The three musketeers
“Listen to me. You have not played for a long time, D’Artagnan.”
“And I have no inclination to play.”
“Swear to nothing. You have not played for a long time, I said; you
ought, then, to have a good hand.”
“Well, what then?”
“Well; the Englishman and his companion are still here. I remarked that
he regretted the horse furniture very much. You appear to think much of
your horse. In your place I would stake the furniture against the
horse.”
“But he will not wish for only one harness.”
“Stake both, _pardieu!_ I am not selfish, as you are.”
“You would do so?” said D’Artagnan, undecided, so strongly did the
confidence of Athos begin to prevail, in spite of himself.
“On my honor, in one single throw.”
“But having lost the horses, I am particularly anxious to preserve the
harnesses.”
“Stake your diamond, then.”
“This? That’s another matter. Never, never!”
“The devil!” said Athos. “I would propose to you to stake Planchet, but
as that has already been done, the Englishman would not, perhaps, be
willing.”
“Decidedly, my dear Athos,” said D’Artagnan, “I should like better not
to risk anything.”
“That’s a pity,” said Athos, coolly. “The Englishman is overflowing
with pistoles. Good Lord, try one throw! One throw is soon made!”
“And if I lose?”
“You will win.”
“But if I lose?”
“Well, you will surrender the harnesses.”
“Have with you for one throw!” said D’Artagnan.
Athos went in quest of the Englishman, whom he found in the stable,
examining the harnesses with a greedy eye. The opportunity was good. He
proposed the conditions—the two harnesses, either against one horse or
a hundred pistoles. The Englishman calculated fast; the two harnesses
were worth three hundred pistoles. He consented.
D’Artagnan threw the dice with a trembling hand, and turned up the
number three; his paleness terrified Athos, who, however, consented
himself with saying, “That’s a sad throw, comrade; you will have the
horses fully equipped, monsieur.”
The Englishman, quite triumphant, did not even give himself the trouble
to shake the dice. He threw them on the table without looking at them,
so sure was he of victory; D’Artagnan turned aside to conceal his ill
humor.
“Hold, hold, hold!” said Athos, wit his quiet tone; “that throw of the
dice is extraordinary. I have not seen such a one four times in my
life. Two aces!”
The Englishman looked, and was seized with astonishment. D’Artagnan
looked, and was seized with pleasure.
“Yes,” continued Athos, “four times only; once at the house of Monsieur
Créquy; another time at my own house in the country, in my château
at—when I had a château; a third time at Monsieur de Tréville’s where
it surprised us all; and the fourth time at a cabaret, where it fell to
my lot, and where I lost a hundred louis and a supper on it.”
“Then Monsieur takes his horse back again,” said the Englishman.
“Certainly,” said D’Artagnan.
“Then there is no revenge?”
“Our conditions said, ‘No revenge,’ you will please to recollect.”
“That is true; the horse shall be restored to your lackey, monsieur.”
“A moment,” said Athos; “with your permission, monsieur, I wish to
speak a word with my friend.”
“Say on.”
Athos drew D’Artagnan aside.
“Well, Tempter, what more do you want with me?” said D’Artagnan. “You
want me to throw again, do you not?”
“No, I would wish you to reflect.”
“On what?”
“You mean to take your horse?”
“Without doubt.”
“You are wrong, then. I would take the hundred pistoles. You know you
have staked the harnesses against the horse or a hundred pistoles, at
your choice.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I repeat, you are wrong. What is the use of one horse for
us two? I could not ride behind. We should look like the two sons of
Aymon, who had lost their brother. You cannot think of humiliating me
by prancing along by my side on that magnificent charger. For my part,
I should not hesitate a moment; I should take the hundred pistoles. We
want money for our return to Paris.”
“I am much attached to that horse, Athos.”
“And there again you are wrong. A horse slips and injures a joint; a
horse stumbles and breaks his knees to the bone; a horse eats out of a
manger in which a glandered horse has eaten. There is a horse, while on
the contrary, the hundred pistoles feed their master.”
“But how shall we get back?”
“Upon our lackey’s horses, _pardieu_. Anybody may see by our bearing
that we are people of condition.”
“Pretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos
caracole on their steeds.”
“Aramis! Porthos!” cried Athos, and laughed aloud.
“What is it?” asked D’Artagnan, who did not at all comprehend the
hilarity of his friend.
“Nothing, nothing! Go on!”
“Your advice, then?”
“To take the hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan. With the hundred pistoles we
can live well to the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal
of fatigue, remember, and a little rest will do no harm.”
“I rest? Oh, no, Athos. Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my search for
that unfortunate woman!”
“Well, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so
serviceable to you for that purpose as good golden louis. Take the
hundred pistoles, my friend; take the hundred pistoles!”
D’Artagnan only required one reason to be satisfied. This last reason
appeared convincing. Besides, he feared that by resisting longer he
should appear selfish in the eyes of Athos. He acquiesced, therefore,
and chose the hundred pistoles, which the Englishman paid down on the
spot.
They then determined to depart. Peace with the landlord, in addition to
Athos’s old horse, cost six pistoles. D’Artagnan and Athos took the
nags of Planchet and Grimaud, and the two lackeys started on foot,
carrying the saddles on their heads.
