The three musketeers
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 through 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 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. The 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!”
The 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 his 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 fell 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, they 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 hôtel 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 hôtel, “at least I have entered
upon my apprenticeship, haven’t I?”
Chapter VI.
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, 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
de 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 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—”
“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 earth.”
“Why, this is a victory!” cried the king, all radiant, “a complete
victory!”
“Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Ce.”
“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 this young man behaved himself well? Tell me how,