Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Read online

  “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 till 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 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 all 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 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 his 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 Tréville 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 again appear 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 the young man perceived, and yet, to his praise we speak it, he did not hesitate a second. Turning toward 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 th
rough his side—not from fear, God be 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 the 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. This 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!”

  This 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 this 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 fall 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 his 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 Tréville.

  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 Tréville’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 Tréville scolded his Musketeers in public, and congratulated them in private; but as no time was to be lost in gaining the king, M. de Tréville hastened to report himself at the Louvre. It was already too late. The king was closeted with the cardinal, and M. de Tréville was informed that the king was busy and could not receive him at that moment. In the evening M. de Tréville 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 Tréville 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 Tréville, 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 Tréville,” 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, 12 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 Tréville, 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 Tréville 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 Tréville 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 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, Tréville, 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 to nobody but the king, are the natural enemies of the Guardsmen, who belong to the cardinal.”

  “Yes, Tréville, 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, Tréville, 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—”