but
his other two companions perhaps, they would not be able to
conceive what all this meant. This mystery required an
explanation; at least, so D'Artagnan declared to himself.
He likewise thought this was an opportunity for talking about
pretty little Mme. Bonacieux, of whom his head, if not his heart,
was already full. We must never look for discretion in first
love. First love is accompanied by such excessive joy that
unless the joy be allowed to overflow, it will stifle you.
Paris for two hours past had been dark, and seemed a desert.
Eleven o'clock sounded from all the clocks of the Faubourg St.
Germain. It was delightful weather. D'Artagnan was passing
along a lane on the spot where the Rue d'Assas is now situated,
breathing the balmy emanations which were borne upon the wind
from the Rue de Vaugirard, and which arose from the gardens
refreshed by the dews of evening and the breeze of night. From a
distance resounded, deadened, however, by good shutters, the
songs of the tipplers, enjoying themselves in the cabarets
scattered along the plain. Arrived at the end of the lane,
D'Artagnan turned to the left. The house in which Aramis dwelt
was situated between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni.
D'Artagnan had just passed the Rue Cassette, and already
perceived the door of his friend's house, shaded by a mass of
sycamores and clematis which formed a vast arch opposite the
front of it, when he perceived something like a shadow issuing
from the Rue Servandoni. This something was enveloped in a
cloak, and D'Artagnan at first believed it was a man; but by the
smallness of the form, the hesitation of the walk, and the
indecision of the step, he soon discovered that it was a woman.
Further, this woman, as if not certain of the house she was
seeking, lifted up her eyes to look around her, stopped, went
backward, and then returned again. D'Artagnan was perplexed.
"Shall I go and offer her my services?" thought he. "By her step
she must be young; perhaps she is pretty. Oh, yes! But a woman
who wanders in the streets at this hour only ventures out to meet
her lover. If I should disturb a rendezvous, that would not be
the best means of commencing an acquaintance."
Meantime the young woman continued to advance, counting the
houses and windows. This was neither long nor difficult. There
were but three hotels in this part of the street; and only two
windows looking toward the road, one of which was in a pavilion
parallel to that which Aramis occupied, the other belonging to
Aramis himself.
"PARIDIEU!" said D'Artagnan to himself, to whose mind the niece
of the theologian reverted, "PARDIEU, it would be droll if this
belated dove should be in search of our friend's house. But on
my soul, it looks so. Ah, my dear Aramis, this time I shall find
you out." And D'Artagnan, making himself as small as he could,
concealed himself in the darkest side of the street near a stone
bench placed at the back of a niche.
The young woman continued to advance; and in addition to the
lightness of her step, which had betrayed her, she emitted a
little cough which denoted a sweet voice. D'Artagnan believed
this cough to be a signal.
Nevertheless, whether the cough had been answered by a similar
signal which had fixed the irresolution of the nocturnal seeker,
or whether without this aid she saw that she had arrived at the
end of her journey, she resolutely drew near to Aramis's shutter,
and tapped, at three equal intervals, with her bent finger.
"This is all very fine, dear Aramis," murmured D'Artagnan.
"Ah, Monsieur Hypocrite, I understand how you study theology."
The three blows were scarcely struck, when the inside blind was
opened and a light appeared through the panes of the outside
shutter.
"Ah, ah!" said the listener, "not through doors, but through
windows! Ah, this visit was expected. We shall see the windows
open, and the lady enter by escalade. Very pretty!"
But to the great astonishment of D'Artagnan, the shutter remained
closed. Still more, the light which had shone for an instant
disappeared, and all was again in obscurity.
D'Artagnan thought this could not last long, and continued to
look with all his eyes and listen with all his ears.
He was right; at the end of some seconds two sharp taps were
heard inside. The young woman in the street replied by a single
tap, and the shutter was opened a little way.
It may be judged whether D'Artagnan looked or listened with
avidity. Unfortunately the light had been removed into another
chamber; but the eyes of the young man were accustomed to the
night. Besides, the eyes of the Gascons have, as it is asserted,
like those of cats, the faculty of seeing in the dark.
D'Artagnan then saw that the young woman took from her pocket a
white object, which she unfolded quickly, and which took the form
of a handkerchief. She made her interlocutor observe the corner
of this unfolded object.
This immediately recalled to D'Artagnan's mind the handkerchief
which he had found at the feet of Mme. Bonacieux, which had
reminded him of that which he had dragged from under the feet of
Aramis.
"What the devil could that handkerchief signify?"
Placed where he was, D'Artagnan could not perceive the face of
Aramis. We say Aramis, because the young man entertained no
doubt that it was his friend who held this dialogue from the
interior with the lady of the exterior. Curiosity prevailed over
prudence; and profiting by the preoccupation into which the sight
of the handkerchief appeared to have plunged the two personages
now on the scene, he stole from his hiding place, and quick as
lightning, but stepping with utmost caution, he ran and placed
himself close to the angle of the wall, from which his eye could
pierce the interior of Aramis's room.
Upon gaining this advantage D'Artagnan was near uttering a cry of
surprise; it was not Aramis who was conversing with the nocturnal
visitor, it was a woman! D'Artagnan, however, could only see
enough to recognize the form of her vestments, not enough to
distinguish her features.
At the same instant the woman inside drew a second handkerchief
from her pocket, and exchanged it for that which had just been
shown to her. Then some words were spoken by the two women. At
length the shutter closed. The woman who was outside the window
turned round, and passed within four steps of D'Artagnan, pulling
down the hood of her mantle; but the precaution was too late,
D'Artagnan had already recognized Mme. Bonacieux.
Mme. Bonacieux! The suspicion that it was she had crossed the
mind of D'Artagnan when she drew the handkerchief from her
pocket; but what probability was there that Mme. Bonacieux, who
had sent for M. Laporte in order to be reconducted to the Louvre,
should be running about the streets of Paris at half past eleven
at night, at the risk of being abducted a second time?
This must be, then, an affair of importance; and what is the most
important affair to a woman of twenty-five! Love.
But was it on her own account, or on account of another, that she
exposed herself to such hazards? This was a question the young
man asked himself, whom the demon of jealousy already gnawed,
being in heart neither more nor less than an accepted lover.
There was a very simple means of satisfying himself whither Mme.
Bonacieux was going; that was to follow her. This method was so
simple that D'Artagnan employed it quite naturally and
instinctively.
But at the sight of the young man, who detached himself from the
wall like a statue walking from its niche, and at the noise of
the steps which she heard resound behind her, Mme. Bonacieux
uttered a little cry and fled.
D'Artagnan ran after her. It was not difficult for him to
overtake a woman embarrassed with her cloak. He came up with her
before she had traversed a third of the street. The unfortunate
woman was exhausted, not by fatigue, but by terror, and when
D'Artagnan placed his hand upon her shoulder, she sank upon one
knee, crying in a choking voice, "Kill me, if you please, you
shall know nothing!"
D'Artagnan raised her by passing his arm round her waist; but as
he felt by her weight she was on the point of fainting, he made
haste to reassure her by protestations of devotedness. These
protestations were nothing for Mme. Bonacieux, for such
protestations may be made with the worst intentions in the world;
but the voice was all Mme. Bonacieux thought she recognized the
sound of that voice; she reopened her eyes, cast a quick glance
upon the man who had terrified her so, and at once perceiving it
was D'Artagnan, she uttered a cry of joy, "Oh, it is you, it is
you! Thank God, thank God!"
"Yes, it is I," said D'Artagnan, "it is I, whom God has sent to
watch over you."
"Was it with that intention you followed me?" asked the young
woman, with a coquettish smile, whose somewhat bantering
character resumed its influence, and with whom all fear had
disappeared from the moment in which she recognized a friend in
one she had taken for an enemy.
"No," said D'Artagnan; "no, I confess it. It was chance that
threw me in your way; I saw a woman knocking at the window of one
of my friends."
"One of your friends?" interrupted Mme. Bonacieux.
"Without doubt; Aramis is one of my best friends."
"Aramis! Who is he?"
"Come, come, you won't tell me you don't know Aramis?"
"This is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced."
"It is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced."
"It is the first time, then, that you ever went to that house?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And you did not know that it was inhabited by a young man?"
"No."
"By a Musketeer?"
"No, indeed!"
"It was not he, then, you came to seek?"
"Not the least in the world. Besides, you must have seen that
the person to whom I spoke was a woman."
"That is true; but this woman is a friend of Aramis--"
"I know nothing of that."
"--since she lodges with him."
"That does not concern me."
"But who is she?"
"Oh, that is not my secret."
"My dear Madame Bonacieux, you are charming; but at the same time
you are one of the most mysterious women."
"Do I lose by that?"
"No; you are, on the contrary, adorable."
"Give me your arm, then."
"Most willingly. And now?"
"Now escort me."
"Where?"
"Where I am going."
"But where are you going?"
"You will see, because you will leave me at the door."
"Shall I wait for you?"
"That will be useless."
"You will return alone, then?"
"Perhaps yes, perhaps no."
"But will the person who shall accompany you afterward be a man
or a woman?"
"I don't know yet."
"But I will know it!"
"How so?"
"I will wait until you come out."
"In that case, adieu."
"Why so?"
"I do not want you."
"But you have claimed--"
"The aid of a gentleman, not the watchfulness of a spy."
"The word is rather hard."
"How are they called who follow others in spite of them?"
"They are indiscreet."
"The word is too mild."
"well, madame, I perceive I must do as you wish."
"Why did you deprive yourself of the merit of doing so at once?"
"Is there no merit in repentance?"
"And do you really repent?"
"I know nothing about it myself. But what I know is that I
promise to do all you wish if you allow me to accompany you where
you are going."
"And you will leave me then?"
"Yes."
"Without waiting for my coming out again?"
"Yes."
"Word of honor?"
"By the faith of a gentleman. Take my arm, and let us go."
D'Artagnan offered his arm to Mme. Bonacieux, who willingly took
it, half laughing, half trembling, and both gained the top of Rue
de la Harpe. Arriving there, the young woman seemed to hesitate,
as she had before done in the Rue Vaugirard. She seemed,
however, by certain signs, to recognize a door, and approaching
that door, "And now, monsieur," said she, "it is here I have
business; a thousand thanks for your honorable company, which has
saved me from all the dangers to which, alone I was exposed. But
the moment is come to keep your word; I have reached my
destination."
"And you will have nothing to fear on your return?"
"I shall have nothing to fear but robbers."
"And that is nothing?"
"What could they take from me? I have not a penny about me."
"You forget that beautiful handkerchief with the coat of arms."
"Which?"
"That which I found at your feet, and replaced in your pocket."
"Hold your tongue, imprudent man! Do you wish to destroy me?"
"You see very plainly that there is still danger for you, since a
single word makes you tremble; and you confess that if that word
were heard you would be ruined. Come, come, madame!" cried
D'Artagnan, seizing her hands, and surveying her with an ardent
glance, "come, be more generous. Confide in me. Have you not
read in my eyes that there is nothing but devotion and sympathy
in my heart?"
"Yes," replied Mme. Bonacieux; "therefore, ask my own secrets,
and I will reveal them to you; but those of others--that is quite
another thing."
"Very well," said D'Artagnan, "I shall discover them; as these
secrets may have an influence over your life, these secrets must
become mine."
"Beware of what you do!" cried the young woman, in a manner so
serious as to make D'Artagnan start in spite of himself. "Oh,
meddle in nothing which concerns me. Do not seek to assist me in
that which I am accomplishing. This I ask of you in the name of
the interest with which I inspire you, in the name of the service
you have rendered me and which I never shall forget while I have
life. Rather, place faith in what I tell you. Have no more
concern about me; I exist no longer for you, any more than if you
had never seen me."
"Must Aramis do as much as I, madame?" said D'Artagnan, deeply
piqued.
"This is the second or third time, monsieur, that you have
repeated that name, and yet I have told you that I do not know
him."
"You do not know the man at whose shutter you have just knocked?
Indeed, madame, you believe me too credulous!"
"Confess that it is for the sake of making me talk that you
invent this story and create this personage."
"I invent nothing, madame; I create nothing. I only speak that
exact truth."
"And you say that one of your friends lives in that house?"
"I say so, and I repeat it for the third time; that house is one
inhabited by my friend, and that friend is Aramis."
"All this will be cleared up at a later period," murmured the
young woman; "no, monsieur, be silent."
