The three musketeers
These words redoubled the eagerness of D’Artagnan, who urged his horse,
though he stood in need of no incitement, and they proceeded at a rapid
pace. About eleven o’clock in the morning they perceived Amiens, and at
half past eleven they were at the door of the cursed inn.
D’Artagnan had often meditated against the perfidious host one of those
hearty vengeances which offer consolation while they are hoped for. He
entered the hostelry with his hat pulled over his eyes, his left hand
on the pommel of the sword, and cracking his whip with his right hand.
“Do you remember me?” said he to the host, who advanced to greet him.
“I have not that honor, monseigneur,” replied the latter, his eyes
dazzled by the brilliant style in which D’Artagnan traveled.
“What, you don’t know me?”
“No, monseigneur.”
“Well, two words will refresh your memory. What have you done with that
gentleman against whom you had the audacity, about twelve days ago, to
make an accusation of passing false money?”
The host became as pale as death; for D’Artagnan had assumed a
threatening attitude, and Planchet modeled himself after his master.
“Ah, monseigneur, do not mention it!” cried the host, in the most
pitiable voice imaginable. “Ah, monseigneur, how dearly have I paid for
that fault, unhappy wretch as I am!”
“That gentleman, I say, what has become of him?”
“Deign to listen to me, monseigneur, and be merciful! Sit down, in
mercy!”
D’Artagnan, mute with anger and anxiety, took a seat in the threatening
attitude of a judge. Planchet glared fiercely over the back of his
armchair.
“Here is the story, monseigneur,” resumed the trembling host; “for I
now recollect you. It was you who rode off at the moment I had that
unfortunate difference with the gentleman you speak of.”
“Yes, it was I; so you may plainly perceive that you have no mercy to
expect if you do not tell me the whole truth.”
“Condescend to listen to me, and you shall know all.”
“I listen.”
“I had been warned by the authorities that a celebrated coiner of bad
money would arrive at my inn, with several of his companions, all
disguised as Guards or Musketeers. Monseigneur, I was furnished with a
description of your horses, your lackeys, your countenances—nothing was
omitted.”
“Go on, go on!” said D’Artagnan, who quickly understood whence such an
exact description had come.
“I took then, in conformity with the orders of the authorities, who
sent me a reinforcement of six men, such measures as I thought
necessary to get possession of the persons of the pretended coiners.”
“Again!” said D’Artagnan, whose ears chafed terribly under the
repetition of this word _coiners_.
“Pardon me, monseigneur, for saying such things, but they form my
excuse. The authorities had terrified me, and you know that an
innkeeper must keep on good terms with the authorities.”
“But once again, that gentleman—where is he? What has become of him? Is
he dead? Is he living?”
“Patience, monseigneur, we are coming to it. There happened then that
which you know, and of which your precipitate departure,” added the
host, with an acuteness that did not escape D’Artagnan, “appeared to
authorize the issue. That gentleman, your friend, defended himself
desperately. His lackey, who, by an unforeseen piece of ill luck, had
quarreled with the officers, disguised as stable lads—”
“Miserable scoundrel!” cried D’Artagnan, “you were all in the plot,
then! And I really don’t know what prevents me from exterminating you
all.”
“Alas, monseigneur, we were not in the plot, as you will soon see.
Monsieur your friend (pardon for not calling him by the honorable name
which no doubt he bears, but we do not know that name), Monsieur your
friend, having disabled two men with his pistols, retreated fighting
with his sword, with which he disabled one of my men, and stunned me
with a blow of the flat side of it.”
“You villain, will you finish?” cried D’Artagnan, “Athos—what has
become of Athos?”
“While fighting and retreating, as I have told Monseigneur, he found
the door of the cellar stairs behind him, and as the door was open, he
took out the key, and barricaded himself inside. As we were sure of
finding him there, we left him alone.”
“Yes,” said D’Artagnan, “you did not really wish to kill; you only
wished to imprison him.”
“Good God! To imprison him, monseigneur? Why, he imprisoned himself, I
swear to you he did. In the first place he had made rough work of it;
one man was killed on the spot, and two others were severely wounded.
The dead man and the two wounded were carried off by their comrades,
and I have heard nothing of either of them since. As for myself, as
soon as I recovered my senses I went to Monsieur the Governor, to whom
I related all that had passed, and asked, what I should do with my
prisoner. Monsieur the Governor was all astonishment. He told me he
knew nothing about the matter, that the orders I had received did not
come from him, and that if I had the audacity to mention his name as
being concerned in this disturbance he would have me hanged. It appears
that I had made a mistake, monsieur, that I had arrested the wrong
person, and that he whom I ought to have arrested had escaped.”
“But Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, whose impatience was increased by the
disregard of the authorities, “Athos, where is he?”
“As I was anxious to repair the wrongs I had done the prisoner,”
resumed the innkeeper, “I took my way straight to the cellar in order
to set him at liberty. Ah, monsieur, he was no longer a man, he was a
devil! To my offer of liberty, he replied that it was nothing but a
snare, and that before he came out he intended to impose his own
conditions. I told him very humbly—for I could not conceal from myself
the scrape I had got into by laying hands on one of his Majesty’s
Musketeers—I told him I was quite ready to submit to his conditions.
