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“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.
D’Artagnan could not, with all his pains, learn any more of his three new friends; he therefore determined to believe all that was at present said of their past life, and hope for better and more full information from the future. In the meantime, he considered Athos an Achilles, Porthos an Ajax, and Aramis a Joseph!
The days of the four young men passed happily on. Athos played, and always with ill-luck; yet he never borrowed a sou of his friends, although he lent to them when he could. And, when he played on credit, he always awoke his creditor at six in the morning to pay him the debt of the evening before. Porthos had his humours: one day, if he gained, he was insolent and splendid; and when he lost, he disappeared entirely for a time, and then came back, wan and thin, but with his pockets stored with coin. As for Aramis, he never played; he was the worst musketeer, and the most unpleasant guest possible. He always wanted to study; even in the middle of dinner, when all expected him to spend two or three hours in the midst of the wine and company, out came his watch, and he would say—rising with a graceful smile, and taking leave of the company—that he must consult a casuist with whom he had an appointment.
Planchet, d’Artagnan’s valet, nobly supported his good fortune. He received thirty sous a day; and, during a month, entered the lodgings gay as a chaffinch, and affable to his master. When the wind of adversity began to blow on the household of the Rue des Fossoyeurs—that is to say, when Louis XIII.’s forty pistoles were eaten up, or nearly so—he began to utter complaints which d’Artagnan found very nauseous, Porthos indelicate, and Aramis ridiculous. On this account, Athos advised d’Artagnan to dismiss the rascal; Porthos wished him to thrash him first; and Aramis declared that a master should never listen to anything but his servant’s compliments.
“It is very easy for you to talk,” replied d’Artagnan; “for you, Athos, who live mutely with Grimaud, and forbid him to speak; and, consequently, can never hear anything unpleasant from him; for you Porthos, who live magnificently, and are a sort of demigod to your valet, Mousqueton; for you, in fine, Aramis, who, being always engaged in thought, make your servant Bazin, who is a mild, religious man, respect you; but I—who am without stability or resources—I, who am neither musketeer nor guardsman—what can I do to inspire Planchet with affection, terror, or respect?”
“The thing is weighty,” answered the three friends; “the discipline of your establishment is in the balance. With valets, as with women, it is necessary to prove master at once, if you wish to keep them with you; let us therefore reflect!”
D’Artagnan reflected, and resolved to thrash Planchet provisionally, which was executed as conscientiously as he acted in all other affairs. Then, after having drubbed him soundly, he forbade him to quit his service without permission. “For,” said he, “the future cannot be unfavourable to me; I have an infallible expectation of better times, and your fortune is therefore made if you remain with me. Yes! I am too good a master to let your prospects be sacrificed, by giving you the notice you demand.”
This manner of proceeding gave the musketeers great respect for d’Artagnan’s policy; and Planchet was seized with equal admiration, and spoke no more of leaving him.
The lives of the four young men were now passed alike. D’Artagnan, who had formed no habits whatever, as he had but just arrived from the provinces and fallen into the midst of a world entirely new to him, immediately assumed those of his friends.
They rose at eight in the winter, and at six in the summer; and went to take the countersign, and see what was doing at M. de Treville’s. D’Artagnan, though he was not a musketeer, performed the duties of one with great punctuality. He was always on guard, as he always accompanied that one of his friends whose turn it chanced to be. Everyone at the hotel knew him, and regarded him as a comrade. M. de Treville, who, at the first glance took his measure, and had a sincere affection for him, did not cease to recommend him to the king.
The three musketeers had, on their parts, a great affection for their young companion. The friendship which united these four men, and the necessity of seeing each other three or four times a day, whether the affair were one of honour or of pleasure, made them run after each other like shadows; and they were always to be seen seeking each other, from the Luxembourg to the Place de Saint Sulpice, or from the Rue du Vieux Colombier to the Luxembourg.
