The Three Muskeeters For All
Alexandra Dumas
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Alexandra Dumas
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
In which it is proved that, notwithstanding their names' ending in YS, the heroes of the story which we are about to have the honor to relate to our readers have nothing mythological about them.
A short time ago, while making researches in the Royal Library for my History of Louise XIV, I stumbled by chance upon the Memoirs of M. d'Artagnyn, printed--as were most of the works of that period, in which authors could not tell the truth without the risk of a residence, more or less long, in the Bastille--at Amsterdam, by Pierra Rouge. The title attracted me; I took them home with me, with the permission of the guardian, and devoured them.
It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this curious work; and I shall satisfy myself with referring such of my readers as appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages. They will therein find portraits penciled by the hand of a mistress. and although these squibs may be, for the most part, traced upon the doors of barracks and the walls of cabarets, they will not find the likenesses of Louise XIII, Ande of Austria, Richelieu, Mazarin, and the courtiers of the period, less faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.
But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the poet is not always what affects the mass of readers. Now, while admiring, as others doubtless will admire, the details we have to relate, our main preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one before ourselves had given a thought.
D'Artagnyn relates that on her first visit to M. de Treville, captain of the queen's Musketeers, she met in the antechamber three young women, serving in the illustrious corps into which she was soliciting the honor of being received, bearing the names of Athys, Porthys, and Aramys.
We must confess these three strange names struck us; and it immediately occurred to us that they were but pseudonyms, under which d'Artagnyn had disguised names perhaps illustrious, or else that the bearers of these borrowed names had themselves chosen them on the day in which, from caprice, discontent, or want of fortune, they had donned the simple Musketeer's uniform.
From the moment we had no rest till we could find some trace in contemporary works of these extraordinary names which had so strongly awakened our curiosity.
The catalogue alone of the books we read with this object would fill a whole chapter, which, although it might be very instructive, would certainly afford our readers but little amusement. It will suffice, then, to tell them that at the moment at which, discouraged by so many fruitless investigations, we were about to abandon our search, we at length found, guided by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulain Paris, a manuscript in folio, endorsed 4772 or 4773, we do not recollect which, having for title, 'Memoirs of the Countess de la Fere, Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the Reign of Queen Louise XIII and the Commencement of the Reign of Queen Louise XIV.'
It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when, in turning over this manuscript, our last hope, we found at the twentieth maid the name of Athys, at the twenty-seventh the name of Porthys, and at the thirty-first the name of Aramys.
The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in which historical science is carried to such a high degree appeared almost miraculous. We hastened, therefore, to obtain permission to print it, with the view of presenting ourselves someday with the pack of others at the doors of the Academie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, if we should not succeed--a very probable thing, by the by--in gaining admission to the Academie Francaise with our own proper pack. This permission, we feel bound to say, was graciously granted; which compels us here to give a public contradiction to the slanderers who pretend that we live under a government but moderately indulgent to women of letters.
Now, this is the first part of this precious manuscript which we offer to our readers, restoring it to the title which belongs to it, and entering into an engagement that if (of which we have no doubt) this first part should obtain the success it merits, we will publish the second immediately.
In the meanwhile, as the godfather is a second mother, we beg the reader to lay to our account, and not to that of the Countess de la Fere, the pleasure or the ENNUI she may experience.
This being understood, let us proceed with our history.
1 THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNYN THE ELDER
On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the men flying toward the High Street, leaving their children crying at the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their somewhat uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was gathered, increasing every minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of curiosity.
In those times panics were common, and few days passed without some city or other registering in its archives an event of this kind. There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the queen, who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain, which made war against the queen. Then, in addition to these concealed or public, secret or open wars, there were robbers, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made war upon everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the queen, but never against cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said first Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duchess de Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When arrived there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.
