The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas - [Full Version] - (ANNOTATED)

by Alexandre Dumas

  Unfortunately, it was a bad time of day to try to hold a confidential meeting. The drummers had just beaten reveille, the troops had barely awakened, and everyone was out to dispel the morning’s grogginess with some grog: dragoons, Swiss, guards, musketeers, and cavalrymen came one after another at a rate that must have brought a smile to the innkeeper’s face. However, it was not at all what the four friends had in mind, and they were less than cordial in replying to the salutes, toasts, and gibes of their comrades-in-arms.

  “We should leave,” said Athos, “before we get involved in some petty quarrel, which is the last thing we need right now. D’Artagnan, tell us how your night went; we’ll get to ours later.”

  “Quite so!” interrupted a cavalry officer, who held a glass of eau-de-vie that he’d obviously already been sampling. “Quite so! You guards were in the trenches last night, weren’t you? I hear the Rochelois just about handed you your heads!”

  D’Artagnan glanced at Athos for guidance on how to handle this intruder into their conversation. “Monsieur de Busigny honors you with a question,” Athos said. “Go on; tell us all what happened last night, since these gentlemen want to know.”

  “You are take some bastion, ja?” asked a Swiss, drinking rum from a pint glass.

  “Yes, Monsieur.” D’Artagnan bowed. “We have had that honor. We even, as you may have heard, got a barrel of black powder under one of the corners and blew a very pretty breach in the wall. It damaged the rest of the works as well, as the bastion is pretty old.”

  “And what bastion was this?” asked a dragoon, who had a goose impaled on his saber that he was bringing in for roasting.

  “The Bastion of Saint-Gervais,” replied d’Artagnan. “The one the Rochelois were using to annoy our pioneers.”

  “Was the affair a hot one?”

  “But yes. We lost five men, and the Rochelois eight or ten.”

  “Balzampleu!” said the Swiss, who, despite the fine collection of oaths boasted by the German language, had taken to swearing in French.

  “But in all probability the Rochelois will just send their own pioneers out this morning to repair the damage to the bastion,” the cavalry officer said.

  “Yes, they probably will,” said d’Artagnan.

  “Messieurs,” said Athos, “a wager!”

  “Ach, ja! A wager!” said the Swiss.

  “Which is?” asked the cavalry officer.

  “Wait a moment,” said the dragoon, balancing his saber like a spit on the andirons in the fireplace. “Wait a moment—I want a piece of this too. Innkeeper, damn it! Get me a dripping-pan tout de suite—I don’t want to lose a drop of fat from this fine fowl.”

  “Is right!” said the Swiss. “Goose-grease is damn good with the pastries, by damn!”

  “There! Got it,” said the dragoon. “Now, on with the wager! We’re listening, Monsieur Athos.”

  “Yes! Let’s have the wager,” said the cavalry officer.

  “Very well, Monsieur de Busigny. I will bet you,” said Athos, “that I and my three companions, Messieurs Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, will have breakfast in the Saint-Gervais bastion and will remain there for one hour by the clock, no matter what the enemy tries to do to dislodge us.”

  Porthos and Aramis looked at each other—they began to understand.

  “Umm, Athos,” d’Artagnan whispered in Athos’s ear, “you do realize you’re about to get us all killed.”

  “We’re more likely to be killed if we don’t go,” Athos replied.

  “My faith, Messieurs!” said Porthos, leaning back in his chair and twisting his mustache. “I hope that’s a pretty enough wager for you.”

  “You’re on!” said Monsieur de Busigny. “Now we just need to fix the stakes.”

  “Well, there are four of you,” Athos said, “and there are four of us. How about dinner for eight—will that suit you?”

  “Perfectly,” said de Busigny.

  “Fine by me,” said the dragoon.

  “Is good,” said the Swiss.

  The fourth man, who had yet to speak a word, signified his assent with a brief nod of his head.

  “Your breakfast is ready, Messieurs,” said the host.

  “Well, bring it in,” said Athos.