In the meantime, the promises of M. de Treville were fulfilled. One fine day, the king commanded M. de Chevalier des Essarts to take d’Artagnan, as a recruit, into his company of guards. It was not without a sigh that d’Artagnan put on the uniform, which he would have exchanged for that of the musketeers at the cost of ten years of his existence. But M. de Treville promised him that favour after a cadetship of two years; a cadetship which, however, might be abridged, if he should find an opportunity of distinguishing himself by some brilliant action. D’Artagnan retired with this promise, and entered on his service the next day.
Then it was that Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, mounted guard, in turn, with d’Artagnan, when the duty came to him. The company of M. des Essarts, therefore, on the day that it received the youthful Gascon, received four men, in the place of one!
CHAPTER 8 The Court Intrigue
Nevertheless, the forty pistoles of Louis XIII., like everything else in this world, after having had a beginning, had also an end; and, after the end, our four companions fell into difficulties. Athos, at first, supported the association from his own private funds; to him succeeded Porthos, and, thanks to one of his occasional disappearances, he supplied the necessities of his friends for about fifteen days. Lastly, came the turn of Aramis, who performed his part with a good grace, on the strength of a few pistoles, procured, as he asserted, by the sale of some of his theological books. After all these resources were exhausted, they had recourse to M. de Treville, who made some advances of pay; but these could not go very far with our musketeers, who had had advances already; while the young guardsman had as yet no pay due. When they were at last almost destitute, they mustered, as a last resource, about eight or ten pistoles, which Porthos staked at play; but, being in ill-luck, he lost not only them, but twenty-five more, for which he gave his word of honour. Their difficulties thus became transformed to actual bankruptcy; and the four half-starved soldiers, followed by their lackeys, were seen running about the promenades and guardrooms, picking up dinners wherever they could find them; for whilst in prosperity they had, by Aramis’s advice, sown repasts right and left, in order that they might reap some in the season of adversity. Athos received four invitations, and every time took his three friends and their lackeys with him; Porthos had six chances, of which, also, they all took advantage; but Aramis had eight, for he, as may be seen, was a man who made but little noise over a good deal of work. As for d’Artagnan, who scarcely knew any one in the capital, he only found a breakfast on chocolate at the house of a Gascon priest, and one dinner with a cornet of the guards. He took his little army with him to the priest—whose two months’ stock of provisions it mercilessly consumed—and to the cornet’s, who gave them quite a banquet; but, as Planchet observed, however much we may devour, it still makes only a single meal.
D’Artagnan, therefore, was somewhat humbled at returning only one meal and a half for the feasts which Athos, Porthos, and Aramis had procured him. He thought himself a burden to the clique; forgetting, in his youthful sincerity, that he had supported that clique throughout a whole month. It was, by this reflection that his ardent mind was set to work. He conceived that this coalition of four brave, enterprising, and active young men, ought to have some nobler aim than idle walks, fencing lessons, and more or less amusing jests. In fact, four such men as they—so devoted to each other, with their purses or their lives; so ready to support each other without surrendering an inch; executing, either singly or together, the common resolutions; menacing the four cardinal points at one time, or concentrating their united efforts on some single focus—ought inevitably, either secretly or openly, either by mine or trench, by stratagem or force, to find a way to what they had in view, however well defended or however distant that object might be. The only thing that surprised d’Artagnan was, that this capacity had never yet occurred to his companions. He himself now thought of it seriously, racking his brain to find a direction for his individual power four times multiplied, with which he felt assured that he might, as with the lever which Archimedes sought, succeed in moving the world. But his meditations were disturbed by a gentle knock at the door.
D’Artagnan roused Planchet, and told him to see who was there. But from this phrase of rousing Planchet, it must not be supposed that it was night. No! it was four in the afternoon; but two hours had elapsed since Planchet, on coming to ask his master for some dinner, had been answered—
“He who sleeps, dines!”
And Planchet was having dinner on this economical fare.
A man of plain and simple appearance, who had a bourgeois air, was introduced.
Planchet would have liked, by way of dessert, to hear the conversation; but the man declared to d’Artagnan that what he had to say being urgent and confidential, he would wish to be alone with him. D’Artagnan therefore dismissed Planchet, and begged his visitor to be seated.