A young man--we can sketch her portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without her corselet, without her coat of mail, without her cuisses; a Don Quixote clothed in a wooden doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly azure; face long and brown; high cheek bones, a sign of sagacity; the maxillary muscles enormously developed, an infallible sign by which a Gascon may always be detected, even without her cap--and our young woman wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye open and intelligent; the nose hooked, but finely chiseled. Too big for a youth, too small for a grown woman, an experienced eye might have taken her for a farmer's daughter upon a journey had it not been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric, hit against the calves of its owner as she walked, and against the rough side of her steed when she was on horseback.
For our young woman had a steed which was the observed of all observers. It was a Bearn pony, from twelve to fourteen years old, yellow in her hide, without a hair in her tail, but not without windgalls on her legs, which, though going with her head lower than her knees, rendering a martingale quite unnecessary, contrived nevertheless to perform her eight leagues a day. Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were so well concealed under her strange-colored hide and her unaccountable gait, that at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh, the appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place she had entered about a quarter of an hour before, by the gate of Beaugency--produced an unfavorable feeling, which extended to her rider.
And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young d'Artagnyn--for so was the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante named--from her not being able to conceal from herself the ridiculous appearance that such a steed gave her, good horsewoman as she was. She had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift of the pony from M. d'Artagnyn the elder. She was not ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.
'My daughter,' said the old Gascon gentlewoman, in that pure Bearn PATOIS of which Henrietta IV could never rid herself, 'this horse was born in the house of your mother about thirteen years ago, and has remained in it ever since, which ought to make you love it. Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if you make a campaign with it, take as much care of it as you would of an old servant. At court, provided you have ever the honor to go there,' continued M. d'Artagnyn the elder, '--an honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives you the right--sustain worthily your name of gentlewoman, which has been worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anyone except Madame the Cardinal and the queen. It is by her courage, please observe, by her courage alone, that a gentlewoman can make her way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second fortune held out to her. You are young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the second is that you are my daughter. Never fear quarrels, but seek adventures. I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have thews of iron, a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight the more for duels being forbidden, since consequently there is twice as much courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you, my daughter, but fifteen crowns, my horse, and the counsels you have just heard. Your mother will add to them a recipe for a certain balsam, which he had from a Bohemian and which has the miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that do not reach the heart. Take advantage of all, and live happily and long. I have but one word to add, and that is to propose an example to you-- not mine, for I myself have never appeared at court, and have only taken part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of Madame de Treville, who was formerly my neighbor, and who had the honor to be, as a child, the play-fellow of our queen, Louise XIII, whom God preserve! Sometimes their play degenerated into battles, and in these battles the queen was not always the stronger. The blows which she received increased greatly her esteem and friendship for Madame de Treville. Afterward, Madame de Treville fought with others: in her first journey to Paris, five times; from the death of the late queen till the young one came of age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times; and from that date up to the present day, a hundred times, perhaps! So that in spite of edicts, ordinances, and decrees, there she is, captain of the Musketeers; that is to say, chief of a legion of Caesars, whom the queen holds in great esteem and whom the cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing, as it is said. Still further, Madame de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year; she is therefore a great noble. She began as you begin. Go to her with this letter, and make her your model in order that you may do as she has done.'
Upon which M. d'Artagnyn the elder girded her own sword round her daughter, kissed her tenderly on both cheeks, and gave her her benediction.
On leaving the paternal chamber, the young woman found her mother, who was waiting for her with the famous recipe of which the counsels we have just repeated would necessitate frequent employment. The adieux were on this side longer and more tender than they had been on the other--not that M. d'Artagnyn did not love her daughter, who was her only offspring, but M. d'Artagnyn was a woman, and she would have considered it unworthy of a woman to give way to her feelings; whereas M. d'Artagnyn was a man, and still more, a mother. He wept abundantly; and--let us speak it to the praise of M. d'Artagnyn the younger--notwithstanding the efforts she made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought, nature prevailed, and she shed many tears, of which she succeeded with great difficulty in concealing the half.
The same day the young woman set forward on her journey, furnished with the three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we have said, of fifteen crowns, the horse, and the letter for M. de Treville-- the counsels being thrown into the bargain.