  The host obeyed. Athos called Grimaud over with a gesture, pointed to a large basket lying in a corner, and signaled that he should wrap the food in their napkins for traveling. Grimaud understood that breakfast had become a picnic. He wrapped up the food, placed it in the basket with some bottles, and put the basket on his arm.

  “But where are you going to eat my breakfast?” asked the innkeeper.

  “What does that matter to you, so long as you’re paid?” said Athos. And he threw two pistoles majestically on the table.

  “Would you like your change, mon Officier?” asked the host.

  “No—just add two bottles of champagne, and the difference will cover the napkins.”

  This wasn’t quite what the host had hoped to hear, but he consoled himself by slipping in two bottles of cheap Anjou wine in place of the champagne.

  “Monsieur de Busigny,” said Athos, “would you care to synchronize your watch with mine, or shall I set mine by yours?”

  “As you like, Monsieur!” said the cavalry officer, drawing out on its chain a handsome watch set with diamonds. “I have half past seven,” he said.

  “And I, seven thirty-five,” said Athos, “so you’ll note that I’m five minutes ahead of you, Monsieur.”

  Then, with a final bow to their admiring audience, the four young men took the road to the Saint-Gervais bastion, followed by Grimaud, carrying the basket. He had no idea where they were going but, trained by Athos to passive obedience, it never occurred to him to ask.

  While they were still inside the bounds of the camp, the four friends didn’t dare say a word to each other. For one thing, they’d attracted a number of curious followers who’d heard about the wager and wanted to see how it would turn out.

  Once they’d crossed the line of circumvallation and left their followers within the defenses, d’Artagnan, who was completely ignorant of what this was all about, thought it high time to demand an explanation. “And now, my dear Athos,” he said, “would you do me the favor of telling me where we’re going?”

  “As you can see,” said Athos, “we’re going to your bastion.”

  “And just what are we going to do there?”

  “We’re going to have breakfast, obviously!”

  “Why couldn’t we have had breakfast at the Heretic?”

  “Because we have important matters to discuss, and we couldn’t talk for five minutes in that inn without being hailed or accosted by someone. There, at least,” Athos said, pointing at the bastion, “no one will interrupt us.”

  “It seems to me we could have found some deserted place in the dunes, or on the beach,” said d’Artagnan, with that natural prudence that balanced out his extraordinary bravery.

  “Where someone would have seen the four of us conversing, so that inside a quarter of an hour the cardinal would know from his spies that we were holding a council.”

  “Athos is right, you know,” said Aramis. “Animadvertuntur in desertis.”

  “A desert would be just the thing,” said Porthos, “but where would we find one?”

  “There is no place deserted enough where a bird can’t pass over your head, where a fish can’t jump from the water, or where a rabbit can’t hop from its burrow, and I believe that bird, fish, and rabbit would all be the cardinal’s spies,” Athos said. “We’re better off seeing this little exploit through, especially since we can’t draw back now without dishonor. We made a wager with our comrades, something our enemies couldn’t have foreseen, and I defy anyone to guess our real motives for it.

  “In order to win our bet, we have to spend one hour in the bastion. We’ll either be attacked, or we won’t. If we’re not, we’ll have the whole time to ourselves to talk, for I’ll answer for it that the walls of
that bastion have no ears. If we are attacked, we’ll have our business meeting just the same—and in defending ourselves, we’ll cover ourselves with glory. So everything works out for the best.”

  “Eh bien,” said d’Artagnan, “but one of us is bound to catch a bullet.”

  “Ah, my friend,” said Athos, “you ought to know by now that the bullets we have most to fear aren’t fired by the Rochelois.”

  “But it seems to me that for an expedition like this, we should at least have brought our muskets,” said Porthos.

  “Don’t be a blockhead, Porthos,” Athos said pleasantly. “Why weigh ourselves down with a useless burden?”

  “In the face of an enemy, I don’t think an army musket, a dozen cartridges, and a powder flask are so useless.”

  “Yes, but you heard what d’Artagnan said.”

  “I did?” said Porthos. “What did d’Artagnan say?”

  “D’Artagnan said that in last night’s action eight or ten Rochelois were killed, and almost as many Frenchmen.”

  “All right. So?”