"If you could see my heart," said D'Artagnan, "you would there
read so much curiosity that you would pity me and so much love
that you would instantly satisfy my curiosity. We have nothing
to fear from those who love us."
"You speak very suddenly of love, monsieur," said the young
woman, shaking her head.
"That is because love has come suddenly upon me, and for the
first time; and because I am only twenty."
The young woman looked at him furtively.
"Listen; I am already upon the scent," resumed D'Artagnan.
"About three months ago I was near having a duel with Aramis
concerning a handkerchief resembling the one you showed to the
woman in his house--for a handkerchief marked in the same manner,
I am sure."
"Monsieur," said the young woman, "you weary me very much, I
assure you, with your questions."
"But you, madame, prudent as you are, think, if you were to be
arrested with that handkerchief, and that handkerchief were to be
seized, would you not be compromised?"
"In what way? The initials are only mine--C. B., Constance
Bonacieux."
"Or Camille de Bois-Tracy."
"Silence, monsieur! Once again, silence! Ah, since the dangers
I incur on my own account cannot stop you, think of those you may
yourself run!"
"Me?"
"Yes; there is peril of imprisonment, risk of life in knowing
me."
"Then I will not leave you."
"Monsieur!" said the young woman, supplicating him and clasping
her hands together, "monsieur, in the name of heaven, by the
honor of a soldier, by the courtesy of a gentleman, depart!
There, there midnight sounds! That is the hour when I am
expected."
"Madame," said the young man, bowing; "I can refuse nothing asked
of me thus. Be content; I will depart."
"But you will not follow me; you will not watch me?"
"I will return home instantly."
"Ah, I was quite sure you were a good and brave young man," said
Mme. Bonacieux, holding out her hand to him, and placing the
other upon the knocker of a little door almost hidden in the
wall.
D'Artagnan seized the hand held out to him, and kissed it
ardently.
"Ah! I wish I had never seen you!" cried D'Artagnan, with that
ingenuous roughness which women often prefer to the affectations
of politeness, because it betrays the depths of the thought and
proves that feeling prevails over reason.
"Well!" resumed Mme. Bonacieux, in a voice almost caressing, and
pressing the hand of D'Artagnan, who had not relinquished hers,
"well: I will not say as much as you do; what is lost for today
may not be lost forever. Who knows, when I shall be at liberty,
that I may not satisfy your curiosity?"
"And will you make the same promise to my love?" cried
D'Artagnan, beside himself with joy.
"Oh, as to that, I do not engage myself. That depends upon the
sentiments with which you may inspire me."
"Then today, madame--"
"Oh, today, I am no further than gratitude."
"Ah! You are too charming," said D'Artagnan, sorrowfully; "and
you abuse my love."
"No, I use your generosity, that's all. But be of good cheer;
with certain people, everything comes round."
"Oh, you render me the happiest of men! Do not forget this
evening--do not forget that promise."
"Be satisfied. In the proper time and place I will remember
everything. Now then, go, go, in the name of heaven! I was
expected at sharp midnight, and I am late."
"By five minutes."
"Yes; but in certain circumstances five minutes are five ages."
"When one loves."
"Well! And who told you I had no affair with a lover?"
"It is a man, then, who expects you?" cried D'Artagnan. "A man!"
"The discussion is going to begin again!" said Mme. Bonacieux,
with a half-smile which was not exempt from a tinge of
impatience.
"No, no; I go, I depart! I believe in you, and I would have all
the merit of my devotion, even if that devotion were stupidity.
Adieu, madame, adieu!"
And as if he only felt strength to detach himself by a violent
effort from the hand he held, he sprang away, running, while Mme.
Bonacieux knocked, as at the shutter, three light and regular
taps. When he had gained the angle of the street, he turned.
The door had been opened, and shut again; the mercer's pretty
wife had disappeared.
D'Artagnan pursued his way. He had given his word not to watch
Mme. Bonacieux, and if his life had depended upon the spot to
which she was going or upon the person who should accompany her,
D'Artagnan would have returned home, since he had so promised.
Five minutes later he was in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.
"Poor Athos!" said he; "he will never guess what all this means.
He will have fallen asleep waiting for me, or else he will have
returned home, where he will have learned that a woman had been
there. A woman with Athos! After all," continued D'Artagnan,
"there was certainly one with Aramis. All this is very strange;
and I am curious to know how it will end."
"Badly, monsieur, badly!" replied a voice which the young man
recognized as that of Planchet; for, soliloquizing aloud, as very
preoccupied people do, he had entered the alley, at the end of
which were the stairs which led to his chamber.
"How badly? What do you mean by that, you idiot?" asked
D'Artagnan. "What has happened?"
"All sorts of misfortunes."
"What?"
"In the first place, Monsieur Athos is arrested."
"Arrested! Athos arrested! What for?"
"He was found in your lodging; they took him for you."
"And by whom was he arrested?"
"By Guards brought by the men in black whom you put to flight."
"Why did he not tell them his name? Why did he not tell them he
knew nothing about this affair?"
"He took care not to do so, monsieur; on the contrary, he came up
to me and said, 'It is your master that needs his liberty at this
moment and not I, since he knows everything and I know nothing.
They will believe he is arrested, and that will give him time; in
three days I will tell them who I am, and they cannot fail to let
me go.'"
"Bravo, Athos! Noble heart!" murmured D'Artagnan. "I know him
well there! And what did the officers do?"
"Four conveyed him away, I don't know where--to the Bastille or
Fort l'Eveque. Two remained with the men in black, who rummaged
every place and took all the papers. The last two mounted guard
at the door during this examination; then, when all was over,
they went away, leaving the house empty and exposed."
"And Porthos and Aramis?"
"I could not find them; they did not come."
"But they may come any moment, for you left word that I awaited
them?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Well, don't budge, then; if they come, tell them what has
happened. Let them wait for me at the Pomme-de-Pin. Here it
would be dangerous; the house may be watched. I will run to
Monsieur de Treville to tell them all this, and will meet them
there."
"Very well, monsieur," said Planchet.
"But you will remain; you are not afraid?" said D'Artagnan,
coming back to recommend courage to his lackey.
"Be easy, monsieur," said Planchet; "you do not know me yet. I
am brave when I set about it. It is all in beginning. Besides,
I am a Picard."
"Then it is understood," said D'Artagnan; "you would rather be
killed than desert your post?"
"Yes, monsieur; and there is nothing I would not do to prove to
Monsieur that I am attached to him."
"Good!" said D'Artagnan to himself. "It appears that the method
I have adopted with this boy is decidedly the best. I shall use
it again upon occasion."
And with all the swiftness of his legs, already a little fatigued
however, with the perambulations of the day, D'Artagnan directed
his course toward M. de Treville's.
M. de Treville was not at his hotel. His company was on guard at
the Louvre; he was at the Louvre with his company.
It was necessary to reach M. de Treville; it was important that
he should be informed of what was passing. D'Artagnan resolved
to try and enter the Louvre. His costume of Guardsman in the
company of M. Dessessart ought to be his passport.
He therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up
to the quay, in order to take the New Bridge. He had at first an
idea of crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, he
had mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and perceived that
he had not wherewithal to pay his passage.
As he gained the top of the Rue Guenegaud, he saw two persons
coming out of the Rue Dauphine whose appearance very much struck
him. Of the two persons who composed this group, one was a man
and the other a woman. The woman had the outline of Mme.
Bonacieux; the man resembled Aramis so much as to be mistaken for
him.
Besides, the woman wore that black mantle which D'Artagnan could
still see outlined on the shutter of the Rue de Vaugirard and on
the door of the Rue de la Harpe; still further, the man wore the
uniform of a Musketeer.
The woman's hood was pulled down, and the man geld a handkerchief
to his face. Both, as this double precaution indicated, had an
interest in not being recognized.
They took the bridge. That was D'Artagnan's road, as he was
going to the Louvre. D'Artagnan followed them.
He had not gone twenty steps before he became convinced that the
woman was really Mme. Bonacieux and that the man was Aramis.
He felt at that instant all the suspicions of jealousy agitating
his heart. He felt himself doubly betrayed, by his friend and by
her whom he already loved like a mistress. Mme. Bonacieux had
declared to him, by all the gods, that she did not know Aramis;
and a quarter of an hour after having made this assertion, he
found her hanging on the arm of Aramis.
D'Artagnan did not reflect that he had only known the mercer's
pretty wife for three hours; that she owed him nothing but a
little gratitude for having delivered her from the men in black,
who wished to carry her off, and that she had promised him
nothing. He considered himself an outraged, betrayed, and
ridiculed lover. Blood and anger mounted to his face; he was
resolved to unravel the mystery.
The young man and young woman perceived they were watched, and
redoubled their speed. D'Artagnan determined upon his course.
He passed them, then returned so as to meet them exactly before
the Samaritaine. Which was illuminated by a lamp which threw its
light over all that part of the bridge.
D'Artagnan stopped before them, and they stopped before him.
"What do you want, monsieur?" demanded the Musketeer, recoiling a
step, and with a foreign accent, which proved to D'Artagnan that
he was deceived in one of his conjectures.
"It is not Aramis!" cried he.
"No, monsieur, it is not Aramis; and by your exclamation I
perceive you have mistaken me for another, and pardon you."
"You pardon me?" cried D'Artagnan.
"Yes," replied the stranger. "Allow me, then, to pass on, since
it is not with me you have anything to do."
"You are right, monsieur, it is not with you that I have anything
to do; it is with Madame."
"With Madame! You do not know her," replied the stranger.
"You are deceived, monsieur; I know her very well."
"Ah," said Mme. Bonacieux; in a tone of reproach, "ah, monsieur,
I had your promise as a soldier and your word as a gentleman. I
hoped to be able to rely upon that."
"And I, madame!" said D'Artagnan, embarrassed; "you promised me--
"
"Take my arm, madame," said the stranger, "and let us continue
our way."
D'Artagnan, however, stupefied, cast down, annihilated by all
that happened, stood, with crossed arms, before the Musketeer and
Mme. Bonacieux.
The Musketeer advanced two steps, and pushed D'Artagnan aside
with his hand. D'Artagnan made a spring backward and drew his
sword. At the same time, and with the rapidity of lightning, the
stranger drew his.
"In the name of heaven, my Lord!" cried Mme. Bonacieux, throwing
herself between the combatants and seizing the swords with her
hands.
"My Lord!" cried D'Artagnan, enlightened by a sudden idea, "my
Lord! Pardon me, monsieur, but you are not--"
"My Lord the Duke of Buckingham," said Mme. Bonacieux, in an
undertone; "and now you may ruin us all."
"My Lord, Madame, I ask a hundred pardons! But I love her, my
Lord, and was jealous. You know what it is to love, my Lord.
Pardon me, and then tell me how I can risk my life to serve your
Grace?"
"You are a brave young man," said Buckingham, holding out his
hand to D'Artagnan, who pressed it respectfully. "You offer me
your services; with the same frankness I accept them. Follow us
at a distance of twenty paces, as far as the Louvre, and if
anyone watches us, slay him!"
D'Artagnan placed his naked sword under his arm, allowed the duke
and Mme. Bonacieux to take twenty steps ahead, and then followed
them, ready to execute the instructions of the noble and elegant
minister of Charles I.
Fortunately, he had no opportunity to give the duke this proof of
his devotion, and the young woman and the handsome Musketeer
entered the Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any
interference.
As for D'Artagnan, he immediately repaired to the cabaret of the
Pomme-de-Pin, where he found Porthos and Aramis awaiting him.
Without giving them any explanation of the alarm and
inconvenience he had caused them, he told them that he had
terminated the affair alone in which he had for a moment believed
he should need their assistance.
Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave
our three friends to themselves, and follow the Duke of
Buckingham and his guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.
12 GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
Mme. Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without
difficulty. Mme. Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the
duke wore the uniform of the Musketeers of M. de Treville, who,
as we have said, were that evening on guard. Besides, Germain
was in the interests of the queen; and if anything should happen,
Mme. Bonacieux would be accused of having introduced her lover
into the Louvre, that was all. She took the risk upon herself.
Her reputation would be lost, it is true; but of what value in
the world was the reputation of the little wife of a mercer?
Once within the interior of the court, the duke and the young
woman followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps.
This space passed, Mme. Bonacieux pushed a little servants' door,
open by day but generally closed at night. The door yielded.