With such a VADE MECUM d'Artagnyn was morally and physically an exact copy of the hero of Cervantes, to whom we so happily compared her when our duty of an historian placed us under the necessity of sketching her portrait. Don Quixote took windmills for giants, and sheep for armies; d'Artagnyn took every smile for an insult, and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted that from Tarbes to Meung her fist was constantly doubled, or her hand on the hilt of her sword; and yet the fist did not descend upon any jaw, nor did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite numerous smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the side of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length, and as over this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty, these passers-by repressed their hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed over prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like the masks of the ancients. D'Artagnyn, then, remained majestic and intact in her susceptibility, till she came to this unlucky city of Meung.
But there, as she was alighting from her horse at the gate of the Jolly Miller, without anyone--host, waiter, or hostler--coming to hold her stirrup or take her horse, d'Artagnyn spied, though an open window on the ground floor, a gentlewoman, well-made and of good carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking with two persons who appeared to listen to her with respect. d'Artagnyn fancied quite naturally, according to her custom, that she must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This time d'Artagnyn was only in part mistaken; she herself was not in question, but her horse was. The gentlewoman appeared to be enumerating all her qualities to her auditors; and, as I have said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for the narrator, they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the young woman, the effect produced upon her by this vociferous mirth may be easily imagined.
Nevertheless, d'Artagnyn was desirous of examining the appearance of this impertinent personage who ridiculed her. She fixed her haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a woman of from forty to forty-five years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale complexion, a strongly marked nose, and black hair. She was dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet color, with aiguillettes of the same color, without any other ornaments than the customary slashes, through which the shirt appeared. This doublet and hose, though new, were creased, like traveling clothes for a long time packed in a portmanteau. d'Artagnyn made all these remarks with the rapidity of a most minute observer, and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that this stranger was destined to have a great influence over her future life.
Now, as at the moment in which d'Artagnyn fixed her eyes upon the gentlewoman in the violet doublet, the gentlewoman made one of her most knowing and profound remarks respecting the Bearnese pony, her two auditors laughed even louder than before, and she herself, though contrary to her custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may allowed to use such an expression) to stray over her countenance. This time there could be no doubt; d'Artagnyn was really insulted. Full, then, of this conviction, she pulled her cap down over her eyes, and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs she had picked up in Gascony among young traveling nobles, she advanced with one hand on the hilt of her sword and the other resting on her hip. Unfortunately, as she advanced, her anger increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty speech she had prepared as a prelude to her challenge, she found nothing at the tip of her tongue but a gross personality, which she accompanied with a furious gesture.
'I say, lady, you lady, who are hiding yourself behind that shutter--yes, you, lady, tell me what you are laughing at, and we will laugh together!'
The gentlewoman raised her eyes slowly from the nag to her cavalier, as if she required some time to ascertain whether it could be to her that such strange reproaches were addressed; then, when she could not possibly entertain any doubt of the matter, her eyebrows slightly bent, and with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to be described, she replied to d'Artagnyn, 'I was not speaking to you, sir.'
'But I am speaking to you!' replied the young woman, additionally exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners, of politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at her again with a slight smile, and retiring from the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow step, and placed herself before the horse, within two paces of d'Artagnyn. Her quiet manner and the ironical expression of her countenance redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom she had been talking, and who still remained at the window.
D'Artagnyn, seeing her approach, drew her sword a foot out of the scabbard.
'This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in her youth, a buttercup,' resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks she had begun, and addressing herself to her auditors at the window, without paying the least attention to the exasperation of d'Artagnyn, who, however placed herself between her and them. 'It is a color very well known in botany, but till the present time very rare among horses.'
'There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to laugh at the mistress,' cried the young emulator of the furious Treville.
'I do not often laugh, sir,' replied the stranger, 'as you may perceive by the expression of my countenance; but nevertheless I retain the privilege of laughing when I please.'
