“You are right, Tréville; 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 the earth.”
“Why, this is a victory!” cried the king, all radiant, “a complete victory!”
“Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Cé.”13
“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 that 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 Tréville, “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, Tréville,” 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! Tréville, 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 man, 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, Tréville.”
“Shall I bring him alone?”
“No, bring me all four together. I wish to thank them all at once. Devoted men are so rare, Tréville, that one must recompense devotedness.”
“At twelve o’clock, sire, we will be at the Louvre.”
“Ah! by the back staircase, Tréville, 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, Tréville, come still by the back staircase.”
Tréville 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’s 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 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 tha
t this place is badly chosen, and that we should be better behind the Abbey St. Germain or in the Pré-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 Trémouille, 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 Trémouille!” 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 Tréville, 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 mêlée became general, but strength was on the side of the Musketeers. The cardinal’s Guards and M. de la Trémouille’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 Trémouille’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 Tréville, 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 Tréville, 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 Tréville 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 Tréville.
“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 Tréville. “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 Tréville recommended everyone to return home and wait for news.
On entering his hotel, M. de Tréville thought it best to be first in making the complaint. He sent one of his servants to M. de la Trémouille 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 Trémouille—already prejudiced by his esquire, whose relative, as we already know, Bernajoux was—replied that it was neither for M. de Tréville 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 Tréville thought of an expedient which might terminate it quietly. This was to go himself to M. de la Trémouille.
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 Trémouille-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 Tréville, “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 Trémouille, “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 Tréville, “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 Trémouille 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 seei
ng 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 Trémouille approached him, and made him inhale some salts, which recalled him to life. Then M. de Tréville, unwilling that it should be thought that he had influenced the wounded man, requested M. de la Trémouille to interrogate him himself.
That happened which M. de Tréville 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 Tréville wanted. He wished Bernajoux a speedy convalescence, took leave of M. de la Trémouille, returned to his hotel, and immediately sent word to the four friends that he awaited their company at dinner.
M. de Tréville entertained good company, wholly anticardinalist, 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 they could very well afford him his.
Toward six o’clock M. de Tréville 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 entrée 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 this 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.
Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 12