Both entered, and found themselves in darkness; but Mme.
Bonacieux was acquainted with all the turnings and windings of
this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the people of the
household. She closed the door after her, took the duke by the
hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade,
put her foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the
staircase. The duke counted two stories. She then turned to the
right, followed the course of a long corridor, descended a
flight, went a few steps farther, introduced a key into a lock,
opened a door, and pushed the duke into an apartment lighted only
by a lamp, saying, "Remain here, my Lord Duke; someone will
come." She then went out by the same door, which she locked, so
that the duke found himself literally a prisoner.
Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the
salient points of his character was the search for adventures and
a love of romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not
the first time he had risked his life in such attempts. He had
learned that the pretended message from Anne of Austria, upon the
faith of which he had come to Paris, was a snare; but instead of
regaining England, he had, abusing the position in which he had
been placed, declared to the queen that he would not depart
without seeing her. The queen had at first positively refused;
but at length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated, would
commit some folly. She had already decided upon seeing him and
urging his immediate departure, when, on the very evening of
coming to this decision, Mme. Bonacieux, who was charged with
going to fetch the duke and conducting him to the Louvre, was
abducted. For two days no one knew what had become of her, and
everything remained in suspense; but once free, and placed in
communication with Laporte, matters resumed their course, and she
accomplished the perilous enterprise which, but for her arrest,
would have been executed three days earlier.
Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. His Musketeer's
uniform became him marvelously.
At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed, with just
title, for the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier
of France or England.
The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all-powerful in a
kingdom which he disordered at his fancy and calmed again at his
caprice, George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, had lived one of
those fabulous existences which survive, in the course of
centuries, to astonish posterity.
Sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the
laws which rule other men could not reach him, he went straight
to the object he aimed at, even were this object were so elevated
and so dazzling that it would have been madness for any other
even to have contemplated it. It was thus he had succeeded in
approaching several times the beautiful and proud Anne of
Austria, and in making himself loved by dazzling her.
George Villiers placed himself before the glass, as we have said,
restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight
of his hat had disordered, twisted his mustache, and, his heart
swelling with joy, happy and proud at being near the moment he
had so long sighed for, he smiled upon himself with pride and
hope.
At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a
woman appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; he
uttered a cry. It was the queen!
Anne of Austria was then twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age;
that is to say, she was in the full splendor of her beauty.
Her carriage was that of a queen or a goddess; her eyes, which
cast the brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and
yet were at the same time full of sweetness and majesty.
Her mouth was small and rosy; and although her underlip, like
that of all princes of the House of Austria, protruded slightly
beyond the other, it was eminently lovely in its smile, but as
profoundly disdainful in its contempt.
Her skin was admired for its velvety softness; her hands and arms
were of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them
as incomparable.
Lastly, her hair, which, from being light in her youth, had
become chestnut, and which she wore curled very plainly, and with
much powder, admirably set off her face, in which the most rigid
critic could only have desired a little less rouge, and the most
fastidious sculptor a little more fineness in the nose.
Buckingham remained for a moment dazzled. Never had Anna of
Austria appeared to him so beautiful, amid balls, fetes, or
carousals, as she appeared to him at this moment, dressed in a
simple robe of white satin, and accompanied by Donna Estafania--
the only one of her Spanish women who had not been driven from
her by the jealousy of the king or by the persecutions of
Richelieu.
Anne of Austria took two steps forward. Buckingham threw himself
at her feet, and before the queen could prevent him, kissed the
hem of her robe.
"Duke, you already know that it is not I who caused you to be
written to."
"Yes, yes, madame! Yes, your Majesty!" cried the duke. "I know
that I must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would
become animated or marble warm; but what then! They who love
believe easily in love. Besides, I have lost nothing by this
journey because I see you."
"Yes," replied Anne, "but you know why and how I see you;
because, insensible to all my sufferings, you persist in
remaining in a city where, by remaining, you run the risk of your
life, and make me run the risk of my honor. I see you to tell
you that everything separates us--the depths of the sea, the
enmity of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows. It is sacrilege to
struggle against so many things, my Lord. In short, I see you to
tell you that we must never see each other again."
"Speak on, madame, speak on, Queen," said Buckingham; "the
sweetness of your voice covers the harshness of your words. You
talk of sacrilege! Why, the sacrilege is the separation of two
hearts formed by God for each other."
"My Lord," cried the queen, "you forget that I have never said
that I love you."
"But you have never told me that you did not love me; and truly,
to speak such words to me would be, on the part of your Majesty,
too great an ingratitude. For tell me, where can you find a love
like mine--a love which neither time, nor absence, not despair
can extinguish, a love which contents itself with a lost ribbon,
a stray look, or a chance word? It is now three years, madame,
since I saw you for the first time, and during those three years
I have loved you thus. Shall I tell you each ornament of your
toilet? Mark! I see you now. You were seated upon cushions in
the Spanish fashion; you wore a robe of green satin embroidered
with gold and silver, hanging sleeves knotted upon your beautiful
arms--those lovely arms--with large diamonds. You wore a close
ruff, a small cap upon your head of the same color as your robe,
and in that cap a heron's feather. Hold! Hold! I shut my eyes,
and I can see you as you then were; I open them again, and I see
what you are now--a hundred time more beautiful!"
"What folly," murmured Anne of Austria, who had not the courage
to find fault with the duke for having so well preserved her
portrait in his heart, "what folly to feed a useless passion with
such remembrances!"
"And upon what then must I live? I have nothing but memory. It
is my happiness, my treasure, my hope. Every time I see you is a
fresh diamond which I enclose in the casket of my heart. This
is the fourth which you have let fall and I have picked up; for
in three years, madame, I have only seen you four times--the
first, which I have described to you; the second, at the mansion
of Madame de Chevreuse; the third, in the gardens of Amiens."
"Duke," said the queen, blushing, "never speak of that evening."
"Oh, let us speak of it; on the contrary, let us speak of it!
That is the most happy and brilliant evening of my life! You
remember what a beautiful night it was? How soft and perfumed
was the air; how lovely the blue heavens and star-enameled sky!
Ah, then, madame, I was able for one instant to be alone with
you. Then you were about to tell me all--the isolation of your
life, the griefs of your heart. You leaned upon my arm--upon
this, madame! I felt, in bending my head toward you, your
beautiful hair touch my cheek; and every time that it touched me
I trembled from head to foot. Oh, Queen! Queen! You do not
know what felicity from heaven, what joys from paradise, are
comprised in a moment like that. Take my wealth, my fortune, my
glory, all the days I have to live, for such an instant, for a
night like that. For that night, madame, that night you loved
me, I will swear it."
"My Lord, yes; it is possible that the influence of the place,
the charm of the beautiful evening, the fascination of your
look--the thousand circumstances, in short, which sometimes unite
to destroy a woman--were grouped around me on that fatal evening;
but, my Lord, you saw the queen come to the aid of the woman who
faltered. At the first word you dared to utter, at the first
freedom to which I had to reply, I called for help."
"Yes, yes, that is true. And any other love but mine would have
sunk beneath this ordeal; but my love came out from it more
ardent and more eternal. You believed that you would fly from me
by returning to Paris; you believed that I would not dare to quit
the treasure over which my master had charged me to watch. What
to me were all the treasures in the world, or all the kings of
the earth! Eight days after, I was back again, madame. That
time you had nothing to say to me; I had risked my life and favor
to see you but for a second. I did not even touch your hand, and
you pardoned me on seeing me so submissive and so repentant."
"Yes, but calumny seized upon all those follies in which I took
no part, as you well know, my Lord. The king, excited by the
cardinal, made a terrible clamor. Madame de Vernet was driven
from me, Putange was exiled, Madame de Chevreuse fell into
disgrace, and when you wished to come back as ambassador to
France, the king himself--remember, my lord--the king himself
opposed to it."
"Yes, and France is about to pay for her king's refusal with a
war. I am not allowed to see you, madame, but you shall every
day hear of me. What object, think you, have this expedition to
Re and this league with the Protestants of La Rochelle which I am
projecting? The pleasure of seeing you. I have no hope of
penetrating, sword in hand, to Paris, I know that well. But this
war may bring round a peace; this peace will require a
negotiator; that negotiator will be me. They will not dare to
refuse me then; and I will return to Paris, and will see you
again, and will be happy for an instant. Thousands of men, it is
true, will have to pay for my happiness with their lives; but
what is that to me, provided I see you again! All this is
perhaps folly--perhaps insanity; but tell me what woman has a
lover more truly in love; what queen a servant more ardent?"
"My Lord, my Lord, you invoke in your defense things which accuse
you more strongly. All these proofs of love which you would give
me are almost crimes."
"Because you do not love me, madame! If you loved me, you would
view all this otherwise. If you loved me, oh, if you loved me,
that would be too great happiness, and I should run mad. Ah,
Madame de Chevreuse was less cruel than you. Holland loved her,
and she responded to his love."
"Madame de Chevreuse was not queen," murmured Anne of Austria,
overcome, in spite of herself, by the expression of so profound a
passion.
"You would love me, then, if you were not queen! Madame, say
that you would love me then! I can believe that it is the
dignity of your rank alone which makes you cruel to me; I can
believe that you had been Madame de Chevreuse, poor Buckingham
might have hoped. Thanks for those sweet words! Oh, my
beautiful sovereign, a hundred times, thanks!"
"Oh, my Lord! You have ill understood, wrongly interpreted; I
did not mean to say--"
"Silence, silence!" cried the duke. "If I am happy in an error,
do not have the cruelty to lift me from it. You have told me
yourself, madame, that I have been drawn into a snare; I,
perhaps, may leave my life in it--for, although it may be
strange, I have for some time had a presentiment that I should
shortly die." And the duke smiled, with a smile at once sad and
charming.
"Oh, my God!" cried Anne of Austria, with an accent of terror
which proved how much greater an interest she took in the duke
than she ventured to tell.
"I do not tell you this, madame, to terrify you; no, it is even
ridiculous for me to name it to you, and, believe me, I take no
heed of such dreams. But the words you have just spoken, the
hope you have almost given me, will have richly paid all--were it
my life."
"Oh, but I," said Anne, "I also, duke, have had presentiments; I
also have had dreams. I dreamed that I saw you lying bleeding,
wounded."
"In the left side, was it not, and with a knife?" interrupted
Buckingham.
"Yes, it was so, my Lord, it was so--in the left side, and with a
knife. Who can possibly have told you I had had that dream? I
have imparted it to no one but my God, and that in my prayers."
"I ask for no more. You love me, madame; it is enough."
"I love you, I?"
"Yes, yes. Would God send the same dreams to you as to me if you
did not love me? Should we have the same presentiments if our
existences did not touch at the heart? You love me, my beautiful
queen, and you will weep for me?"
"Oh, my God, my God!" cried Anne of Austria, "this is more than I
can bear. In the name of heaven, Duke, leave me, go! I do not
know whether I love you or love you not; but what I know is that
I will not be perjured. Take pity on me, then, and go! Oh, if
you are stuck in France, if you die in France, if I could imagine
that your love for me was the cause of your death, I could not
console myself; I should run mad. Depart then, depart, I implore
you!"
"Oh, how beautiful you are thus! Oh, how I love you!" said
Buckingham.
"Go, go, I implore you, and return hereafter! Come back as
ambassador, come back as minister, come back surrounded with
guards who will defend you, with servants who will watch over
you, and then I shall no longer fear for your days, and I shall
be happy in seeing you."
"Oh, is this true what you say?"
"Yes."
"Oh, then, some pledge of your indulgence, some object which came
from you, and may remind me that I have not been dreaming;
something you have worn, and that I may wear in my turn--a ring,
a necklace, a chain."
"Will you depart--will you depart, if I give you that you
demand?"
"Yes."
"This very instant?"
"Yes."
"You will leave France, you will return to England?"
"I will, I swear to you."
"Wait, then, wait."
Anne of Austria re-entered her apartment, and came out again
almost immediately, holding a rosewood casket in her hand, with
her cipher encrusted with gold.
"Her, my Lord, here," said she, "keep this in memory of me."
Buckingham took the casket, and fell a second time on his knees.
"You have promised me to go," said the queen.
"And I keep my word. Your hand, madame, your hand, and I
depart!"
Anne of Austria stretched forth her hand, closing her eyes, and
leaning with the other upon Estafania, for she felt that her
strength was about to fail her.