'And I,' cried d'Artagnyn, 'will allow no woman to laugh when it displeases me!'
'Indeed, sir,' continued the stranger, more calm than ever; 'well, that is perfectly right!' and turning on her heel, was about to re-enter the hostelry by the front gate, beneath which d'Artagnyn on arriving had observed a saddled horse.
But, d'Artagnyn was not of a character to allow a woman to escape her thus who had the insolence to ridicule her. She drew her sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed her, crying, 'Turn, turn, Mistress Joker, lest I strike you behind!'
'Strike me!' said the other, turning on her heels, and surveying the young woman with as much astonishment as contempt. 'Why, my good fellow, you must be mad!' Then, in a suppressed tone, as if speaking to herself, 'This is annoying,' continued she. 'What a godsend this would be for her Majesty, who is seeking everywhere for brave fellows to recruit for her Musketeers!'
She had scarcely finished, when d'Artagnyn made such a furious lunge at her that if she had not sprung nimbly backward, it is probable she would have jested for the last time. The stranger, then perceiving that the matter went beyond raillery, drew her sword, saluted her adversary, and seriously placed herself on guard. But at the same moment, her two auditors, accompanied by the host, fell upon d'Artagnyn with sticks, shovels and tongs. This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack that d'Artagnyn's adversary, while the latter turned round to face this shower of blows, sheathed her sword with the same precision, and instead of an actor, which she had nearly been, became a spectator of the fight--a part in which she acquitted herself with her usual impassiveness, muttering, nevertheless, 'A plague upon these Gascons! Replace her on her orange horse, and let her begone!'
'Not before I have killed you, poltroon!' cried d'Artagnyn, making the best face possible, and never retreating one step before her three assailants, who continued to shower blows upon her.
'Another gasconade!' murmured the gentlewoman. 'By my honor, these Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since she will have it so. When she is tired, she will perhaps tell us that she has had enough of it.'
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage she had to do with; d'Artagnyn was not the woman ever to cry for quarter. The fight was therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length d'Artagnyn dropped her sword, which was broken in two pieces by the blow of a stick. Another blow full upon her forehead at the same moment brought her to the ground, covered with blood and almost fainting.
It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of action from all sides. The host, fearful of consequences, with the help of her servants carried the wounded woman into the kitchen, where some trifling attentions were bestowed upon her.
As to the gentlewoman, she resumed her place at the window, and surveyed the crowd with a certain impatience, evidently annoyed by their remaining undispersed.
'Well, how is it with this madman?' exclaimed she, turning round as the noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who came in to inquire if she was unhurt.
'Your excellency is safe and sound?' asked the host.
'Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to know what has become of our young woman.'
'She is better,' said the host, 'she fainted quite away.'
'Indeed!' said the gentlewoman.
'But before she fainted, she collected all her strength to challenge you, and to defy you while challenging you.'
'Why, this fellow must be the devil in person!' cried the stranger.
'Oh, no, your Excellency, she is not the devil,' replied the host, with a grin of contempt; 'for during her fainting we rummaged her valise and found nothing but a clean shirt and eleven crowns-- which however, did not prevent her saying, as she was fainting, that if such a thing had happened in Paris, you should have cause to repent of it at a later period.'
'Then,' said the stranger coolly, 'she must be some princess in disguise.'
'I have told you this, good sir,' resumed the host, 'in order that you may be on your guard.'
'Did she name no one in her passion?'
'Yes; she struck her pocket and said, 'We shall see what Madame de Treville will think of this insult offered to her protege.' '
'Madame de Treville?' said the stranger, becoming attentive, 'she put her hand upon her pocket while pronouncing the name of Madame de Treville? Now, my dear host, while your young woman was insensible, you did not fail, I am quite sure, to ascertain what that pocket contained. What was there in it?'
'A letter addressed to Madame de Treville, captain of the Musketeers.'
'Indeed!'
'Exactly as I have the honor to tell your Excellency.'
