The three musketeers
Porthos had his fits. On the days when he won he was insolent and
ostentatious; if he lost, he disappeared completely for several days,
after which he reappeared with a pale face and thinner person, but with
money in his purse.
As to Aramis, he never played. He was the worst Musketeer and the most
unconvivial companion imaginable. He had always something or other to
do. Sometimes in the midst of dinner, when everyone, under the
attraction of wine and in the warmth of conversation, believed they had
two or three hours longer to enjoy themselves at table, Aramis looked
at his watch, arose with a bland smile, and took leave of the company,
to go, as he said, to consult a casuist with whom he had an
appointment. At other times he would return home to write a treatise,
and requested his friends not to disturb him.
At this Athos would smile, with his charming, melancholy smile, which
so became his noble countenance, and Porthos would drink, swearing that
Aramis would never be anything but a village _curé_.
Planchet, D’Artagnan’s valet, supported his good fortune nobly. He
received thirty sous per day, and for a month he returned to his
lodgings gay as a chaffinch, and affable toward his master. When the
wind of adversity began to blow upon the housekeeping of the Rue des
Fossoyeurs—that is to say, when the forty pistoles of King Louis XIII.
were consumed or nearly so—he commenced complaints which Athos thought
nauseous, Porthos indecent, and Aramis ridiculous. Athos counseled
D’Artagnan to dismiss the fellow; Porthos was of the opinion that he
should give him a good thrashing first; and Aramis contended that a
master should never attend to anything but the civilities paid to him.
“This is all very easy for you to say,” replied D’Artagnan, “for you,
Athos, who live like a dumb man with Grimaud, who forbid him to speak,
and consequently never exchange ill words with him; for you, Porthos,
who carry matters in such a magnificent style, and are a god to your
valet, Mousqueton; and for you, Aramis, who, always abstracted by your
theological studies, inspire your servant, Bazin, a mild, religious
man, with a profound respect; but for me, who am without any settled
means and without resources—for me, who am neither a Musketeer nor even
a Guardsman, what am I to do to inspire either the affection, the
terror, or the respect in Planchet?”
“This is serious,” answered the three friends; “it is a family affair.
It is with valets as with wives, they must be placed at once upon the
footing in which you wish them to remain. Reflect upon it.”
D’Artagnan did reflect, and resolved to thrash Planchet provisionally;
which he did with the conscientiousness that D’Artagnan carried into
everything. After having well beaten him, he forbade him to leave his
service without his permission. “For,” added he, “the future cannot
fail to mend; I inevitably look for better times. Your fortune is
therefore made if you remain with me, and I am too good a master to
allow you to miss such a chance by granting you the dismissal you
require.”
This manner of acting roused much respect for D’Artagnan’s policy among
the Musketeers. Planchet was equally seized with admiration, and said
no more about going away.
The life of the four young men had become fraternal. D’Artagnan, who
had no settled habits of his own, as he came from his province into the
midst of a world quite new to him, fell easily into the habits of his
friends.
They rose about eight o’clock in the winter, about six in summer, and
went to take the countersign and see how things went on at M. de
Tréville’s. D’Artagnan, although he was not a Musketeer, performed the
duty of one with remarkable punctuality. He went on guard because he
always kept company with whoever of his friends was on duty. He was
well known at the Hôtel of the Musketeers, where everyone considered
him a good comrade. M. de Tréville, who had appreciated him at the
first glance and who bore him a real affection, never ceased
recommending him to the king.
On their side, the three Musketeers were much attached to their young
comrade. The friendship which united these four men, and the need they
felt of seeing another three or four times a day, whether for dueling,
business, or pleasure, caused them to be continually running after one
another like shadows; and the Inseparables were constantly to be met
with seeking one another, from the Luxembourg to the Place St. Sulpice,
or from the Rue du Vieux-Colombier to the Luxembourg.
In the meanwhile the promises of M. de Tréville went on prosperously.
One fine morning the king commanded M. de Chevalier Dessessart to admit
D’Artagnan as a cadet in his company of Guards. D’Artagnan, with a
sigh, donned his uniform, which he would have exchanged for that of a
Musketeer at the expense of ten years of his existence. But M. de
Tréville promised this favor after a novitiate of two years—a novitiate
which might besides be abridged if an opportunity should present itself
for D’Artagnan to render the king any signal service, or to distinguish
himself by some brilliant action. Upon this promise D’Artagnan
withdrew, and the next day he began service.
Then it became the turn of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to mount guard
with D’Artagnan when he was on duty. The company of M. le Chevalier
Dessessart thus received four instead of one when it admitted
D’Artagnan.
Chapter VIII.
CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
In the meantime, the forty pistoles of King Louis XIII., like all other
things of this world, after having had a beginning had an end, and
after this end our four companions began to be somewhat embarrassed. At
first, Athos supported the association for a time with his own means.