Buckingham pressed his lips passionately to that beautiful hand,
and then rising, said, "Within six months, if I am not dead, I
shall have seen you again, madame--even if I have to overturn the
world." And faithful to the promise he had made, he rushed out
of the apartment.
In the corridor he met Mme. Bonacieux, who waited for him, and
who, with the same precautions and the same good luck, conducted
him out of the Louvre.
13 MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
There was in all this, as may have been observed, one personage
concerned, of whom, notwithstanding his precarious position, we
have appeared to take but very little notice. This personage was
M. Bonacieux, the respectable martyr of the political and amorous
intrigues which entangled themselves so nicely together at this
gallant and chivalric period.
Fortunately, the reader may remember, or may not remember--
fortunately we have promised not to lose sight of him.
The officers who arrested him conducted him straight to the
Bastille, where he passed trembling before a party of soldiers
who were loading their muskets. Thence, introduced into a half-
subterranean gallery, he became, on the part of those who had
brought him, the object of the grossest insults and the harshest
treatment. The officers perceived that they had not to deal with
a gentleman, and they treated him like a very peasant.
At the end of half an hour or thereabouts, a clerk came to put an
end to his tortures, but not to his anxiety, by giving the order
to conduct M. Bonacieux to the Chamber of Examination.
Ordinarily, prisoners were interrogated in their cells; but they
did not do so with M. Bonacieux.
Two guards attended the mercer who made him traverse a court and
enter a corridor in which were three sentinels, opened a door and
pushed him unceremoniously into a low room, where the only
furniture was a table, a chair, and a commissary. The commissary
was seated in the chair, and was writing at the table.
The two guards led the prisoner toward the table, and upon a sign
from the commissary drew back so far as to be unable to hear
anything.
The commissary, who had till this time held his head down over
his papers, looked up to see what sort of person he had to do
with. This commissary was a man of very repulsive mien, with a
pointed nose, with yellow and salient cheek bones, with eyes
small but keen and penetrating, and an expression of countenance
resembling at once the polecat and the fox. His head, supported
by a long and flexible neck, issued from his large black robe,
balancing itself with a motion very much like that of the
tortoise thrusting his head out of his shell. He began by asking
M. Bonacieux his name, age, condition, and abode.
The accused replied that his name was Jacques Michel Bonacieux,
that he was fifty-one years old, a retired mercer, and lived Rue
des Fossoyeurs, No. 14.
The commissary then, instead of continuing to interrogate him,
made him a long speech upon the danger there is for an obscure
citizen to meddle with public matters. He complicated this
exordium by an exposition in which he painted the power and the
deeds of the cardinal, that incomparable minister, that conqueror
of past minister, that conqueror of past ministers, that example
for ministers to come--deeds and power which none could thwart
with impunity.
After this second part of his discourse, fixing his hawk's eye
upon poor Bonacieux, he bade him reflect upon the gravity of his
situation.
The reflections of the mercer were already made; he cursed the
instant when M. Laporte formed the idea of marrying him to his
goddaughter had been received as Lady of the Linen to her
Majesty.
At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profound
selfishness mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned with
extreme cowardice. The love with which his young wife had
inspired him was a secondary sentiment, and was not strong enough
to contend with the primitive feelings we have just enumerated.
Bonacieux indeed reflected on what had just been said to him.
"But, Monsieur Commissary," said he, calmly, "believe that I know
and appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparable
eminence by whom we have the honor to be governed."
"Indeed?" asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. "If that
is really so, how came you in the Bastille?"
"How I came there, or rather why I am there," replied Bonacieux,
"that is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don't
know myself; but to a certainty it is not for having, knowingly
at least, disobliged Monsieur the Cardinal."
"You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are
here and are accused of high treason."
"Of high treason!" cried Bonacieux, terrified; "of high treason!
How is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and
who abhors Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider,
monsieur, the thing is absolutely impossible."
"Monsieur Bonacieux," said the commissary, looking at the accused
as if his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very
depths of hearts, "you have a wife?"
"Yes, monsieur," replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that
it was at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing;
"that is to say, I HAD one."
"What, you 'had one'? What have you done with her, then, if you
have her no longer?"
"They have abducted her, monsieur."
"They have abducted her? Ah!"
Bonacieux inferred from this "Ah" that the affair grew more and
more intricate.
"They have abducted her," added the commissary; "and do you know
the man who has committed this deed?"
"I think I know him."
"Who is he?"
"Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, and
that I only suspect."
"Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely."
M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had he
better deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, it
might be suspected that he must know too much to avow; by
confessing all he might prove his good will. He decided, then,
to tell all.
"I suspect," said he, "a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, who
has the air of a great lord. He has followed us several times,
as I think, when I have waited for my wife at the wicket of the
Louvre to escort her home."
The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.
"And his name?" said he.
"Oh, as to his name, I know nothing about it; but if I were ever
to meet him, I should recognize him in an instant, I will answer
for it, were he among a thousand persons."
The face of the commissary grew still darker.
"You should recognize him among a thousand, say you?" continued
he.
"That is to say," cried Bonacieux, who saw he had taken a false
step, "that is to say--"
"You have answered that you should recognize him," said the
commissary. "That is all very well, and enough for today; before
we proceed further, someone must be informed that you know the
ravisher of your wife."
"But I have not told you that I know him!" cried Bonacieux, in
despair. "I told you, on the contrary--"
"Take away the prisoner," said the commissary to the two guards.
"Where must we place him?" demanded the chief.
"In a dungeon."
"Which?"
"Goof Lord! In the first one handy, provided it is safe," said
the commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poor
Bonacieux with horror.
"Alas, alas!" said he to himself, "misfortune is over my head; my
wife must have committed some frightful crime. They believe me
her accomplice, and will punish me with her. She must have
spoken; she must have confessed everything--a woman is so weak!
A dungeon! The first he comes to! That's it! A night is soon
passed; and tomorrow to the wheel, to the gallows! Oh, my God,
my God, have pity on me!"
Without listening the least in the world to the lamentations of
M. Bonacieux--lamentations to which, besides, they must have been
pretty well accustomed--the two guards took the prisoner each by
an arm, and led him away, while the commissary wrote a letter in
haste and dispatched it by an officer in waiting.
Bonacieux could not close his eyes; not because his dungeon was
so very disagreeable, but because his uneasiness was so great.
He sat all night on his stool, starting at the least noise; and
when the first rays of the sun penetrated into his chamber, the
dawn itself appeared to him to have taken funereal tints.
All at once he heard his bolts drawn, and made a terrified bound.
He believed they were come to conduct him to the scaffold; so
that when he saw merely and simply, instead of the executioner he
expected, only his commissary of the preceding evening, attended
by his clerk, he was ready to embrace them both.
"Your affair has become more complicated since yesterday evening,
my good man, and I advise you to tell the whole truth; for your
repentance alone can remove the anger of the cardinal."
"Why, I am ready to tell everything," cried Bonacieux, "at least,
all that I know. Interrogate me, I entreat you!"
"Where is your wife, in the first place?"
"Why, did not I tell you she had been stolen from me?"
"Yes, but yesterday at five o'clock in the afternoon, thanks to
you, she escaped."
"My wife escaped!" cried Bonacieux. "Oh, unfortunate creature!
Monsieur, if she has escaped, it is not my fault, I swear."
"What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of Monsieur
D'Artagnan, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conference
during the day?"
"Ah, yes, Monsieur Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confess
that I was in the wrong. I did go to Monsieur D'Artagnan's."
"What was the aim of that visit?"
"To beg him to assist me in finding my wife. I believed I had a
right to endeavor to find her. I was deceived, as it appears,
and I ask your pardon."
"And what did Monsieur d'Artagnan reply?"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan promised me his assistance; but I soon found
out that he was betraying me."
"You impose upon justice. Monsieur d'Artagnan made a compact
with you; and in virtue of that compact put to flight the police
who had arrested your wife, and has placed her beyond reach."
"Fortunately, Monsieur d'Artagnan is in our hands, and you shall
be confronted with him."
"By my faith, I ask no better," cried Bonacieux; "I shall not be
sorry to see the face of an acquaintance."
"Bring in the Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the commissary to the
guards. The two guards led in Athos.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the commissary, addressing Athos,
"declare all that passed yesterday between you and Monsieur."
"But," cried Bonacieux, "this is not Monsieur d'Artagnan whom you
show me."
"What! Not Monsieur d'Artagnan?" exclaimed the commissary.
"Not the least in the world," replied Bonacieux.
"What is this gentleman's name?" asked the commissary.
"I cannot tell you; I don't know him."
"How! You don't know him?"
"No."
"Did you never see him?"
"Yes, I have seen him, but I don't know what he calls himself."
"Your name?" replied the commissary.
"Athos," replied the Musketeer.
"But that is not a man's name; that is the name of a mountain,"
cried the poor questioner, who began to lose his head.
"That is my name," said Athos, quietly.
"But you said that your name was D'Artagnan."
"Who, I?"
"Yes, you."
"Somebody said to me, 'You are Monsieur d'Artagnan?' I answered,
'You think so?' My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it.
I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived."
"Monsieur, you insult the majesty of justice."
"Not at all," said Athos, calmly.
"You are Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"You see, monsieur, that you say it again."
"But I tell you, Monsieur Commissary," cried Bonacieux, in his
turn, "there is not the least doubt about the matter. Monsieur
d'Artagnan is my tenant, although he does not pay me my rent--and
even better on that account ought I to know him. Monsieur
Dessessart's Guards, and this gentleman is in the company of
Monsieur de Treville's Musketeers. Look at his uniform, Monsieur
Commissary, look at his uniform!"
"That's true," murmured the commissary; "PARDIEU, that's true."
At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a messenger,
introduced by one of the gatekeepers of the Bastille, gave a
letter to the commissary.
"Oh, unhappy woman!" cried the commissary.
"How? What do you say? Of whom do you speak? It is not of my
wife, I hope!"
"On the contrary, it is of her. Yours is a pretty business."
"But," said the agitated mercer, "do me the pleasure, monsieur,
to tell me how my own proper affair can become worse by anything
my wife does while I am in prison?"
"Because that which she does is part of a plan concerted between
you--of an infernal plan."
"I swear to you, Monsieur Commissary, that you are in the
profoundest error, that I know nothing in the world about what my
wife had to do, that I am entirely a stranger to what she has
done; and that if she has committed any follies, I renounce her,
I abjure her, I curse her!"
"Bah!" said Athos to the commissary, "if you have no more need of
me, send me somewhere. Your Monsieur Bonacieux is very
tiresome."
The commissary designated by the same gesture Athos and
Bonacieux, "Let them be guarded more closely than ever."
"And yet," said Athos, with his habitual calmness, "if it be
Monsieur d'Artagnan who is concerned in this matter, I do not
perceive how I can take his place."
"Do as I bade you," cried the commissary, "and preserve absolute
secrecy. You understand!"
Athos shrugged his shoulders, and followed his guards silently,
while M. Bonacieux uttered lamentations enough to break the heart
of a tiger.
They locked the mercer in the same dungeon where he had passed
the night, and left him to himself during the day. Bonacieux
wept all day, like a true mercer, not being at all a military
man, as he himself informed us. In the evening, about nine
o'clock, at the moment he had made up his mind to go to bed, he
heard steps in his corridor. These steps drew near to his
dungeon, the door was thrown open, and the guards appeared.
"Follow me," said an officer, who came up behind the guards.
"Follow you!" cried Bonacieux, "follow you at this hour! Where,
my God?"
"Where we have orders to lead you."
"But that is not an answer."
"It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give."
"Ah, my God, my God!" murmured the poor mercer, "now, indeed, I
am lost!" And he followed the guards who came for him,
mechanically and without resistance.
He passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court,
then a second side of a building; at length, at the gate of the
entrance court he found a carriage surrounded by four guards on
horseback. They made him enter this carriage, the officer placed
himself by his side, the door was locked, and they were left in a
rolling prison. The carriage was put in motion as slowly as a
funeral car. Through the closely fastened windows the prisoner
could perceive the houses and the pavement, that was all; but,
true Parisian as he was, Bonacieux could recognize every street
by the milestones, the signs, and the lamps. At the moment of
arriving at St. Paul--the spot where such as were condemned at
the Bastille were executed--he was near fainting and crossed
himself twice. He thought the carriage was about to stop there.