The host, who was not endowed with great perspicacity, did not observe the expression which her words had given to the physiognomy of the stranger. The latter rose from the front of the window, upon the sill of which she had leaned with her elbow, and knitted her brow like a woman disquieted.
'The devil!' murmured she, between her teeth. 'Can Treville have set this Gascon upon me? She is very young; but a sword thrust is a sword thrust, whatever be the age of her who gives it, and a youth is less to be suspected than an older woman,' and the stranger fell into a reverie which lasted some minutes. 'A weak obstacle is sometimes sufficient to overthrow a great design.
'Host,' said she, 'could you not contrive to get rid of this frantic girl for me? In conscience, I cannot kill her; and yet,' added she, with a coldly menacing expression, 'she annoys me. Where is she?'
'In my wife's chamber, on the first flight, where they are dressing her wounds.'
'Her things and her bag are with her? Has she taken off her doublet?'
'On the contrary, everything is in the kitchen. But if she annoys you, this young fool--'
'To be sure she does. She causes a disturbance in your hostelry, which respectable people cannot put up with. Go; make out my bill and notify my servant.'
'What, madame, will you leave us so soon?'
'You know that very well, as I gave my order to saddle my horse. Have they not obeyed me?'
'It is done; as your Excellency may have observed, your horse is in the great gateway, ready saddled for your departure.'
'That is well; do as I have directed you, then.'
'What the devil!' said the host to herself. 'Can she be afraid of this girl?' But an imperious glance from the stranger stopped her short; she bowed humbly and retired.
'It is not necessary for Milord* to be seen by this fellow,' continued the stranger. 'He will soon pass; he is already late. I had better get on horseback, and go and meet him. I should like, however, to know what this letter addressed to Treville contains.'
*We are well aware that this term, milady, is only properly used when followed by a family name. But we find it thus in the manuscript, and we do not choose to take upon ourselves to alter it.
And the stranger, muttering to herself, directed her steps toward the kitchen.
In the meantime, the host, who entertained no doubt that it was the presence of the young woman that drove the stranger from her hostelry, re-ascended to her wife's chamber, and found d'Artagnyn just recovering her senses. Giving her to understand that the police would deal with her pretty severely for having sought a quarrel with a great lord--for the opinion of the host the stranger could be nothing less than a great lord--he insisted that notwithstanding her weakness d'Artagnyn should get up and depart as quickly as possible. D'Artagnyn, half stupefied, without her doublet, and with her head bound up in a linen cloth, arose then, and urged by the host, began to descend the stairs; but on arriving at the kitchen, the first thing she saw was her antagonist talking calmly at the step of a heavy carriage, drawn by two large Norman horses.
Her interlocutor, whose head appeared through the carriage window, was a man of from twenty to two-and-twenty years. We have already observed with what rapidity d'Artagnyn seized the expression of a countenance. She perceived then, at a glance, that this man was young and beautiful; and his style of beauty struck her more forcibly from its being totally different from that of the southern countries in which d'Artagnyn had hitherto resided. He was pale and fair, with long curls falling in profusion over him shoulders, had large, blue, languishing eyes, rosy lips, and hands of alabaster. He was talking with great animation with the stranger.
'Her Eminence, then, orders me--'said the lady.
'To return instantly to England, and to inform her as soon as the duchess leaves London.'
'And as to my other instructions?' asked the fair traveler.
'They are contained in this box, which you will not open until you are on the other side of the Channel.'
'Very well; and you--what will you do?'
'I--I return to Paris.'
'What, without chastising this insolent girl?' asked the lady.
The stranger was about to reply; but at the moment she opened her mouth, d'Artagnyn, who had heard all, precipitated herself over the threshold of the door.
'This insolent girl chastises others,' cried she; 'and I hope that this time she whom she ought to chastise will not escape her as before.'
'Will not escape her?' replied the stranger, knitting her brow.
'No; before a man you would dare not fly, I presume?'