There was a momentary silence, during which the two men regarded one another inquisitively, after which d’Artagnan bowed as a signal of attention.
“I have heard M. d’Artagnan mentioned as a very brave young man,” said the citizen, “and this it is that has determined me to confide a secret to him.”
“Speak, sir, speak!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, who instinctively suspected something profitable.
The citizen paused; and then continued—“I have a wife, who is seamstress to the queen, and who is not without wit or beauty. I was induced to marry her, three years ago, though she had but a small dowry, because M. de la Porte, the queen’s cloak-bearer, is her godfather and patron.”
“Well, sir?” demanded d’Artagnan.
“Well, sir,” replied the citizen, “she was abducted yesterday morning, as she left her workroom.”
“And by whom has she been abducted?” inquired d’Artagnan.
“I do not know positively, sir,” said the other; “but I suspect a certain person.”
“And who is this person whom you suspect?”
“One who has for a long time pursued her.”
“The deuce he has!”
“But, allow me to tell you, sir, that there is less of love than of policy in all this.”
“Less of love than of policy!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, with an air of profound reflection; “and whom do you suspect?”
“I scarcely know whether I ought to mention names.”
“Sir,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to observe, that I have absolutely demanded nothing from you; it is you who have come to me; it is you who told me that you had a secret to confide to me; do then as you please; there is yet time to draw back.”
“No, sir, you have the air of an honourable man, and I can trust you. I believe it is in consequence of no love affair of her own that my wife has been entrapped, but because of an amour of a lady of far more exalted station than her own!”
“Ah, ah! can it be on account of some amour of Madame de Bois Tracy?” asked d’Artagnan; who wished to appear familiar with Court circles.
“Higher, sir, higher!”
“Of Madame d’Aiguillon?”
“Higher yet!” said the citizen.
“Of Madame de Chevreuse?”
“Higher still!—much higher!”
“Of the—”
And here d’Artagnan paused.
“Yes!” answered the frightened citizen, in such a low voice as scarcely to be audible.
“And who is the other party?” said d’Artagnan.
“Who can it be, if not the Duke of—?” replied the mercer.
“With the Duke of—?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the citizen, in a still lower tone.
“But how do you know all this?”
“How do I know it?” said the mercer.
“Yes! How do you know it? You must tell me all or nothing, you understand,” said d’Artagnan.
“I know it from my wife, sir—from my wife herself.”
“And from whom does she know it?”
“From M. de la Porte. Did I not tell you that she is his god-daughter? Well! M. de la Porte, who is the confidential agent of the queen, had placed her near her majesty, that the poor thing—abandoned as she is by the king, watched as she is by the cardinal, and betrayed as she is by all—might at any rate have some one in whom she could confide.”
“Ah, ah! I begin to understand,” said d’Artagnan.
“Now, sir, my wife came home four days ago. One of the conditions of our marriage was, that she should come and see me twice a week; for, as I have the honour to inform you, she is my love as well as my wife. Well, sir, she came to inform me, in confidence, that the queen is at the present time in great alarm.”
“Really?” said d’Artagnan.
“Yes! the cardinal, as it appears, spies upon her and prosecutes her more than ever; he cannot pardon her the episode of the Sarabande—you know the story of the Sarabande, sir?”
“Egad! I should think I do!” replied d’Artagnan; who knew nothing at all about it, but would not for the world appear ignorant.
“So that it is no longer hatred now, but revenge!” said the citizen.
“Really!” replied d’Artagnan.
“And the queen believes—”
“Well! what does the queen believe?”
“She believes that they have forged a letter in her name to the Duke of Buckingham.”
“In her majesty’s name?”
“Yes, to entice him to Paris; and when they have got him here, to lead him into some snare.”
“The deuce! But your wife, my dear sir—what is her part in all this?”
“They know her devotion to the queen, and want to separate her from her mistress; and either to intimidate her into betraying her majesty’s secrets, or seduce her into serving as a spy upon her.”
“It seems probable!” said d’Artagnan; “but, do you know her abductor?”