The carriage, however, passed on.
Farther on, a still greater terror seized him on passing by the
cemetery of St. Jean, where state criminals were buried. One
thing, however, reassured him; he remembered that before they
were buried their heads were generally cut off, and he felt that
his head was still on his shoulders. But when he saw the
carriage take the way to La Greve, when he perceived the pointed
roof of the Hotel de Ville, and the carriage passed under the
arcade, he believed it was over with him. He wished to confess
to the officer, and upon his refusal, uttered such pitiable cries
that the officer told him that if he continued to deafen him
thus, he should put a gag in his mouth.
This measure somewhat reassured Bonacieux. If they meant to
execute him at La Greve, it could scarcely be worth while to gag
him, as they had nearly reached the place of execution. Indeed,
the carriage crossed the fatal spot without stopping. There
remained, then, no other place to fear but the Traitor's Cross;
the carriage was taking the direct road to it.
This time there was no longer any doubt; it was at the Traitor's
Cross that lesser criminals were executed. Bonacieux had
flattered himself in believing himself worthy of St. Paul or of
the Place de Greve; it was at the Traitor's Cross that his
journey and his destiny were about to end! He could not yet see
that dreadful cross, but he felt somehow as if it were coming to
meet him. When he was within twenty paces of it, he heard a
noise of people and the carriage stopped. This was more than
poor Bonacieux could endure, depressed as he was by the
successive emotions which he had experienced; he uttered a feeble
groan which night have been taken for the last sigh of a dying
man, and fainted.
14 THE MAN OF MEUNG
The crowd was caused, not by the expectation of a man to be
hanged, but by the contemplation of a man who was hanged.
The carriage, which had been stopped for a minute, resumed its
way, passed through the crowd, threaded the Rue St. Honore,
turned into the Rue des Bons Enfants, and stopped before a low
door.
The door opened; two guards received Bonacieux in their arms from
the officer who supported him. They carried him through an
alley, up a flight of stairs, and deposited him in an
antechamber.
All these movements had been effected mechanically, as far as he
was concerned. He had walked as one walks in a dream; he had a
glimpse of objects as through a fog. His ears had perceived
sounds without comprehending them; he might have been executed at
that moment without his making a single gesture in his own
defense or uttering a cry to implore mercy.
He remained on the bench, with his back leaning against the wall
and his hands hanging down, exactly on the spot where the guards
placed him.
On looking around him, however, as he could perceive no
threatening object, as nothing indicated that he ran any real
danger, as the bench was comfortably covered with a well-stuffed
cushion, as the wall was ornamented with a beautiful Cordova
leather, and as large red damask curtains, fastened back by gold
clasps, floated before the window, he perceived by degrees that
his fear was exaggerated, and he began to turn his head to the
right and the left, upward and downward.
At this movement, which nobody opposed, he resumed a little
courage, and ventured to draw up one leg and then the other. At
length, with the help of his two hands he lifted himself from the
bench, and found himself on his feet.
At this moment an officer with a pleasant face opened a door,
continued to exchange some words with a person in the next
chamber and then came up to the prisoner. "Is your name
Bonacieux?" said he.
"Yes, Monsieur Officer," stammered the mercer, more dead than
alive, "at your service."
"Come in," said the officer.
And he moved out of the way to let the mercer pass. The latter
obeyed without reply, and entered the chamber, where he appeared
to be expected.
It was a large cabinet, close and stifling, with the walls
furnished with arms offensive and defensive, and in which there
was already a fire, although it was scarcely the end of the month
of September. A square table, covered with books and papers,
upon which was unrolled an immense plan of the city of La
Rochelle, occupied the center of the room.
Standing before the chimney was a man of middle height, of a
haughty, proud mien; with piercing eyes, a large brow, and a thin
face, which was made still longer by a ROYAL (or IMPERIAL, as it
is now called), surmounted by a pair of mustaches. Although this
man was scarcely thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, hair,
mustaches, and royal, all began to be gray. This man, except a
sword, had all the appearance of a soldier; and his buff boots
still slightly covered with dust, indicated that he had been on
horseback in the course of the day.
This man was Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not
such as he is now represented--broken down like an old man,
suffering like a martyr, his body bent, his voice failing, buried
in a large armchair as in an anticipated tomb; no longer living
but by the strength of his genius, and no longer maintaining the
struggle with Europe but by the eternal application of his
thoughts--but such as he really was at this period; that is to
say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak of body, but
sustained by that moral power which made of him one of the most
extraordinary men that ever lived, preparing, after having
supported the Duc de Nevers in his duchy of Mantua, after having
taken Nimes, Castres, and Uzes, to drive the English from the
Isle of Re and lay siege to La Rochelle.
At first sight, nothing denoted the cardinal; and it was
impossible for those who did not know his face to guess in whose
presence they were.
The poor mercer remained standing at the door, while the eyes of
the personage we have just described were fixed upon him, and
appeared to wish to penetrate even into the depths of the past.
"Is this that Bonacieux?" asked he, after a moment of silence.
"Yes, monseigneur," replied the officer.
"That's well. Give me those papers, and leave us."
The officer took from the table the papers pointed out, gave them
to him who asked for them, bowed to the ground, and retired.
Bonacieux recognized in these papers his interrogatories of the
Bastille. From time to time the man by the chimney raised his
eyes from the writings, and plunged them like poniards into the
heart of the poor mercer.
At the end of ten minutes of reading and ten seconds of
examination, the cardinal was satisfied.
"That head has never conspired," murmured he, "but it matters
not; we will see."
"You are accused of high treason," said the cardinal, slowly.
"So I have been told already, monseigneur," cried Bonacieux,
giving his interrogator the title he had heard the officer give
him, "but I swear to you that I know nothing about it."
The cardinal repressed a smile.
"You have conspired with your wife, with Madame de Chevreuse, and
with my Lord Duke of Buckingham."
"Indeed, monseigneur," responded the mercer, "I have heard her
pronounce all those names."
"And on what occasion?"
"She said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had drawn the Duke of
Buckingham to Paris to ruin him and to ruin the queen."
"She said that?" cried the cardinal, with violence.
"Yes, monseigneur, but I told her she was wrong to talk about
such things; and that his Eminence was incapable--"
"Hold your tongue! You are stupid," replied the cardinal.
"That's exactly what my wife said, monseigneur."
"Do you know who carried off your wife?"
"No, monsigneur."
"You have suspicions, nevertheless?"
"Yes, monsigneur; but these suspicions appeared to be
disagreeable to Monsieur the Commissary, and I no longer have
them."
"Your wife has escaped. Did you know that?"
"No, monseigneur. I learned it since I have been in prison, and
that from the conversation of Monsieur the Commissary--an amiable
man."
The cardinal repressed another smile.
"Then you are ignorant of what has become of your wife since her
flight."
"Absolutely, monseigneur; but she has most likely returned to the
Louvre."
"At one o'clock this morning she had not returned."
"My God! What can have become of her, then?"
"We shall know, be assured. Nothing is concealed from the
cardinal; the cardinal knows everything."
"In that case, monseigneur, do you believe the cardinal will be
so kind as to tell me what has become of my wife?"
"Perhaps he may; but you must, in the first place, reveal to the
cardinal all you know of your wife's relations with Madame de
Chevreuse."
"But, monseigneur, I know nothing about them; I have never seen
her."
"When you went to fetch your wife from the Louvre, did you always
return directly home?"
"Scarcely ever; she had business to transact with linen drapers,
to whose houses I conducted her."
"And how many were there of these linen drapers?"
"Two, monseigneur."
"And where did they live?"
"One in Rue de Vaugirard, the other Rue de la Harpe."
"Did you go into these houses with her?"
"Never, monseigneur; I waited at the door."
"And what excuse did she give you for entering all alone?"
"She gave me none; she told me to wait, and I waited."
"You are a very complacent husband, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux," said the cardinal.
"He calls me his dear Monsieur," said the mercer to himself.
"PESTE! Matters are going all right."
"Should you know those doors again?"
"Yes."
"Do you know the numbers?"
"Yes."
"What are they?"
"No. 25 in the Rue de Vaugirard; 75 in the Rue de la Harpe."
"That's well," said the cardinal.
At these words he took up a silver bell, and rang it; the officer
entered.
"Go," said he, in a subdued voice, "and find Rochefort. Tell him
to come to me immediately, if he has returned."
"The count is here," said the officer, "and requests to speak
with your Eminence instantly."
"Let him come in, then!" said the cardinal, quickly.
The officer sprang out of the apartment with that alacrity which
all the servants of the cardinal displayed in obeying him.
"To your Eminence!" murmured Bonacieux, rolling his eyes round in
astonishment.
Five seconds has scarcely elapsed after the disappearance of the
officer, when the door opened, and a new personage entered.
"It is he!" cried Bonacieux.
"He! What he?" asked the cardinal.
"The man who abducted my wife."
The cardinal rang a second time. The officer reappeared.
"Place this man in the care of his guards again, and let him wait
till I send for him."
"No, monseigneur, no, it is not he!" cried Bonacieux; "no, I was
deceived. This is quite another man, and does not resemble him
at all. Monsieur is, I am sure, an honest man."
"Take away that fool!" said the cardinal.
The officer took Bonacieux by the arm, and led him into the
antechamber, where he found his two guards.
The newly introduced personage followed Bonacieux impatiently
with his eyes till he had gone out; and the moment the door
closed, "They have seen each other;" said he, approaching the
cardinal eagerly.
"Who?" asked his Eminence.
"He and she."
"The queen and the duke?" cried Richelieu.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"At the Louvre."
"Are you sure of it?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Who told you of it?"
"Madame de Lannoy, who is devoted to your Eminence, as you know."
"Why did she not let me know sooner?"
"Whether by chance or mistrust, the queen made Madame de Surgis
sleep in her chamber, and detained her all day."
"Well, we are beaten! Now let us try to take our revenge."
"I will assist you with all my heart, monseigneur; be assured of
that."
"How did it come about?"
"At half past twelve the queen was with her women--"
"Where?"
"In her bedchamber--"
"Go on."
"When someone came and brought her a handkerchief from her
laundress."
"And then?"
"The queen immediately exhibited strong emotion; and despite the
rouge with which her face was covered evidently turned pale--"
"And then, and then?"
"She then arose, and with altered voice, 'Ladies,' said she,
'wait for me ten minutes, I shall soon return.' She then opened
the door of her alcove, and went out."
"Why did not Madame de Lannoy come and inform you instantly?"
"Nothing was certain; besides, her Majesty had said, 'Ladies,
wait for me,' and she did not dare to disobey the queen."
"How long did the queen remain out of the chamber?"
"Three-quarters of an hour."
"None of her women accompanied her?"
"Only Donna Estafania."
"Did she afterward return?"
"Yes; but only to take a little rosewood casket, with her cipher
upon it, and went out again immediately."
"And when she finally returned, did she bring that casket with
her?"
"No."
"Does Madame de Lannoy know what was in that casket?"
"Yes; the diamond studs which his Majesty gave the queen."
"And she came back without this casket?"
"Yes."
"Madame de Lannoy, then, is of opinion that she gave them to
Buckingham?"
"She is sure of it."
"How can she be so?"
"In the course of the day Madame de Lannoy, in her quality of
tire-woman of the queen, looked for this casket, appeared uneasy
at not finding it, and at length asked information of the queen."
"And then the queen?"
"The queen became exceedingly red, and replied that having in the
evening broken one of those studs, she had sent it to her
goldsmith to be repaired."
"He must be called upon, and so ascertain if the thing be true or
not."
"I have just been with him."
"And the goldsmith?"
"The goldsmith has heard nothing of it."
"Well, well! Rochefort, all is not lost; and perhaps--perhaps
everything is for the best."
"The fact is that I do not doubt your Eminence's genius--"
"Will repair the blunders of his agent--is that it?"
"That is exactly what I was going to say, if your Eminence had
let me finish my sentence."
"Meanwhile, do you know where the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the
Duke of Buckingham are now concealed?"
"No, monseigneur; my people could tell me nothing on that head."
"But I know."
"You, monseigneur?"
"Yes; or at least I guess. They were, one in the Rue de
Vaugirard, No. 25; the other in the Rue de la Harpe, No. 75."
"Does your Eminence command that they both be instantly
arrested?"
"It will be too late; they will be gone."
"But still, we can make sure that they are so."