Porthos succeeded him; and thanks to one of those disappearances to
which he was accustomed, he was able to provide for the wants of all
for a fortnight. At last it became Aramis’s turn, who performed it with
a good grace and who succeeded—as he said, by selling some theological
books—in procuring a few pistoles.
Then, as they had been accustomed to do, they had recourse to M. de
Tréville, who made some advances on their pay; but these advances could
not go far with three Musketeers who were already much in arrears and a
Guardsman who as yet had no pay at all.
At length when they found they were likely to be really in want, they
got together, as a last effort, eight or ten pistoles, with which
Porthos went to the gaming table. Unfortunately he was in a bad vein;
he lost all, together with twenty-five pistoles for which he had given
his word.
Then the inconvenience became distress. The hungry friends, followed by
their lackeys, were seen haunting the quays and Guard rooms, picking up
among their friends abroad all the dinners they could meet with; for
according to the advice of Aramis, it was prudent to sow repasts right
and left in prosperity, in order to reap a few in time of need.
Athos was invited four times, and each time took his friends and their
lackeys with him. Porthos had six occasions, and contrived in the same
manner that his friends should partake of them; Aramis had eight of
them. He was a man, as must have been already perceived, who made but
little noise, and yet was much sought after.
As to D’Artagnan, who as yet knew nobody in the capital, he only found
one chocolate breakfast at the house of a priest of his own province,
and one dinner at the house of a cornet of the Guards. He took his army
to the priest’s, where they devoured as much provision as would have
lasted him for two months, and to the cornet’s, who performed wonders;
but as Planchet said, “People do not eat at once for all time, even
when they eat a good deal.”
D’Artagnan thus felt himself humiliated in having only procured one
meal and a half for his companions—as the breakfast at the priest’s
could only be counted as half a repast—in return for the feasts which
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis had procured him. He fancied himself a
burden to the society, forgetting in his perfectly juvenile good faith
that he had fed this society for a month; and he set his mind actively
to work. He reflected that this coalition of four young, brave,
enterprising, and active men ought to have some other object than
swaggering walks, fencing lessons, and practical jokes, more or less
witty.
In fact, four men such as they were—four men devoted to one another,
from their purses to their lives; four men always supporting one
another, never yielding, executing singly or together the resolutions
formed in common; four arms threatening the four cardinal points, or
turning toward a single point—must inevitably, either subterraneously,
in open day, by mining, in the trench, by cunning, or by force, open
themselves a way toward the object they wished to attain, however well
it might be defended, or however distant it may seem. The only thing
that astonished D’Artagnan was that his friends had never thought of
this.
He was thinking by himself, and even seriously racking his brain to
find a direction for this single force four times multiplied, with
which he did not doubt, as with the lever for which Archimedes sought,
they should succeed in moving the world, when someone tapped gently at
his door. D’Artagnan awakened Planchet and ordered him to open it.
From this phrase, “D’Artagnan awakened Planchet,” the reader must not
suppose it was night, or that day was hardly come. No, it had just
struck four. Planchet, two hours before, had asked his master for some
dinner, and he had answered him with the proverb, “He who sleeps,
dines.” And Planchet dined by sleeping.
A man was introduced of simple mien, who had the appearance of a
tradesman. Planchet, by way of dessert, would have liked to hear the
conversation; but the citizen declared to D’Artagnan that, what he had
to say being important and confidential, he desired to be left alone
with him.
D’Artagnan dismissed Planchet, and requested his visitor to be seated.
There was a moment of silence, during which the two men looked at each
other, as if to make a preliminary acquaintance, after which D’Artagnan
bowed, as a sign that he listened.
“I have heard Monsieur d’Artagnan spoken of as a very brave young man,”
said the citizen; “and this reputation which he justly enjoys had
decided me to confide a secret to him.”
“Speak, monsieur, speak,” said D’Artagnan, who instinctively scented
something advantageous.
The citizen made a fresh pause and continued, “I have a wife who is
seamstress to the queen, monsieur, and who is not deficient in either
virtue or beauty. I was induced to marry her about three years ago,
although she had but very little dowry, because Monsieur Laporte, the
queen’s cloak bearer, is her godfather, and befriends her.”
“Well, monsieur?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Well!” resumed the citizen, “well, monsieur, my wife was abducted
yesterday morning, as she was coming out of her workroom.”
“And by whom was your wife abducted?”
“I know nothing surely, monsieur, but I suspect someone.”
“And who is the person whom you suspect?”
“A man who has pursued her a long time.”
“The devil!”
“But allow me to tell you, monsieur,” continued the citizen, “that I am
convinced that there is less love than politics in all this.”
“Less love than politics,” replied D’Artagnan, with a reflective air;
“and what do you suspect?”
“I do not know whether I ought to tell you what I suspect.”
“Monsieur, I beg you to observe that I ask you absolutely nothing. It
is you who have come to me. It is you who have told me that you had a
secret to confide in me. Act, then, as you think proper; there is still
time to withdraw.”
“No, monsieur, no; you appear to be an honest young man, and I will