  “They had no time to strip the bodies—the conquerors had more pressing affairs to tend to. Do you see?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Well, we’ll gather up their muskets, their cartridges, and their powder flasks, and instead of four muskets with a dozen shots apiece, we’ll have fifteen firearms and a hundred rounds.”

  “Athos, I salute you,” said Aramis. “You’re a great man!”

  Porthos bowed his agreement. Only d’Artagnan appeared unconvinced.

  No doubt Grimaud shared the young man’s misgivings. When he realized they weren’t stopping in their march toward the bastion, he tugged on the hem of his master’s coat. Where are we going? he asked, with a gesture.

  Athos pointed to the bastion.

  But, Grimaud continued, in their private sign language, we’re going to lose our skins!

  Athos raised his eyes to the sky and pointed a finger toward heaven.

  Grimaud dropped his basket, sat down, and shook his head.

  Athos took a pistol from his belt, checked to see if it was primed, cocked it, and placed the muzzle behind Grimaud’s ear.

  Grimaud leaped up as if spring-loaded. Athos made a sign to him to pick up the basket and take the lead. Grimaud obeyed. The only thing he’d gained from his brief pantomime was a promotion from the rearguard to the vanguard.

  When they arrived at the bastion, the four friends turned around. More than three hundred soldiers from various units were crowding around the gates of the camp. On a high crest off to the side they could distinguish Monsieur de Busigny, the dragoon, the Swiss, and the fourth bettor.

  Athos took off his hat, balanced it on the end of his sword, and waved it in the air. The spectators returned his salute with a loud hurrah!

  After which, the four disappeared into the bastion, hard on the heels of Grimaud.

  XLVII

  The Council of the Musketeers

  As Athos had predicted, the only occupants of the bastion were a dozen dead bodies, both French and Rochelois.

  “Messieurs,” said Athos, who had assumed command of the expedition, “while Grimaud sets the table, let’s start collecting muskets and cartridges. We can talk while we’re at it; these gentlemen”—he indicated the corpses—“cannot hear us.”

  “But we could throw them into the moat,” said Porthos, “after first making sure they have nothing in their pockets.”

  “We could,” said Aramis, “but let’s leave that job to Grimaud.”

  “All right, we’ll have Grimaud search them, then throw the bodies over the walls,” d’Artagnan said.

  “Grimaud will do no such thing,” said Athos. “These bodies may yet be of service to us.”

  “How are dead bodies going to serve us?” said Porthos. “You’re crazy, my friend.”

  “Judge not rashly, say the Gospel and Monsieur le Cardinal,” replied Athos. “How many muskets do we have, Messieurs?”

  “A dozen,” said Aramis.

  “How many rounds?”

  “A hundred.”

  “That’s all we should need. Let’s load the muskets.”

  The four musketeers set about their task. Just as they’d loaded the final weapon, Grimaud signaled that breakfast was served.

  Athos replied with another gesture that meant Fine, and indicated to Grimaud that he should go to a barbette and stand watch. To alleviate the tedium of sentinel duty, Athos allowed him to take a loaf, two cutlets, and a bottle of wine.

  “And now, to table,” said Athos.

  The four friends sat down on the ground, legs crossed like Turks or tailors.

  “Now that we no longer have to fear being overheard, Athos,” d’Artagnan said, “I hope you’re going to share this big secret with me.”

  “What I hope to share with you, Messieurs, is pleasure and glory at one and the same time,” said Athos. “I’ve invited you on a charming walk; we have before us a sumptuous breakfast; and as you can see through the murder-holes, there are five hundred people back there who take us for either madmen or heroes, two classes of imbecile so similar that it’s hard to distinguish between them.”

  “But the secret!” demanded d’Artagnan.

  “The secret,” said Athos, “is that last night I saw Milady.”

  D’Artagnan had been lifting a glass to his lips, but at the name “Milady,” his hand shook so that he had to put down the glass or risk spilling the contents.

  “You saw your wi . . .”

  “Hush!” interrupted Athos, with quiet intensity. “You forget, dear friend, that these gentlemen are not as intimate with my family affairs as you. Yes,” he continued, in a normal voice, “I’ve seen Milady.”