"Take ten men of my Guardsmen, and search the two houses
thoroughly."
"Instantly, monseigneur." And Rochefort went hastily out of the
apartment.
The cardinal being left alone, reflected for an instant and then
rang the bell a third time. The same officer appeared.
"Bring the prisoner in again," said the cardinal.
M. Bonacieux was introduced afresh, and upon a sign from the
cardinal, the officer retired.
"You have deceived me!" said the cardinal, sternly.
"I," cried Bonacieux, "I deceive your Eminence!"
"Your wife, in going to Rue de Vaugirard and Rue de la Harpe, did
not go to find linen drapers."
"Then why did she go, just God?"
"She went to meet the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of Buckingham."
"Yes," cried Bonacieux, recalling all his remembrances of the
circumstances, "yes, that's it. Your Eminence is right. I told
my wife several times that it was surprising that linen drapers
should live in such houses as those, in houses that had no signs;
but she always laughed at me. Ah, monseigneur!" continued
Bonacieux, throwing himself at his Eminence's feet, "ah, how
truly you are the cardinal, the great cardinal, the man of genius
whom all the world reveres!"
The cardinal, however contemptible might be the triumph gained
over so vulgar a being as Bonacieux, did not the less enjoy it
for an instant; then, almost immediately, as if a fresh thought
has occurred, a smile played upon his lips, and he said, offering
his hand to the mercer, "Rise, my friend, you are a worthy man."
"The cardinal has touched me with his hand! I have touched the
hand of the great man!" cried Bonacieux. "The great man has
called me his friend!"
"Yes, my friend, yes," said the cardinal, with that paternal tone
which he sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none
who knew him; "and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you
must be indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred
pistoles, and pardon me."
"I pardon you, monseigneur!" said Bonacieux, hesitating to take
the purse, fearing, doubtless, that this pretended gift was but a
pleasantry. "But you are able to have me arrested, you are able
to have me tortured, you are able to have me hanged; you are the
master, and I could not have the least word to say. Pardon you,
monseigneur! You cannot mean that!"
"Ah, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, you are generous in this matter.
I see it and I thank you for it. Thus, then, you will take this
bag, and you will go away without being too malcontent."
"I go away enchanted."
"Farewell, then, or rather, AU REVOIR!"
And the cardinal made him a sign with his hand, to which
Bonacieux replied by bowing to the ground. He then went out
backward, and when he was in the antechamber the cardinal heard
him, in his enthusiasm, crying aloud, "Long life to the
Monseigneur! Long life to his Eminence! Long life to the great
cardinal!" The cardinal listened with a smile to this vociferous
manifestation of the feelings of M. Bonacieux; and then, when
Bonacieux's cries were no longer audible, "Good!" said he, "that
man would henceforward lay down his life for me." And the
cardinal began to examine with the greatest attention the map of
La Rochelle, which, as we have said, lay open on the desk,
tracing with a pencil the line in which the famous dyke was to
pass which, eighteen months later, shut up the port of the
besieged city. As he was in the deepest of his strategic
meditations, the door opened, and Rochefort returned.
"Well?" said the cardinal, eagerly, rising with a promptitude
which proved the degree of importance he attached to the
commission with which he had charged the count.
"Well," said the latter, "a young woman of about twenty-six or
twenty-eight years of age, and a man of from thirty-five to
forty, have indeed lodged at the two houses pointed out by your
Eminence; but the woman left last night, and the man this
morning."
"It was they!" cried the cardinal, looking at the clock; "and now
it is too late to have them persued. The duchess is at Tours,
and the duke at Boulogne. It is in London they must be found."
"What are your Eminence's orders?"
"Not a word of what has passed. Let the queen remain in perfect
security; let her be ignorant that we know her secret. Let her
believe that we are in search of some conspiracy or other. Send
me the keeper of the seals, Seguier."
"And that man, what has your Eminence done with him?"
"What man?" asked the cardinal.
"That Bonacieux."
"I have done with him all that could be done. I have made him a
spy upon his wife."
The Comte de Rochefort bowed like a man who acknowledges the
superiority of the master as great, and retired.
Left alone, the cardinal seated himself again and wrote a letter,
which he secured with his special seal. Then he rang. The
officer entered for the fourth time.
"Tell Vitray to come to me," said he, "and tell him to get ready
for a journey."
An instant after, the man he asked for was before him, booted and
spurred.
"Vitray," said he, "you will go with all speed to London. You
must not stop an instant on the way. You will deliver this
letter to Milady. Here is an order for two hundred pistoles;
call upon my treasurer and get the money. You shall have as much
again if you are back within six days, and have executed your
commission well."
The messenger, without replying a single word, bowed, took the
letter, with the order for the two hundred pistoles, and retired.
Here is what the letter contained:
MILADY, Be at the first ball at which the Duke of Buckingham
shall be present. He will wear on his doublet twelve diamond
studs; get as near to him as you can, and cut off two.
As soon as these studs shall be in your possession, inform me.
15 MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
On the day after these events had taken place, Athos not having
reappeared, M. de Treville was informed by D'Artagnan and Porthos
of the circumstance. As to Aramis, he had asked for leave of
absence for five days, and was gone, it was said, to Rouen on
family business.
M. de Treville was the father of his soldiers. The lowest or the
least known of them, as soon as he assumed the uniform of the
company, was as sure of his aid and support as if he had been his
own brother.
He repaired, then, instantly to the office of the LIEUTENANT-
CRIMINEL. The officer who commanded the post of the
Red Cross was sent for, and by successive inquiries they learned
that Athos was then lodged in the Fort l'Eveque.
Athos had passed through all the examinations we have seen
Bonacieux undergo.
We were present at the scene in which the two captives were
confronted with each other. Athos, who had till that time said
nothing for fear that D'Artagnan, interrupted in his turn, should
not have the time necessary, from this moment declared that his
name was Athos, and not D'Artagnan. He added that he did not
know either M. or Mme. Bonacieux; that he had never spoken to the
one or the other; that he had come, at about ten o'clock in the
evening, to pay a visit to his friend M. d'Artagnan, but that
till that hour he had been at M. de Treville's, where he had
dined. "Twenty witnesses," added he, "could attest the fact";
and he named several distinguished gentlemen, and among them was
M. le Duc de la Tremouille.
The second commissary was as much bewildered as the first had
been by the simple and firm declaration of the Musketeer, upon
whom he was anxious to take the revenge which men of the robe
like at all times to gain over men of the sword; but the name of
M. de Treville, and that of M. de la Tremouille, commanded a
little reflection.
Athos was then sent to the cardinal; but unfortunately the
cardinal was at the Louvre with the king.
It was precisely at this moment that M. de Treville, on leaving
the residence of the LIEUTENANT-CRIMINEL and the governor of the
Fort l'Eveque without being able to find Athos, arrived at the
palace.
As captain of the Musketeers, M. de Treville had the right of
entry at all times.
It is well known how violent the king's prejudices were against
the queen, and how carefully these prejudices were kept up by the
cardinal, who in affairs of intrigue mistrusted women infinitely
more than men. One of the grand causes of this prejudice was the
friendship of Anne of Austria for Mme. de Chevreuse. These two
women gave him more uneasiness than the war with Spain, the
quarrel with England, or the embarrassment of the finances. In
his eyes and to his conviction, Mme. de Chevreuse not only served
the queen in her political intrigues, but, what tormented him
still more, in her amorous intrigues.
At the first word the cardinal spoke of Mme. de Chevreuse--who,
though exiled to Tours and believed to be in that city, had come
to Paris, remained there five days, and outwitted the police--the
king flew into a furious passion. Capricious and unfaithful, the
king wished to be called Louis the Just and Louis the Chaste.
Posterity will find a difficulty in understanding this character,
which history explains only by facts and never by reason.
But when the cardinal added that not only Mme. de Chevreuse had
been in Paris, but still further, that the queen had renewed with
her one of those mysterious correspondences which at that time
was named a CABAL; when he affirmed that he, the cardinal, was
about to unravel the most closely twisted thread of this
intrigue; that at the moment of arresting in the very act, with
all the proofs about her, the queen's emissary to the exiled
duchess, a Musketeer had dared to interrupt the course of justice
violently, by falling sword in hand upon the honest men of the
law, charged with investigating impartially the whole affair in
order to place it before the eyes of the king--Louis XIII could
not contain himself, and he made a step toward the queen's
apartment with that pale and mute indignation which, when in
broke out, led this prince to the commission of the most pitiless
cruelty. And yet, in all this, the cardinal had not yet said a
word about the Duke of Buckingham.
At this instant M. de Treville entered, cool, polite, and in
irreproachable costume.
Informed of what had passed by the presence of the cardinal and
the alteration in the king's countenance, M. de Treville felt
himself something like Samson before the Philistines.
Louis XIII had already placed his hand on the knob of the door;
at the noise of M. de Treville's entrance he turned round. "You
arrive in good time, monsieur," said the king, who, when his
passions were raised to a certain point, could not dissemble; "I
have learned some fine things concerning your Musketeers."
"And I," said Treville, coldly, "I have some pretty things to tell your Majesty concerning these gownsmen."
"What?" said the king, with hauteur.
"I have the honor to inform your Majesty," continued M. de
Treville, in the same tone, "that a party of PROCUREURS,
commissaries, and men of the police--very estimable people, but
very inveterate, as it appears, against the uniform--have taken
upon themselves to arrest in a house, to lead away through the
open street, and throw into the Fort l'Eveque, all upon an order
which they have refused to show me, one of my, or rather your
Musketeers, sire, of irreproachable conduct, of an almost
illustrious reputation, and whom your Majesty knows favorably,
Monsieur Athos."
"Athos," said the king, mechanically; "yes, certainly I know that
name."
"Let your Majesty remember," said Treville, "that Monsieur Athos
is the Musketeer who, in the annoying duel which you are
acquainted with, had the misfortune to wound Monsieur de Cahusac
so seriously. A PROPOS, monseigneur," continued Treville.
Addressing the cardinal, "Monsieur de Cahusac is quite recovered,
is he not?"
"Thank you," said the cardinal, biting his lips with anger.
"Athos, then, went to pay a visit to one of his friends absent at
the time," continued Treville, "to a young Bearnais, a cadet in
his Majesty's Guards, the company of Monsieur Dessessart, but
scarcely had he arrived at his friend's and taken up a book,
while waiting his return, when a mixed crowd of bailiffs and
soldiers came and laid siege to the house, broke open several
doors--"
The cardinal made the king a sign, which signified, "That was on
account of the affair about which I spoke to you."
"We all know that," interrupted the king; "for all that was done
for our service."
"Then," said Treville, "it was also for your Majesty's service
that one of my Musketeers, who was innocent, has been seized,
that he has been placed between two guards like a malefactor, and
that this gallant man, who has ten times shed his blood in your
Majesty's service and is ready to shed it again, has been paraded
through the midst of an insolent populace?"
"Bah!" said the king, who began to be shaken, "was it so
managed?"
"Monsieur de Treville," said the cardinal, with the greatest
phlegm, "does not tell your Majesty that this innocent Musketeer,
this gallant man, had only an hour before attacked, sword in
hand, four commissaries of inquiry, who were delegated by myself
to examine into an affair of the highest importance."
"I defy your Eminence to prove it," cried Treville, with his
Gascon freedom and military frankness; "for one hour before,
Monsieur Athos, who, I will confide it to your Majesty, is really
a man of the highest quality, did me the honor after having dined
with me to be conversing in the saloon of my hotel, with the Duc
de la Tremouille and the Comte de Chalus, who happened to be
there."
The king looked at the cardinal.
"A written examination attests it," said the cardinal, replying
aloud to the mute interrogation of his Majesty; "and the ill-
treated people have drawn up the following, which I have the
honor to present to your Majesty."
"And is the written report of the gownsmen to be placed in
comparison with the word of honor of a swordsman?" replied
Treville haughtily.
"Come, come, Treville, hold your tongue," said the king.
"If his Eminence entertains any suspicion against one of my
Musketeers," said Treville, "the justice of Monsieur the Cardinal
is so well known that I demand an inquiry."
"In the house in which the judicial inquiry was made," continued
the impassive cardinal, "there lodges, I believe, a young
Bearnais, a friend of the Musketeer."
"Your Eminence means Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"I mean a young man whom you patronize, Monsieur de Treville."
"Yes, your Eminence, it is the same."