However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in advance
of their servants, and arrived at Crèvecœur. From a distance they
perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking
out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the horizon.
“_Holà_, Aramis! What the devil are you doing there?” cried the two
friends.
“Ah, is that you, D’Artagnan, and you, Athos?” said the young man. “I
was reflecting upon the rapidity with which the blessings of this world
leave us. My English horse, which has just disappeared amid a cloud of
dust, has furnished me with a living image of the fragility of the
things of the earth. Life itself may be resolved into three words:
_Erat, est, fuit_.”
“Which means—” said D’Artagnan, who began to suspect the truth.
“Which means that I have just been duped—sixty louis for a horse which
by the manner of his gait can do at least five leagues an hour.”
D’Artagnan and Athos laughed aloud.
“My dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “don’t be too angry with me, I beg.
Necessity has no law; besides, I am the person punished, as that
rascally horsedealer has robbed me of fifty louis, at least. Ah, you
fellows are good managers! You ride on our lackey’s horses, and have
your own gallant steeds led along carefully by hand, at short stages.”
At the same instant a market cart, which some minutes before had
appeared upon the Amiens road, pulled up at the inn, and Planchet and
Grimaud came out of it with the saddles on their heads. The cart was
returning empty to Paris, and the two lackeys had agreed, for their
transport, to slake the wagoner’s thirst along the route.
“What is this?” said Aramis, on seeing them arrive. “Nothing but
saddles?”
“Now do you understand?” said Athos.
“My friends, that’s exactly like me! I retained my harness by instinct.
_Holà_, Bazin! Bring my new saddle and carry it along with those of
these gentlemen.”
“And what have you done with your ecclesiastics?” asked D’Artagnan.
“My dear fellow, I invited them to a dinner the next day,” replied
Aramis. “They have some capital wine here—please to observe that in
passing. I did my best to make them drunk. Then the curate forbade me
to quit my uniform, and the Jesuit entreated me to get him made a
Musketeer.”
“Without a thesis?” cried D’Artagnan, “without a thesis? I demand the
suppression of the thesis.”
“Since then,” continued Aramis, “I have lived very agreeably. I have
begun a poem in verses of one syllable. That is rather difficult, but
the merit in all things consists in the difficulty. The matter is
gallant. I will read you the first canto. It has four hundred lines,
and lasts a minute.”
“My faith, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, who detested verses almost
as much as he did Latin, “add to the merit of the difficulty that of
the brevity, and you are sure that your poem will at least have two
merits.”
“You will see,” continued Aramis, “that it breathes irreproachable
passion. And so, my friends, we return to Paris? Bravo! I am ready. We
are going to rejoin that good fellow, Porthos. So much the better. You
can’t think how I have missed him, the great simpleton. To see him so
self-satisfied reconciles me with myself. He would not sell his horse;
not for a kingdom! I think I can see him now, mounted upon his superb
animal and seated in his handsome saddle. I am sure he will look like
the Great Mogul!”
They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged
his bill, placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades, and they set
forward to join Porthos.
They found him up, less pale than when D’Artagnan left him after his
first visit, and seated at a table on which, though he was alone, was
spread enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely
dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit.
“Ah, _pardieu!_” said he, rising, “you come in the nick of time,
gentlemen. I was just beginning the soup, and you will dine with me.”
“Oh, oh!” said D’Artagnan, “Mousqueton has not caught these bottles
with his lasso. Besides, here is a piquant _fricandeau_ and a fillet of
beef.”
“I am recruiting myself,” said Porthos, “I am recruiting myself.
Nothing weakens a man more than these devilish strains. Did you ever
suffer from a strain, Athos?”
“Never! Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue Férou, I received a
sword wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen days produced the
same effect.”
“But this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?” said Aramis.
“No,” said Porthos, “I expected some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who
have just sent me word they could not come. You will take their places
and I shall not lose by the exchange. _Holà_, Mousqueton, seats, and
order double the bottles!”
“Do you know what we are eating here?” said Athos, at the end of ten
minutes.
“_Pardieu!_” replied D’Artagnan, “for my part, I am eating veal
garnished with shrimps and vegetables.”
“And I some lamb chops,” said Porthos.
“And I a plain chicken,” said Aramis.
“You are all mistaken, gentlemen,” answered Athos, gravely; “you are
eating horse.”
“Eating what?” said D’Artagnan.
“Horse!” said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust.
Porthos alone made no reply.
“Yes, horse. Are we not eating a horse, Porthos? And perhaps his
saddle, therewith.”
“No, gentlemen, I have kept the harness,” said Porthos.
“My faith,” said Aramis, “we are all alike. One would think we had
tipped the wink.”
“What could I do?” said Porthos. “This horse made my visitors ashamed
of theirs, and I don’t like to humiliate people.”
“Then your duchess is still at the waters?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Still,” replied Porthos. “And, my faith, the governor of the
province—one of the gentlemen I expected today—seemed to have such a
wish for him, that I gave him to him.”
“Gave him?” cried D’Artagnan.
“My God, yes, _gave_, that is the word,” said Porthos; “for the animal
was worth at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the stingy fellow
would only give me eighty.”