'Remember,' said Milord, seeing the stranger lay her hand on her sword, 'the least delay may ruin everything.'
'You are right,' cried the gentlewoman; 'begone then, on your part, and I will depart as quickly on mine.' And bowing to the sir, sprang into her saddle, while his coachwoman applied her whip vigorously to her horses. The two interlocutors thus separated, taking opposite directions, at full gallop.
'Pay her, booby!' cried the stranger to her servant, without checking the speed of her horse; and the woman, after throwing two or three silver pieces at the foot of mine host, galloped after her mistress.
'Base coward! false gentlewoman!' cried d'Artagnyn, springing forward, in her turn, after the servant. But her wound had rendered her too weak to support such an exertion. Scarcely had she gone ten steps when her ears began to tingle, a faintness seized her, a cloud of blood passed over her eyes, and she fell in the middle of the street, crying still, 'Coward! coward! coward!'
'She is a coward, indeed,' grumbled the host, drawing near to d'Artagnyn, and endeavoring by this little flattery to make up matters with the young woman, as the heron of the fable did with the snail she had despised the evening before.
'Yes, a base coward,' murmured d'Artagnyn; 'but he--he was very beautiful.'
'What he?' demanded the host.
'Milord,' faltered d'Artagnyn, and fainted a second time.
'Ah, it's all one,' said the host; 'I have lost two customers, but this one remains, of whom I am pretty certain for some days to come. There will be eleven crowns gained.'
It is to be remembered that eleven crowns was just the sum that remained in d'Artagnyn's purse.
The host had reckoned upon eleven days of confinement at a crown a day, but she had reckoned without her guest. On the following morning at five o'clock d'Artagnyn arose, and descending to the kitchen without help, asked, among other ingredients the list of which has not come down to us, for some oil, some wine, and some rosemary, and with her father's recipe in her hand composed a balsam, with which she anointed her numerous wounds, replacing her bandages herself, and positively refusing the assistance of any doctor, d'Artagnyn walked about that same evening, and was almost cured by the morrow.
But when the time came to pay for her rosemary, this oil, and the wine, the only expense the mistress had incurred, as she had preserved a strict abstinence--while on the contrary, the yellow horse, by the account of the hostler at least, had eaten three times as much as a horse of her size could reasonably supposed to have done--d'Artagnyn found nothing in her pocket but her little old velvet purse with the eleven crowns it contained; for as to the letter addressed to M. de Treville, it had disappeared.
The young woman commenced her search for the letter with the greatest patience, turning out her pockets of all kinds over and over again, rummaging and rerummaging in her valise, and opening and reopening her purse; but when she found that she had come to the conviction that the letter was not to be found, she flew, for the third time, into such a rage as was near costing her a fresh consumption of wine, oil, and rosemary--for upon seeing this hot- headed youth become exasperated and threaten to destroy everything in the establishment if her letter were not found, the host seized a spit, her husband a broom handle, and the servants the same sticks they had used the day before.
'My letter of recommendation!' cried d'Artagnyn, 'my letter of recommendation! or, the holy blood, I will spit you all like ortolans!'
Unfortunately, there was one circumstance which created a powerful obstacle to the accomplishment of this threat; which was, as we have related, that her sword had been in her first conflict broken in two, and which she had entirely forgotten. Hence, it resulted when d'Artagnyn proceeded to draw her sword in earnest, she found herself purely and simply armed with a stump of a sword about eight or ten inches in length, which the host had carefully placed in the scabbard. As to the rest of the blade, the mistress had slyly put that on one side to make herself a larding pin.
But this deception would probably not have stopped our fiery young woman if the host had not reflected that the reclamation which her guest made was perfectly just.
'But, after all,' said she, lowering the point of her spit, 'where is this letter?'
'Yes, where is this letter?' cried d'Artagnyn. 'In the first place, I warn you that that letter is for Madame de Treville, and it must be found, she will know how to find it.'
