The Three Musketeers

The Duke bowed and departed. The moment that he opened the door, the three musketeers and d’Artagnan conducted by Chesnaye, appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Come, my brave fellows!” said the king, “I must scold you!”

The musketeers approached, with obeisances, d’Artagnan following behind.

“What! the devil!” continued the king, “seven of his eminence’s guards regularly doubled up by you four in two days! It is too many, gentlemen; it is too many: at this rate, his eminence will have to renew his regiment in three weeks, and I shall have to enforce the edicts in their full rigour. I say nothing of one by chance; but seven in two days, I repeat it, are too many, a great deal too many!”

“But your majesty perceives that they have come in sorrow and repentance, to excuse themselves.”

“In sorrow and repentance! hum!” said the king. “I do not put much trust in their hypocritical faces. There is, above all, a Gascon face in the background there! Come here, you, sir!”

D’Artagnan, who comprehended that the compliment was addressed to him, approached his majesty with a desperately desponding look.

“What! you told me it was a young man! But this is a mere boy, M. de Treville, quite a boy. Did he give that terrible wound to Jussac?”

“Yes! And those two beautiful sword thrusts to Bernajoux,” said M. de Treville.

“Really!”

“Without reckoning,” said Athos, “that if he had not rescued me from the hands of Biscarrat, I should certainly not have had the honour of paying my very humble reverence to your majesty.”

“Why, M. de Treville, this Bearnese must be the very devil. Ventre saint-gris, as the king, my sire, would have said, at this rate many doublets must be riddled, and lots of swords broken. Now, the Gascons are always poor, are they not?”

“Sire, I must say that they have found no mines of gold in their mountains, though the Almighty owed them that recompense for the manner in which they supported the cause of your father.”

“Which is to say, is it not, Treville, that it was the Gascons who made me king, as I am my father’s son? Well, let it be so; I will not contradict it. La Chesnaye, go and see if, by rummaging my pockets, you can find forty pistoles; and if you find them, bring them to me.

“And now let me hear, young man, with your hand on your heart, how this affair happened?”

D’Artagnan told all the circumstances of the adventure; how, not being able to sleep, from the expectation of seeing his majesty, he went to his friend’s house three hours before the time of the audience; how they went together to the tennis-court! and how, on account of the fear he betrayed of being struck upon his face by the ball, he had been rallied by Bernajoux, who had narrowly escaped paying for his raillery with his life; and M. de Tremouille, who was innocent, with the loss of his hotel.

“It is exactly so,” murmured the king; “yes, it is exactly as the duke recounted the affair. Poor cardinal! Seven men in two days, and seven of his most valued soldiers, too! But this is sufficient, gentlemen; do you understand? You have taken your revenge for the Rue Ferou, and more than enough. You ought now to be satisfied.”

“So we are, if your majesty is,” said Treville.

“Yes! I am,” replied the king; and taking a handful of gold from the hand of Chesnaye, and putting it into d’Artagnan’s, he added, “there is a proof of my satisfaction.”

At this period, the independent notions which are now current were not yet in fashion. A gentleman received money from the king’s hand, without being humiliated. D’Artagnan, therefore, put the forty pistoles into his pocket, without any other ceremony than that of warmly thanking his majesty for the gift.

“There,” said the king, examining his watch, “now that it is half-past eight, retire. I have told you that I have an appointment at nine. Thanks for your devotion, gentlemen! I may rely upon it, may I not?”

“Oh! sire!” replied the four at once, “we will allow ourselves to be cut in pieces in your defence!”

“Well! well! But it will be much better to remain whole, and you will be far more useful to me in that state. Treville,” added the king, in a low voice, as the others retired, “as you have no commission vacant in the musketeers, and as we have decided that it should be necessary to pass a certain probation before entering that corps, place this young man in your brother-in-law, M. des Essarts’, company of guards. Ah! I quite enjoy the thought of the grimace that the cardinal will make: he will be furious; but I do not care, I am quite right this time.”

The king bowed to Treville, and the latter joined his musketeers, whom he found sharing the forty pistoles which his majesty had given d’Artagnan.

The cardinal was in reality as furious as his master had anticipated—so furious, in fact, that for eight days he took no hand at the king’s card-table. But this did not prevent the king from putting on the most charming face, and asking, every time he met him, in a most insinuating tone—

“Well! M. le Cardinal! how is your poor Bernajoux? and your poor Jussac?”

CHAPTER 7 The Domestic Manners of the Musketeers (#ulink_d4e6104c-7c22-570b-b4c9-4699c3dfeedc)

When d’Artagnan had left the Louvre, and had consulted his friends what he ought to do with his portion of the forty pistoles, Athos advised him to order a good dinner, and Porthos and Aramis to hire a lackey.