“I have told you that I believe I know him!”
“His name?”
“I have not an idea what it is; all I know is that he is a creature of the cardinal—the minister’s tool.”
“But you know him by sight?”
“Yes; my wife pointed him out one day.”
“Has he any mark by which he may be recognised?”
“Yes, certainly; he is a man of aristocratic appearance, and has a dark skin, a tawny complexion, piercing eyes, white teeth, and a scar on his forehead.”
“A scar on his forehead!” cried d’Artagnan; “and with white teeth, piercing eyes, dark complexion, and proud air—it is my man of Meung!”
“Your man, do you say?”
“Yes, yes!” said d’Artagnan; “but that has nothing to do with this affair. Yet I mistake! It has, on the contrary, a great deal to do with it; for if your man is mine also, I shall at one blow perform two acts of revenge. But where can I meet with him?”
“I have not the slightest idea.”
“Have you no clue to his abode?”
“None whatever. One day, when I accompanied my wife to the Louvre, he came out as she entered, and she pointed him out to me.”
“Plague on it!” murmured d’Artagnan; “this is all very vague. But how did you hear of the abduction of your wife?”
“From M. de la Porte.”
“Did he tell you the details?”
“He knew none.”
“You have got no information from other quarters?”
“Yes, I have received—”
“What?”
“But I know not whether I should inform you.”
“You return to your hesitation; but permit me to observe, that you have now advanced too far to recede.”
“I do not draw back,” exclaimed the citizen, accompanying the assurance with an oath, to support his courage; besides, on the honour of Bonancieux—”
“Then your name is Bonancieux?” interrupted d’Artagnan.
“Yes, that is my name.”
“You say, on the honour of Bonancieux! Pardon this interruption, but the name appears not to be unknown to me.”
“It is very possible, sir, for I am your landlord.”
“Ah, ah!” said d’Artagnan, half rising, “ah, you are my landlord?”
“Yes, sir, yes; and as for the three months that you have been in my house (diverted, no doubt, by your great and splendid occupations), you have forgotten to pay me my rent, and as, likewise, I have not once asked you for payment, I thought that you would have some regard on account of my delicacy in that respect.”
“Why, I have no alternative, my dear M. Bonancieux,” answered d’Artagnan, “believe me, I am grateful for such a proceeding, and shall, as I have said, be most happy if I can be of use in any way.”
“I believe you, I believe you,” interrupted the citizen; “and as I said, on the honour of Bonancieux, I have confidence in you.”
“Then go on with your account.”
The citizen drew a paper from his pocket, and gave it to d’Artagnan.
“A letter!” exclaimed the young man.
“Which I received this morning.”
D’Artagnan opened it, and, as the light commenced to wane, he approached the window, followed by Bonancieux.
“Do not seek for your wife,” read d’Artagnan: “she will be returned to you when she is no longer required. If you make a single attempt to discover her, you are lost!”
“Well, this is pretty positive!” continued d’Artagnan; “but, after all, it is only a threat.”
“Yes, but this threat frightens me, sir: I am not at all warlike, and I fear the Bastile.”
“Humph!” said d’Artagnan, “I do not like the Bastile any more than you do; if it was only a sword thrust, now, it would be of no consequence!”
“And yet I had depended much on your assistance.”
“Quite right!”
“Seeing you always surrounded by musketeers of haughty carriage, and perceiving that those musketeers belonged to M. de Treville, and, consequently, were the enemies of the cardinal, I thought that you and your friends, whilst gaining justice for our poor queen, would be enchanted at doing his eminence an ill turn.”
“Unquestionably!”
“And then I thought, that, owing me three months’ rent, which I never demanded—”
“Yes, yes, you have already mentioned that reason, and I consider it excellent.”
“Reckoning, moreover, that as long as you will do me the honour of remaining in my house, I should make no reference to rent—”
“Good, again!” said d’Artagnan.
“And, added to that, calculating upon offering you fifty pistoles, should you be at all distressed at this time, which I don’t say for a moment—”
“Wonderfully good! You are rich, then, my dear M. Bonancieux!”