“‘In the first place,’ said he, ‘I wish my lackey placed with me, fully
armed.’ We hastened to obey this order; for you will please to
understand, monsieur, we were disposed to do everything your friend
could desire. Monsieur Grimaud (he told us his name, although he does
not talk much)—Monsieur Grimaud, then, went down to the cellar, wounded
as he was; then his master, having admitted him, barricaded the door
afresh, and ordered us to remain quietly in our own bar.”
“But where is Athos now?” cried D’Artagnan. “Where is Athos?”
“In the cellar, monsieur.”
“What, you scoundrel! Have you kept him in the cellar all this time?”
“Merciful heaven! No, monsieur! We keep him in the cellar! You do not
know what he is about in the cellar. Ah! If you could but persuade him
to come out, monsieur, I should owe you the gratitude of my whole life;
I should adore you as my patron saint!”
“Then he is there? I shall find him there?”
“Without doubt you will, monsieur; he persists in remaining there. We
every day pass through the air hole some bread at the end of a fork,
and some meat when he asks for it; but alas! It is not of bread and
meat of which he makes the greatest consumption. I once endeavored to
go down with two of my servants; but he flew into terrible rage. I
heard the noise he made in loading his pistols, and his servant in
loading his musketoon. Then, when we asked them what were their
intentions, the master replied that he had forty charges to fire, and
that he and his lackey would fire to the last one before he would allow
a single soul of us to set foot in the cellar. Upon this I went and
complained to the governor, who replied that I only had what I
deserved, and that it would teach me to insult honorable gentlemen who
took up their abode in my house.”
“So that since that time—” replied D’Artagnan, totally unable to
refrain from laughing at the pitiable face of the host.
“So from that time, monsieur,” continued the latter, “we have led the
most miserable life imaginable; for you must know, monsieur, that all
our provisions are in the cellar. There is our wine in bottles, and our
wine in casks; the beer, the oil, and the spices, the bacon, and
sausages. And as we are prevented from going down there, we are forced
to refuse food and drink to the travelers who come to the house; so
that our hostelry is daily going to ruin. If your friend remains
another week in my cellar I shall be a ruined man.”
“And not more than justice, either, you ass! Could you not perceive by
our appearance that we were people of quality, and not coiners—say?”
“Yes, monsieur, you are right,” said the host. “But, hark, hark! There
he is!”
“Somebody has disturbed him, without doubt,” said D’Artagnan.
“But he must be disturbed,” cried the host; “Here are two English
gentlemen just arrived.”
“Well?”
“Well, the English like good wine, as you may know, monsieur; these
have asked for the best. My wife has perhaps requested permission of
Monsieur Athos to go into the cellar to satisfy these gentlemen; and
he, as usual, has refused. Ah, good heaven! There is the hullabaloo
louder than ever!”
D’Artagnan, in fact, heard a great noise on the side next the cellar.
He rose, and preceded by the host wringing his hands, and followed by
Planchet with his musketoon ready for use, he approached the scene of
action.
The two gentlemen were exasperated; they had had a long ride, and were
dying with hunger and thirst.
“But this is tyranny!” cried one of them, in very good French, though
with a foreign accent, “that this madman will not allow these good
people access to their own wine! Nonsense, let us break open the door,
and if he is too far gone in his madness, well, we will kill him!”
“Softly, gentlemen!” said D’Artagnan, drawing his pistols from his
belt, “you will kill nobody, if you please!”
“Good, good!” cried the calm voice of Athos, from the other side of the
door, “let them just come in, these devourers of little children, and
we shall see!”
Brave as they appeared to be, the two English gentlemen looked at each
other hesitatingly. One might have thought there was in that cellar one
of those famished ogres—the gigantic heroes of popular legends, into
whose cavern nobody could force their way with impunity.
There was a moment of silence; but at length the two Englishmen felt
ashamed to draw back, and the angrier one descended the five or six
steps which led to the cellar, and gave a kick against the door enough
to split a wall.
“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, cocking his pistols, “I will take charge
of the one at the top; you look to the one below. Ah, gentlemen, you
want battle; and you shall have it.”
“Good God!” cried the hollow voice of Athos, “I can hear D’Artagnan, I
think.”
“Yes,” cried D’Artagnan, raising his voice in turn, “I am here, my
friend.”
“Ah, good, then,” replied Athos, “we will teach them, these door
breakers!”
The gentlemen had drawn their swords, but they found themselves taken
between two fires. They still hesitated an instant; but, as before,
pride prevailed, and a second kick split the door from bottom to top.
“Stand on one side, D’Artagnan, stand on one side,” cried Athos. “I am
going to fire!”
“Gentlemen,” exclaimed D’Artagnan, whom reflection never abandoned,
“gentlemen, think of what you are about. Patience, Athos! You are
running your heads into a very silly affair; you will be riddled. My
lackey and I will have three shots at you, and you will get as many
from the cellar. You will then have our swords, with which, I can
assure you, my friend and I can play tolerably well. Let me conduct
your business and my own. You shall soon have something to drink; I
give you my word.”
“If there is any left,” grumbled the jeering voice of Athos.
The host felt a cold sweat creep down his back.
“How! ‘If there is any left!’” murmured he.