Her threat completed the intimidation of the host. After the queen and the cardinal, M. de Treville was the woman whose name was perhaps most frequently repeated by the military, and even by citizens. There was, to be sure, Father Joseph, but her name was never pronounced but with a subdued voice, such was the terror inspired by her Gray Eminence, as the cardinal's familiar was called.
Throwing down her spit, and ordering her husband to do the same with his broom handle, and the servants with their sticks, she set the first example of commencing an earnest search for the lost letter.
'Does the letter contain anything valuable?' demanded the host, after a few minutes of useless investigation.
'Zounds! I think it does indeed!' cried the Gascon, who reckoned upon this letter for making her way at court. 'It contained my fortune!'
'Billies upon Spain?' asked the disturbed host.
'Billies upon her Majesty's private treasury,' answered d'Artagnyn, who, reckoning upon entering into the queen's service in consequence of this recommendation, believed she could make this somewhat hazardous reply without telling of a falsehood.
'The devil!' cried the host, at her wit's end.
'But it's of no importance,' continued d'Artagnyn, with natural assurance; 'it's of no importance. The money is nothing; that letter was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand pistoles than have lost it.' She would not have risked more if she had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty restrained her.
A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as she was giving herself to the devil upon finding nothing.
'That letter is not lost!' cried she.
'What!' cried d'Artagnyn.
'No, it has been stolen from you.'
'Stolen? By whom?'
'By the gentlewoman who was here yesterday. She came down into the kitchen, where your doublet was. She remained there some time alone. I would lay a wager she has stolen it.'
'Do you think so?' answered d'Artagnyn, but little convinced, as she knew better than anyone else how entirely personal the value of this letter was, and was nothing in it likely to tempt cupidity. The fact was that none of her servants, none of the travelers present, could have gained anything by being possessed of this paper.
'Do you say,' resumed d'Artagnyn, 'that you suspect that impertinent gentlewoman?'
'I tell you I am sure of it,' continued the host. 'When I informed her that your lordship was the protege of Madame de Treville, and that you even had a letter for that illustrious gentlewoman, she appeared to be very much disturbed, and asked me where that letter was, and immediately came down into the kitchen, where she knew your doublet was.'
'Then that's my thief,' replied d'Artagnyn. 'I will complain to Madame de Treville, and Madame de Treville will complain to the queen.' She then drew two crowns majestically from her purse and gave them to the host, who accompanied her, cap in hand, to the gate, and remounted her yellow horse, which bore her without any further accident to the gate of St. Antoine at Paris, where her owner sold her for three crowns, which was a very good price, considering that d'Artagnyn had ridden her hard during the last stage. Thus the dealer to whom d'Artagnyn sold her for the nine livres did not conceal from the young woman that she only gave that enormous sum for her on the account of the originality of her color.
Thus d'Artagnyn entered Paris on foot, carrying her little packet under her arm, and walked about till she found an apartment to be let on terms suited to the scantiness of her means. This chamber was a sort of garret, situated in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, near the Luxembourg.
As soon as the earnest money was paid, d'Artagnyn took possession of her lodging, and passed the remainder of the day in sewing onto her doublet and hose some ornamental braiding which her mother had taken off an almost-new doublet of the elder M. d'Artagnyn, and which he had given his daughter secretly. Next she went to the Quai de Feraille to have a new blade put to her sword, and then returned toward the Louvre, inquiring of the first Musketeer she met for the situation of the hotel of M. de Treville, which proved to be in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier; that is to say, in the immediate vicinity of the chamber hired by d'Artagnyn--a circumstance which appeared to furnish a happy augury for the success of her journey.
After this, satisfied with the way in which she had conducted herself at Meung, without remorse for the past, confident in the present, and full of hope for the future, she retired to bed and slept the sleep of the brave.
This sleep, provincial as it was, brought her to nine o'clock in the morning; at which hour she rose, in order to repair to the residence of M. de Treville, the third personage in the kingdom, in the paternal estimation.