The dinner was accomplished on the same day; and the lackey waited at table. The dinner had been ordered by Athos; and the lackey, who had been provided by Porthos, was a Picard, whom the glorious musketeer had enlisted, on that very day, for that occasion, whilst he was sauntering about on the bridge of Latournelle, spitting into the stream. Porthos pretended that this occupation was a proof of a meditative organization, and had hired him without any other testimonial. The magnificent appearance of the gentleman, on whose account he had been hired, seduced Planchet, for that was the name of the Picard. He had, indeed, been slightly disappointed when he found, on his arrival, that the situation he expected was already held by a brother lackey of the name of Mousqueton; and when Porthos told him that his menage, though on a large scale, did not admit of two servants, and that he must therefore wait on d’Artagnan. But when he attended at the dinner which his master gave, and saw him, when paying, draw from his pocket a handful of gold, he believed his fortune made, and thanked Heaven that he had fallen into the possession of such a Croesus. In that opinion he remained until the feast was ended, and he had made up for his long abstinence by an attack upon the remnants. But, on making his master’s bed, the visions of Planchet all vanished. There was only that one bed in the chambers, which consisted merely of an anteroom and bedroom. Planchet slept upon a coverlet, with which d’Artagnan from that time forward dispensed, taken from d’Artagnan’s bed.

Athos, on his part, had a valet, whom he had drilled to his service in a manner peculiar to himself, and whom he called Grimaud. He was very taciturn, this worthy signor—we mean Athos, not his man. For the four or five years that he had lived in the closest intimacy with his companions, Porthos and Aramis, these two had often seen him smile, but never remembered to have heard him laugh. His words were brief and expressive; saying what he wished them to express, but no more; he employed no ornaments or embellishments whatever. Although Athos was scarcely thirty, and was possessed of great personal and mental attractions, no one ever knew him to have had a mistress. He never spoke of the female sex; and although he did not prevent such conversation from others, it was evident, from bitter and misogynous remarks, that it was disagreeable to him. His reserve, austerity, and silence, made him almost an old man, and he had therefore accustomed Grimaud, that he might not interrupt his habits, to obey a simple gesture, or even a motion of his lips. He never addressed him orally but in extreme cases. Sometimes Grimaud, who feared his master like fire, but at the same time was greatly attached to him believed he understood him perfectly, rushed forward to execute his orders, and did something directly contrary to what was wanted. Then Athos shrugged his shoulders, and, in cold blood, belaboured him soundly. On such days he spoke a little.

Porthos, as is easy to see, had a character diametrically opposed to that of Athos: he not only spoke a great deal, but in a loud voice. It must be owned, to do him justice, that it was of little consequence to him, whether anyone attended to him or not; he talked for the mere pleasure of speaking, or of hearing himself talk; and talked, too, of everything but the sciences, which he never alluded to but to express the inveterate hatred he had from his infancy entertained towards savants. He had not such an aristocratic air as Athos, and the sense of his inferiority on that point had, at the commencement of their connection, made him often unjust towards that gentleman, whom he endeavoured to surpass by the splendour of his dress. But, in his simple uniform coat, merely, and by the manner in which he carried himself, Athos took at once the rank to which he was entitled, and sent the foppish Porthos back to the second place. Porthos consoled himself by making M. de Treville’s antechamber, and the guardroom of the Louvre, ring with the account of his conquests—a subject upon which Athos never spoke—and boasted of none lower than a foreign princess, who was deeply enamoured of him.

An old proverb says, “Like master like man.” Let us then pass 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 to the much more sonorous and warlike one of Mousqueton. He had entered Porthos’ service on the sole payment of dress, board, and lodging, but in a sumptuous manner; and he only demanded two hours a day to provide for his other wants. Porthos had accepted the bargain, and things went on wonderfully well. He had old doublets and cloaks cut up and turned in a manner that made Mousqueton cut a very good figure.

As to Aramis, whose character we believe we have sufficiently explained, and which, as well as those of his comrades, we shall more fully develop hereafter, his lackey was named Bazin. Thanks to the hopes which his master entertained of some day taking orders, he was always dressed in black as became a churchman’s servant. He was of the province of Berri; thirty-five or forty years of age; mild, peaceable, and fat; and passed his leisure in reading devotional treatises. He was dexterous in preparing a dinner for two; of excellent quality, though of few dishes. In all else he was dumb, blind, deaf, and of approved fidelity.

Now that we know, at least superficially, the masters and the men, let us turn to their habitations.