"Do you not suspect this young man of having given bad counsel?"
"To Athos, to a man double his age?" interrupted Treville. "No,
monseigneur. Besides, D'Artagnan passed the evening with me."
"Well," said the cardinal, "everybody seems to have passed the
evening with you."
"Does your Eminence doubt my word?" said Treville, with a brow
flushed with anger.
"No, God forbid," said the cardinal; "only, at what hour was he with you?"
"Oh, as to that I can speak positively, your Eminence; for as he
came in I remarked that it was but half past nine by the clock,
although I had believed it to be later."
"At what hour did he leave your hotel?"
"At half past ten--an hour after the event."
"Well," replied the cardinal, who could not for an instant
suspect the loyalty of Treville, and who felt that the victory
was escaping him, "well, but Athos WAS taken in the house in the
Rue des Fossoyeurs."
"Is one friend forbidden to visit another, or a Musketeer of my
company to fraternize with a Guard of Dessessart's company?"
"Yes, when the house where he fraternizes is suspected."
"That house is suspected, Treville," said the king; "perhaps you
did not know it?"
"Indeed, sire, I did not. The house may be suspected; but I deny
that it is so in the part of it inhabited my Monsieur d'Artagnan,
for I can affirm, sire, if I can believe what he says, that there
does not exist a more devoted servant of your Majesty, or a more
profound admirer of Monsieur the Cardinal."
"Was it not this D'Artagnan who wounded Jussac one day, in that
unfortunate encounter which took place near the Convent of the
Carmes-Dechausses?" asked the king, looking at the cardinal, who
colored with vexation.
"And the next day, Bernajoux. Yes, sire, yes, it is the same; and
your Majesty has a good memory."
"Come, how shall we decide?" said the king.
"That concerns your Majesty more than me," said the cardinal. "I
should affirm the culpability."
"And I deny it," said Treville. "But his Majesty has judges, and
these judges will decide."
"That is best," said the king. "Send the case before the judges;
it is their business to judge, and they shall judge."
"Only," replied Treville, "it is a sad thing that in the
unfortunate times in which we live, the purest life, the most
incontestable virtue, cannot exempt a man from infamy and
persecution. The army, I will answer for it, will be but little
pleased at being exposed to rigorous treatment on account of
police affairs."
The expression was imprudent; but M. de Treville launched it with
knowledge of his cause. He was desirous of an explosion, because
in that case the mine throws forth fire, and fire enlightens.
"Police affairs!" cried the king, taking up Treville's words,
"police affairs! And what do you know about them, Monsieur?
Meddle with your Musketeers, and do not annoy me in this way. It
appears, according to your account, that if by mischance a
Musketeer is arrested, France is in danger. What a noise about a
Musketeer! I would arrest ten of them, VENTREBLEU, a hundred,
even, all the company, and I would not allow a whisper."
"From the moment they are suspected by your Majesty," said
Treville, "the Musketeers are guilty; therefore, you see me
prepared to surrender my sword--for after having accused my
soldiers, there can be no doubt that Monsieur the Cardinal will
end by accusing me. It is best to constitute myself at once a
prisoner with Athos, who is already arrested, and with
D'Artagnan, who most probably will be."
"Gascon-headed man, will you have done?" said the king.
"Sire," replied Treville, without lowering his voice in the
least, "either order my Musketeer to be restored to me, or let
him be tried."
"He shall be tried," said the cardinal.
"Well, so much the better; for in that case I shall demand of his
Majesty permission to plead for him."
The king feared an outbreak.
"If his Eminence," said he, "did not have personal motives--"
The cardinal saw what the king was about to say and interrupted
him:
"Pardon me," said he; "but the instant your Majesty considers me
a prejudiced judge, I withdraw."
"Come," said the king, "will you swear, by my father, that Athos
was at your residence during the event and that he took no part
in it?"
"By your glorious father, and by yourself, whom I love and
venerate above all the world, I swear it."
"Be so kind as to reflect, sire," said the cardinal. "If we
release the prisoner thus, we shall never know the truth."
"Athos may always be found," replied Treville, "ready to answer,
when it shall please the gownsmen to interrogate him. He will
not desert, Monsieur the Cardinal, be assured of that; I will
answer for him."
"No, he will not desert," said the king; "he can always be found,
as Treville says. Besides," added he, lowering his voice and
looking with a suppliant air at the cardinal, "let us give them
apparent security; that is policy."
This policy of Louis XIII made Richelieu smile.
"Order it as you please, sire; you possess the right of pardon."
"The right of pardoning only applies to the guilty," said
Treville, who was determined to have the last word, "and my
Musketeer is innocent. It is not mercy, then, that you are about
to accord, sire, it is justice."
"And he is in the Fort l'Eveque?" said the king.
"Yes, sire, in solitary confinement, in a dungeon, like the
lowest criminal."
"The devil!" murmured the king; "what must be done?"
"Sign an order for his release, and all will be said," replied
the cardinal. "I believe with your Majesty that Monsieur de
Treville's guarantee is more than sufficient."
Treville bowed very respectfully, with a joy that was not unmixed
with fear; he would have preferred an obstinate resistance on the
part of the cardinal to this sudden yielding.
The king signed the order for release, and Treville carried it
away without delay. As he was about to leave the presence, the
cardinal have him a friendly smile, and said, "A perfect harmony
reigns, sire, between the leaders and the soldiers of your
Musketeers, which must be profitable for the service and
honorable to all."
"He will play me some dog's trick or other, and that
immediately," said Treville. "One has never the last word with
such a man. But let us be quick--the king may change his mind in
an hour; and at all events it is more difficult to replace a man
in the Fort l'Eveque or the Bastille who has got out, than to
keep a prisoner there who is in."
M. de Treville made his entrance triumphantly into the Fort
l'Eveque, whence he delivered the Musketeer, whose peaceful
indifference had not for a moment abandoned him.
The first time he saw D'Artagnan, "You have come off well," said
he to him; "there is your Jussac thrust paid for. There still
remains that of Bernajoux, but you must not be too confident."
As to the rest, M. de Treville had good reason to mistrust the
cardinal and to think that all was not over, for scarcely had the
captain of the Musketeers closed the door after him, than his
Eminence said to the king, "Now that we are at length by
ourselves, we will, if your Majesty pleases, converse seriously.
Sire, Buckingham has been in Paris five days, and only left this
morning."
16 IN WHICH M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN
ONCE FOR THE BELL, IN ORDER TO RING IT, AS HE DID BEFORE
It is impossible to form an idea of the impression these few
words made upon Louis XIII. He grew pale and red alternately;
and the cardinal saw at once that he had recovered by a single
blow all the ground he had lost.
"Buckingham in Paris!" cried he, "and why does he come?"
"To conspire, no doubt, with your enemies, the Huguenots and the
Spaniards."
"No, PARDIEU, no! To conspire against my honor with Madame de
Chevreuse, Madame de Longueville, and the Condes."
"Oh, sire, what an idea! The queen is too virtuous; and besides,
loves your Majesty too well."
"Woman is weak, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king; "and as to
loving me much, I have my own opinion as to that love."
"I not the less maintain," said the cardinal, "that the Duke of
Buckingham came to Paris for a project wholly political."
"And I am sure that he came for quite another purpose, Monsieur
Cardinal; but if the queen be guilty, let her tremble!"
"Indeed," said the cardinal, "whatever repugnance I may have to
directing my mind to such a treason, your Majesty compels me to
think of it. Madame de Lannoy, whom, according to your Majesty's
command, I have frequently interrogated, told me this morning
that the night before last her Majesty sat up very late, that
this morning she wept much, and that she was writing all day."
"That's it!" cried the king; "to him, no doubt. Cardinal, I must
have the queen's papers."
"But how to take them, sire? It seems to me that it is neither
your Majesty not myself who can charge himself with such a
mission."
"How did they act with regard to the Marechale d'Ancre?" cried
the king, in the highest state of choler; "first her closets were
thoroughly searched, and then she herself."
"The Marechale d'Ancre was no more than the Marechale d'Ancre. A
Florentine adventurer, sire, and that was all; while the august
spouse of your Majesty is Anne of Austria, Queen of France--that
is to say, one of the greatest princesses in the world."
"She is not the less guilty, Monsieur Duke! The more she has
forgotten the high position in which she was placed, the more
degrading is her fall. Besides, I long ago determined to put an
end to all these petty intrigues of policy and love. She has
near her a certain Laporte."
"Who, I believe, is the mainspring of all this, I confess," said
the cardinal.
"You think then, as I do, that she deceives me?" said the king.
"I believe, and I repeat it to your Majesty, that the queen
conspires against the power of the king, but I have not said
against his honor."
"And I--I tell you against both. I tell you the queen does not
love me; I tell you she loves another; I tell you she loves that
infamous Buckingham! Why did you not have him arrested while in
Paris?"
"Arrest the Duke! Arrest the prime minister of King Charles I!
Think of it, sire! What a scandal! And if the suspicions of
your Majesty, which I still continue to doubt, should prove to
have any foundation, what a terrible disclosure, what a fearful
scandal!"
"But as he exposed himself like a vagabond or a thief, he should
have been--"
Louis XIII stopped, terrified at what he was about to say, while
Richelieu, stretching out his neck, waited uselessly for the word
which had died on the lips of the king.
"He should have been--?"
"Nothing," said the king, "nothing. But all the time he was in
Paris, you, of course, did not lose sight of him?"
"No, sire."
"Where did he lodge?"
"Rue de la Harpe. No. 75."
"Where is that?"
"By the side of the Luxembourg."
"And you are certain that the queen and he did not see each
other?"
"I believe the queen to have too high a sense of her duty, sire."
"But they have corresponded; it is to him that the queen has been
writing all the day. Monsieur Duke, I must have those letters!"
"Sire, notwithstanding--"
"Monsieur Duke, at whatever price it may be, I will have them."
"I would, however, beg your Majesty to observe--"
"Do you, then, also join in betraying me, Monsieur Cardinal, by
thus always opposing my will? Are you also in accord with Spain
and England, with Madame de Chevreuse and the queen?"
"Sire," replied the cardinal, sighing, "I believed myself secure
from such a suspicion."
"Monsieur Cardinal, you have heard me; I will have those
letters."
"There is but one way."
"What is that?"
"That would be to charge Monsieur de Seguier, the keeper of the
seals, with this mission. The matter enters completely into the
duties of the post."
"Let him be sent for instantly."
"He is most likely at my hotel. I requested him to call, and
when I came to the Louvre I left orders if he came, to desire him
to wait."
"Let him be sent for instantly."
"Your Majesty's orders shall be executed; but--"
"But what?"
"But the queen will perhaps refuse to obey."
"My orders?"
"Yes, if she is ignorant that these orders come from the king."
"Well, that she may have no doubt on that head, I will go and
inform her myself."
"Your Majesty will not forget that I have done everything in my
power to prevent a rupture."
"Yes, Duke, yes, I know you are very indulgent toward the queen,
too indulgent, perhaps; we shall have occasion, I warn you, at
some future period to speak of that."
"Whenever it shall please your Majesty; but I shall be always
happy and proud, sire, to sacrifice myself to the harmony which I
desire to see reign between you and the Queen of France."
"Very well, Cardinal, very well; but, meantime, send for Monsieur
the Keeper of the Seals. I will go to the queen."
And Louis XIII, opening the door of communication, passed into
the corridor which led from his apartments to those of Anne of
Austria.
The queen was in the midst of her women--Mme. de Guitaut, Mme. de
Sable, Mme. de Montbazon, and Mme. de Guemene. In a corner was
the Spanish companion, Donna Estafania, who had followed her from
Madrid. Mme. Guemene was reading aloud, and everybody was
listening to her with attention with the exception of the queen,
who had, on the contrary, desired this reading in order that she
might be able, while feigning to listen, to pursue the thread of
her own thoughts.
These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love,
were not the less sad. Anne of Austria, deprived of the
confidence of her husband, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal,
who could not pardon her for having repulsed a more tender
feeling, having before her eyes the example of the queen-mother
whom that hatred had tormented all her life--though Marie de
Medicis, if the memoirs of the time are to be believed, had begun
by according to the cardinal that sentiment which Anne of Austria
always refused him--Anne of Austria had seen her most devoted
servants fall around her, her most intimate confidants, her
dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a
fatal gift, she brought misfortune upon everything she touched.
Her friendship was a fatal sign which called down persecution.