  “Where?” d’Artagnan demanded.

  “Within two leagues of here, in the auberge at Colombier-Rouge.”

  “In that case, I’m done for,” said d’Artagnan.

  “Not just yet,” replied Athos, “for by this time, she’ll have left the shores of France.”

  D’Artagnan breathed freely again.

  “But, see here,” said Porthos, “who exactly is this Milady?”

  “A woman très charmante,” said Athos, sipping his wine. “That peasant scum of an innkeeper!” he suddenly cried. “He’s given us Anjou wine instead of champagne and thinks we can’t tell the difference!

  “Milady,” he continued. “A charming woman. She was quite generous of herself with our friend d’Artagnan, who nonetheless somehow managed to offend her, and now she’s out to exact her revenge. A month ago, she tried with a couple of musket balls; last week, she tried to poison him; and yesterday, she demanded his head from the cardinal.”

  “What? She demanded my head from the cardinal?” cried d’Artagnan, pale with terror.

  “Gospel truth,” said Porthos. “I heard it with my own ears.”

  “I, as well,” said Aramis.

  “Then,” said d’Artagnan, going limp with despair, “it’s pointless to struggle any longer. I may as well end it now and blow my own brains out.”

  “Let’s save that folly till the end,” said Athos, “since it’s the only one there’s no cure for.”

  “But with enemies like these, I can’t possibly escape,” said d’Artagnan. “First, there’s the stranger of Meung; then there’s de Wardes, whom I gave those three wounds to; next there’s Milady, whose fatal secret I’ve discovered; and finally there’s the cardinal, whose vengeance I’ve thwarted.”

  “Well, that’s only four—and we’re four, so it’s even,” said Athos. “Pardieu! If we can believe Grimaud’s signals, we’re about to have to deal with an even larger number. What is it, Grimaud? Considering the gravity of the situation, my friend, I permit you to speak— but keep it brief, if you please. What do you see?”

  “A troop.”

  “Of how many men?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Their nature?”

  “Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers.”

&nbs
p; “Range?”

  “Five hundred paces.”

  “Fine! We still have time to finish this fowl and drink a glass of wine to your health, d’Artagnan!”

  “À ta santé!” repeated Porthos and Aramis.

  “Well, to my health, then! Though I’m afraid your good wishes won’t be much protection.”

  “Bah!” said Athos. “God is great, as the Mahometans say, and the future is in his hands.” Then, emptying his glass, which he set down carefully near him, Athos rose nonchalantly, took up the nearest musket, and approached one of the loopholes in the wall.

  Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan did the same. As for Grimaud, he was ordered to back up the four friends by reloading their weapons.

  Almost immediately, they saw the approaching troop. They were following a narrow trench that communicated between the bastion and the city.

  “God’s blood!” said Athos. “It’s hardly worth our time to deal with twenty buffoons armed with picks, hoes, and shovels! If Grimaud had just waved them off, I’m sure they would have left us alone.”

  “I doubt it,” d’Artagnan remarked. “They look pretty determined to me. Besides, along with the pioneers are an officer and four soldiers, all armed with muskets.”

  “They just haven’t seen us yet,” replied Athos.

  “My faith!” said Aramis. “I must confess a certain reluctance to fire on these poor devils of bourgeois.”

  “It’s a poor priest who pities heretics!” said Porthos.

  “No, I think Aramis is right,” said Athos. “I’m going to warn them.”

  “What the devil are you doing?” cried d’Artagnan. “You’re going to get shot!”

  But Athos ignored his advice and climbed into the breach, his musket in one hand and his hat in the other. “Messieurs!” he called out to the soldiers and pioneers. They stopped about fifty paces off, astonished by this apparition, who bowed to them courteously. “Messieurs! My friends and I are taking breakfast in this bastion. Now, nothing is more disagreeable than being disturbed during breakfast, so we must request, if you absolutely must come up here, to please come back later—or at least wait till we’ve finished our meal. Unless, that is, you’d rather renounce the party of rebellion and come drink with us to the health of the King of France.”