Athos dwelt in the Rue Ferou, at two paces from the Luxembourg. His habitation, or lodging, consisted of two small rooms in a very neatly-furnished house, whose mistress was still young and pretty, but ogled him in vain. Some few fragments of long-departed splendour adorned the walls of this modest lodging; such as a richly-mounted sword, which looked of the age of Francis I., and of which the handle alone, encrusted with precious stones, might be worth about two hundred pistoles. Nevertheless, Athos, even in moments of the greatest distress, could never be persuaded to dispose of or to pawn it. This sword had long excited the envy of Porthos, who would willingly have given ten years of his life for the possession of it.

One day when, as he said, he had an appointment with a duchess, he endeavoured to borrow it of Athos. But his friend, without saying a word, emptied his pockets of all his money and trinkets, purses, points, and gold chains, and offered them all to Porthos; but as for the sword, he said, it was fixed to its place, and must only leave it when its master quitted the lodging. Besides this sword, he had the portrait of a nobleman, of the time of Henry III., dressed with great elegance, and adorned with the order of the Saint-Esprit; and this portrait had some slight resemblance to Athos, a certain family likeness, which denoted that this great noble, a royal knight, was his ancestor. Lastly, a box of splendid jewellery-work, with the same arms as the sword and portrait, completed a mantel decoration, which clashed fearfully with the furniture. Athos always carried the key of this box; but one day he opened it before Porthos, and Porthos could bear witness that it contained only letters and papers; love-letters, and family records, no doubt.

Porthos inhabited a lodging of vast size, and of most sumptuous appearance, in the Rue du Vieux Colombier. Every time Porthos passed the windows of this house, at one of which Mousqueton always appeared in splendid livery, he raised his head and hand, saying, “Behold my habitation!” But no one ever found him at home, nor did he ever ask any one in; and it was therefore impossible to form an idea of the reality of those riches which this sumptuous appearance promised.

As for Aramis, he dwelt in a small apartment, comprising a drawing-room, a dining-room, and a sleeping chamber, which were situate on the ground-floor, and had access to a small garden, fresh, green, shady, and quite impenetrable to the eyes of the surrounding neighbourhood.

We have already had occasion to know how d’Artagnan was lodged, and have already formed an acquaintance with his lackey, Master Planchet.

D’Artagnan, who was naturally very curious, as men of talent generally are, made every effort to find out who Athos, Porthos, and Aramis really were; for, under one of those assumed appellations, each of these young men concealed his real name.

It was evident they were of good origin, too, particularly Athos, who might be known as a nobleman at a league’s distance. He therefore tried from Porthos to get some information concerning Athos and Aramis; and assailed Aramis, to find out something concerning Porthos.

Unfortunately, Porthos knew no more of the life of his silent comrade than that which has been told. It was said that he had met with great misfortunes of the heart, and that a terrible treachery had for ever poisoned the happiness of this gallant man. What this treachery was, no one knew.

As for Porthos, except his real name, with which M. de Treville alone was acquainted, as well as with those of his two comrades also, his life was easily discovered. Vain and indiscreet, he was as easily seen through as crystal. The only thing which could mislead the investigator would have been a belief in all the good which he announced of himself.

As for Aramis, with the appearance of entire openness he was enveloped in mystery. He replied but little to the questions put to him about others, and entirely eluded those which related to himself. One day d’Artagnan, having questioned him a long time about Porthos, and having learned the report of his love affair with a princess, wished to ascertain something of a similar nature as regarded himself.

“And you, my dear companion,” said he, “I have an opinion that you are familiar with coats of arms: witness a certain handkerchief.”

Aramis was not angry this time, but he put on a most modest air, and said, affectedly: “My dear fellow, do not forget that I wish to enter the church, and that I fly from all worldly things. That handkerchief was not a love-token for me, but was left by mistake at my house by one of my friends. I was obliged to take it for fear of compromising him, and his mistress. As for myself, I am, like Athos, indifferent to these affairs.”

“But what the devil! you are not an abbe, but a musketeer!” exclaimed d’Artagnan.

“A musketeer, my dear fellow, for a time, as the cardinal says; a musketeer by accident, but a churchman at heart, believe me. Athos and Porthos have foisted me in, to occupy my time. I had, at the moment I was going to be ordained, a slight difficulty with—But that does not much interest you, and I take up your valuable time.”

“On the contrary,” said d’Artagnan; “it interests me much, and I have at present actually nothing to do.”

“Yes, but I have my breviary to say,” replied Aramis, “then some verses to compose, which Madame d’Aiguillon has requested of me; then I must go into the Rue St. Honore, to buy some rouge for Madame de Chevreuse so you see, my dear friend, that though you are not in a hurry, I am;” and Aramis, tenderly pressing his young companion’s hand, took leave of him.