Mme. de Chevreuse and Mme. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did
not conceal from his mistress that he expected to be arrested
every instant.
It was at the moment when she was plunged in the deepest and
darkest of these reflections that the door of the chamber opened,
and the king entered.
The reader hushed herself instantly. All the ladies rose, and
there was a profound silence. As to the king, he made no
demonstration of politeness, only stopping before the queen.
"Madame," said he, "you are about to receive a visit from the
chancellor, who will communicate certain matters to you with
which I have charged him."
The unfortunate queen, who was constantly threatened with
divorce, exile, and trial even, turned pale under her rouge, and
could not refrain from saying, "But why this visit, sire? What
can the chancellor have to say to me that your Majesty could not
say yourself?"
The king turned upon his heel without reply, and almost at the
same instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced
the visit of the chancellor.
When the chancellor appeared, the king had already gone out by
another door.
The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall
probably meet with him again in the course of our history, it may
be well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with him.
This chancellor was a pleasant man. He was Des Roches le Masle,
canon of Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who
introduced him to his Eminence as a perfectly devout man. The
cardinal trusted him, and therein found his advantage.
There are many stories related of him, and among them this.
After a wild youth, he had retired into a convent, there to
expiate, at least for some time, the follies of adolescence. On
entering this holy place, the poor penitent was unable to shut
the door so close as to prevent the passions he fled from
entering with him. He was incessantly attacked by them, and the
superior, to whom he had confided this misfortune, wishing as
much as in him lay to free him from them, had advised him, in
order to conjure away the tempting demon, to have recourse to the
bell rope, and ring with all his might. At the denunciating
sound, the monks would be rendered aware that temptation was
besieging a brother, and all the community would go to prayers.
This advice appeared good to the future chancellor. He conjured
the evil spirit with abundance of prayers offered up by the
monks. But the devil does not suffer himself to be easily
dispossessed from a place in which he has fixed his garrison. In
proportion as they redoubled the exorcisms he redoubled the
temptations; so that day and night the bell was ringing full
swing, announcing the extreme desire for mortification which the
penitent experienced.
The monks had no longer an instant of repose. By day they did
nothing but ascend and descend the steps which led to the chapel;
at night, in addition to complines and matins, they were further
obliged to leap twenty times out of their beds and prostrate
themselves on the floor of their cells.
It is not known whether it was the devil who gave way, or the
monks who grew tired; but within three months the penitent
reappeared in the world with the reputation of being the most
terrible POSSESSED that ever existed.
On leaving the convent he entered into the magistracy, became
president on the place of his uncle, embraced the cardinal's
party, which did not prove want of sagacity, became chancellor,
served his Eminence with zeal in his hatred against the queen-
mother and his vengeance against Anne of Austria, stimulated the
judges in the affair of Calais, encouraged the attempts of M. de
Laffemas, chief gamekeeper of France; then, at length, invested
with the entire confidence of the cardinal--a confidence which he
had so well earned-he received the singular commission for the
execution of which he presented himself in the queen's
apartments.
The queen was still standing when he entered; but scarcely had
she perceived him then she reseated herself in her armchair, and
made a sign to her women to resume their cushions and stools, and
with an air of supreme hauteur, said, "What do you desire,
monsieur, and with what object do you present yourself here?"
"To make, madame, in the name of the king, and without prejudice
to the respect which I have the honor to owe to your Majesty a
close examination into all your papers."
"How, monsieur, an investigation of my papers--mine! Truly, this
is an indignity!"
"Be kind enough to pardon me, madame; but in this circumstance I
am but the instrument which the king employs. Has not his
Majesty just left you, and has he not himself asked you to
prepare for this visit?"
"Search, then, monsieur! I am a criminal, as it appears.
Estafania, give up the keys of my drawers and my desks."
For form's sake the chancellor paid a visit to the pieces of
furniture named; but he well knew that it was not in a piece of
furniture that the queen would place the important letter she had
written that day.
When the chancellor had opened and shut twenty times the drawers
of the secretaries, it became necessary, whatever hesitation he
might experience--it became necessary, I say, to come to the
conclusion of the affair; that is to say, to search the queen
herself. The chancellor advanced, therefore, toward Anne of
Austria, and said with a very perplexed and embarrassed air, "And
now it remains for me to make the principal examination."
"What is that?" asked the queen, who did not understand, or
rather was not willing to understand.
"His majesty is certain that a letter has been written by you
during the day; he knows that it has not yet been sent to its
address. This letter is not in your table nor in your secretary;
and yet this letter must be somewhere."
"Would you dare to lift your hand to your queen?" said Anne of
Austria, drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing her
eyes upon the chancellor with an expression almost threatening.
"I am a faithful subject of the king, madame, and all that his
Majesty commands I shall do."
"Well, it is true!" said Anne of Austria; "and the spies of the
cardinal have served him faithfully. I have written a letter
today; that letter is not yet gone. The letter is here." And
the queen laid her beautiful hand on her bosom.
"Then give me that letter, madame," said the chancellor.
"I will give it to none but the king monsieur," said Anne.
"If the king had desired that the letter should be given to him,
madame, he would have demanded it of you himself. But I repeat
to you, I am charged with reclaiming it; and if you do not give
it up--"
"Well?"
"He has, then, charged me to take it from you."
"How! What do you say?"
"That my orders go far, madame; and that I am authorized to seek
for the suspected paper, even on the person of your Majesty."
"What horror!" cried the queen.
"Be kind enough, then, madame, to act more compliantly."
"The conduct is infamously violent! Do you know that, monsieur?"
"The king commands it, madame; excuse me."
"I will not suffer it! No, no, I would rather die!" cried the
queen, in whom the imperious blood of Spain and Austria began to
rise.
The chancellor made a profound reverence. Then, with the
intention quite patent of not drawing back a foot from the
accomplishment of the commission with which he was charged, and
as the attendant of an executioner might have done in the chamber
of torture, he approached Anne of Austria, for whose eyes at the
same instant sprang tears of rage.
The queen was, as we have said, of great beauty. The commission
might well be called delicate; and the king had reached, in his
jealousy of Buckingham, the point of not being jealous of anyone
else.
Without doubt the chancellor, Seguier looked about at that moment
for the rope of the famous bell; but not finding it he summoned
his resolution, and stretched forth his hands toward the place
where the queen had acknowledged the paper was to be found.
Anne of Austria took one step backward, became so pale that it
might be said she was dying, and leaning with her left hand upon
a table behind her to keep herself from falling, she with her
right hand drew the paper from her bosom and held it out to the
keeper of the seals.
"There, monsieur, there is that letter!" cried the queen, with a
broken and trembling voice; "take it, and deliver me from your
odious presence."
The chancellor, who, on his part, trembled with an emotion easily
to be conceived, took the letter, bowed to the ground, and
retired. The door was scarcely closed upon him, when the queen
sank, half fainting, into the arms of her women.
The chancellor carried the letter to the king without having read
a single word of it. The king took it with a trembling hand,
looked for the address, which was wanting, became very pale,
opened it slowly, then seeing by the first words that it was
addressed to the King of Spain, he read it rapidly.
It was nothing but a plan of attack against the cardinal. The
queen pressed her brother and the Emperor of Austria to appear to
be wounded, as they really were, by the policy of Richelieu--the
eternal object of which was the abasement of the house of
Austria--to declare war against France, and as a condition of
peace, to insist upon the dismissal of the cardinal; but as to
love, there was not a single word about it in all the letter.
The king, quite delighted, inquired if the cardinal was still at
the Louvre; he was told that his Eminence awaited the orders of
his Majesty in the business cabinet.
The king went straight to him.
"There, Duke," said he, "you were right and I was wrong. The
whole intrigue is political, and there is not the least question
of love in this letter; but, on the other hand, there is abundant
question of you."
The cardinal took the letter, and read it with the greatest
attention; then, when he had arrived at the end of it, he read it
a second time. "Well, your Majesty," said he, "you see how far
my enemies go; they menace you with two wars if you do not
dismiss me. In your place, in truth, sire, I should yield to
such powerful instance; and on my part, it would be a real
happiness to withdraw from public affairs."
"What say you, Duke?"
"I say, sire, that my health is sinking under these excessive
struggles and these never-ending labors. I say that according to
all probability I shall not be able to undergo the fatigues of
the siege of La Rochelle, and that it would be far better that
you should appoint there either Monsieur de Conde, Monsieur de
Bassopierre, or some valiant gentleman whose business is war, and
not me, who am a churchman, and who am constantly turned aside
for my real vocation to look after matters for which I have no
aptitude. You would be the happier for it at home, sire, and I
do not doubt you would be the greater for it abroad."
"Monsieur Duke," said the king, "I understand you. Be satisfied,
all who are named in that letter shall be punished as they
deserve, even the queen herself."
"What do you say, sire? God forbid that the queen should suffer
the least inconvenience or uneasiness on my account! She has
always believed me, sire, to be her enemy; although your Majesty
can bear witness that I have always taken her part warmly, even
against you. Oh, if she betrayed your Majesty on the side of
your honor, it would be quite another thing, and I should be the
first to say, 'No grace, sire--no grace for the guilty!'
Happily, there is nothing of the kind, and your Majesty has just
acquired a new proof of it."
"That is true, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king, "and you were
right, as you always are; but the queen, not the less, deserves
all my anger."
"It is you, sire, who have now incurred hers. And even if she
were to be seriously offended, I could well understand it; your
Majesty has treated her with a severity--"
"It is thus I will always treat my enemies and yours, Duke,
however high they may be placed, and whatever peril I may incur
in acting severely toward them."
"The queen is my enemy, but is not yours, sire; on the contrary,
she is a devoted, submissive, and irreproachable wife. Allow me,
then, sire, to intercede for her with your Majesty."
"Let her humble herself, then, and come to me first."
"On the contrary, sire, set the example. You have committed the
first wrong, since it was you who suspected the queen."
"What! I make the first advances?" said the king. "Never!"
"Sire, I entreat you to do so."
"Besides, in what manner can I make advances first?"
"By doing a thing which you know will be agreeable to her."
"What is that?"
"Give a ball; you know how much the queen loves dancing. I will
answer for it, her resentment will not hold out against such an
attention."
"Monsieur Cardinal, you know that I do not like worldly
pleasures."
"The queen will only be the more grateful to you, as she knows
your antipathy for that amusement; besides, it will be an
opportunity for her to wear those beautiful diamonds which you
gave her recently on her birthday and with which she has since
had no occasion to adorn herself."
"We shall see, Monsieur Cardinal, we shall see," said the king,
who, in his joy at finding the queen guilty of a crime which he
cared little about, and innocent of a fault of which he had great
dread, was ready to make up all differences with her, "we shall
see, but upon my honor, you are too indulgent toward her."
"Sire," said the cardinal, "leave severity to your ministers.
Clemency is a royal virtue; employ it, and you will find that you
derive advantage therein."
Thereupon the cardinal, hearing the clock strike eleven, bowed
low, asking permission of the king to retire, and supplicating
him to come to a good understanding with the queen.
Anne of Austria, who, in consequence of the seizure of her
letter, expected reproaches, was much astonished the next day to
see the king make some attempts at reconciliation with her. Her
first movement was repellent. Her womanly pride and her queenly
dignity had both been so cruelly offended that she could not come
round at the first advance; but, overpersuaded by the advice of
her women, she at last had the appearance of beginning to forget.
The king took advantage of this favorable moment to tell her that
her had the intention of shortly giving a fete.
A fete was so rare a thing for poor Anne of Austria that at this
announcement, as the cardinal had predicted, the last trace of
her resentment disappeared, if not from her heart at least from
her countenance. She asked upon what day this fete would take
place, but the king replied that he must consult the cardinal
upon that head.
Indeed, every day the king asked the cardinal when this fete
should take place; and every day the cardinal, under some
pretext, deferred fixing it. Ten days passed away thus.
On the eighth day after the scene we have described, the cardinal
received a letter with the London stamp which only contained
these lines: "I have them; but I am unable to leave London for
want of money. Send me five hundred pistoles, and four or five
days after I have received them I shall be in Paris."
On the same day the cardinal received this letter the king put
his customary question to him.
Richelieu counted on his fingers, and said to himself, "She will
arrive, she says, four or five days after having received the
money. It will require four or five days for the transmission of
the money, four or five days for her to return; that makes ten