“Say, rather, in easy circumstances, sir. I have amassed something like two or three thousand crowns a year in the linen-drapery line; and more particularly, by investing something in the last voyage of the celebrated navigator, Jean Mocquet; so that you understand, sir—Ah! but—” exclaimed the citizen.
“What?” demanded d’Artagnan.
“What do I see there?”
“Where?”
“In the street, opposite your windows; in the opening of that entry—a man wrapped in a cloak!”
“It is he!” cried d’Artagnan and the citizen in one breath; each having at the same moment recognised his man.
“Ah! This time he shall not escape me!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, rushing out, sword in hand.
On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were coming to see him. They stood apart, and he passed between them like a meteor.
“Ah, where are you running to?” cried the two musketeers.
“The man of Meung!” ejaculated d’Artagnan, as he disappeared.
D’Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his adventure with the stranger, and also the apparition of the fair traveller, to whom this man appeared to confide such an important missive. Athos was of opinion that d’Artagnan had lost the letter during the quarrel, since a gentleman, such as he had described the unknown to be, must have been incapable of theft: Porthos only saw in the affair an amorous appointment, which d’Artagnan and his yellow horse had disturbed; and Aramis had said, these kind of things being mysterious, had better not be searched into. From the few words which escaped d’Artagnan, they understood, therefore, what was his object; and concluding that he would return, after he had found his man, they proceeded to his apartment.
When they entered the room which d’Artagnan had just quitted, they found it empty; for the landlord, fearing the consequences of the meeting and duel which he doubted not was about to take place between the young man and the stranger, had judged it most prudent to decamp.
CHAPTER 9 D’Artagnan Begins to Show Himself
As Athos and Porthos had anticipated, d’Artagnan returned in half an hour. He had again missed his man, who had disappeared as if by enchantment. The young Gascon had run through all the neighbouring streets, sword in hand, but found no one resembling him. Whilst d’Artagnan was engaged in this pursuit, Aramis had joined his companions, so that on his return he found the reunion complete.
“Well!” exclaimed they, when they saw him enter, covered with perspiration, and furious.
“Well!” said he, throwing his sword on the bed; “this man must be the devil himself: he disappeared like a phantom, a shadow, a spectre!”
“Do you believe in apparitions?” demanded Athos and Porthos.
“I only believe in what I see; and as I have never seen an apparition, I do not believe in them.”
“The Bible declares that one appeared to Saul!” said Aramis.
“Be it how it may,” said d’Artagnan, “man or devil, body or shadow, illusion or reality, this man is born to be my bane; for his escape has caused us to lose a fine opportunity—one, gentlemen, by which an hundred pistoles, or more, were to be gained!”
“How is that?” asked Aramis and Porthos; but Athos, true to his principle of silence, merely interrogated d’Artagnan by a look.
“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan, “go to my landlord, M. Bonancieux, and tell him to send me half a dozen bottles of Beaugency, which is my favourite wine.”
“Ah! then you have credit with your landlord?” demanded Porthos.
“Yes, from this day,” said d’Artagnan; “and be assured that if the wine is bad, we will send to him for better.”
“You should use, and not abuse,” sententiously remarked Aramis.
“I always said that d’Artagnan had the best head of the four,” said Athos; who, having delivered himself of this opinion, which d’Artagnan acknowledged by a bow, relapsed into his usual silence.
“But now let us hear what is the scheme,” demanded Porthos.
“Yes,” said Aramis, “confide in us, my dear friend; at least, if the honour of some lady be not compromised.”
“Be easy,” replied d’Artagnan, “the honour of no one shall be in danger from what I have to tell you.” He then related, word for word, his intercourse with his landlord; and how the man who had carried off the worthy mercer’s wife was the same with whom he had quarrelled at the Jolly Miller, at Meung.
“The thing looks well,” said Athos, after he had tasted the wine like a connoisseur, and testified by an approving nod of the head that it was good; and had calculated also whether it was worthwhile to risk four heads for sixty or seventy pistoles.