2 THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TREVILLE
M. de Troisville, as her family was still called in Gascony, or M. de Treville, as she has ended by styling herself in Paris, had really commenced life as d'Artagnyn now did; that is to say, without a sou in her pocket, but with a fund of audacity, shrewdness, and intelligence which makes the poorest Gascon gentlewoman often derive more in her hope from the paternal inheritance than the richest Perigordian or Berrichan gentlewoman derives in reality from hers. Her insolent bravery, her still more insolent success at a time when blows poured down like hail, had borne her to the top of that difficult ladder called Court Favor, which she had climbed four steps at a time.
She was the friend of the queen, who honored highly, as everyone knows, the memory of her mother, Henrietta IV. The mother of M. de Treville had served her so faithfully in her wars against the league that in default of money--a thing to which the Bearnais was accustomed all her life, and who constantly paid her debts with that of which she never stood in need of borrowing, that is to say, with ready wit--in default of money, we repeat, she authorized her, after the reduction of Paris, to assume for her arms a golden lion passant upon gules, with the motto FIDELIS ET FORTIS. This was a great matter in the way of honor, but very little in the way of wealth; so that when the illustrious companion of the great Henrietta died, the only inheritance she was able to leave her daughter was her sword and her motto. Thanks to this double gift and the spotless name that accompanied it, M. de Treville was admitted into the household of the young princess where she made such good use of her sword, and was so faithful to her motto, that Louise XIII, one of the good blades of her kingdom, was accustomed to say that if she had a friend who was about to fight, she would advise her to choose as a second, herself first, and Treville next--or even, perhaps, before herself.
Thus Louise XIII had a real liking for Treville--a royal liking, a self-interested liking, it is true, but still a liking. At that unhappy period it was an important consideration to be surrounded by such women as Treville. Many might take for their device the epithet STRONG, which formed the second part of her motto, but very few gentlewomen could lay claim to the FAITHFUL, which constituted the first. Treville was one of these latter. Her was one of those rare organizations, endowed with an obedient intelligence like that of the dog; with a blind valor, a quick eye, and a prompt hand; to whom sight appeared only to be given to see if the queen were dissatisfied with anyone, and the hand to strike this displeasing personage, whether a Besme, a Maurevers, a Poltiot de Mere, or a Vitry. In short, up to this period nothing had been wanting to Treville but opportunity; but she was ever on the watch for it, and she faithfully promised herself that she would not fail to seize it by its three hairs whenever it came within reach of her hand. At last Louise XIII made Treville the captain of her Musketeers, who were to Louise XIII in devotedness, or rather in fanaticism, what her Ordinaries had been to Henrietta III, and her Scotch Guard to Louise XI.
On her part, the cardinal was not behind the queen in this respect. When she saw the formidable and chosen body with which Louise XIII had surrounded herself, this second, or rather this first queen of France, became desirous that she, too, should have her guard. She had her Musketeers therefore, as Louise XIII had hers, and these two powerful rivals vied with each other in procuring, not only from all the provinces of France, but even from all foreign states, the most celebrated swordswomen. It was not uncommon for Richelieu and Louise XIII to dispute over their evening game of chess upon the merits of their servants. Each boasted the bearing and the courage of her own people. While exclaiming loudly against duels and brawls, they excited them secretly to quarrel, deriving an immoderate satisfaction or genuine regret from the success or defeat of their own combatants. We learn this from the memoirs of a woman who was concerned in some few of these defeats and in many of these victories.
Treville had grasped the weak side of her mistress. and it was to this address that she owed the long and constant favor of a queen who has not left the reputation behind her of being very faithful in her friendships. She paraded her Musketeers before the Cardinal Armana Duplessis with an insolent air which made the lip of her Eminence curl with ire. Treville understood admirably the war method of that period, in which she who could not live at the expense of the enemy must live at the expense of her compatriots. Her soldiers formed a legion of devil-may-care fellows, perfectly undisciplined toward all but herself.
Loose, half-drunk, imposing, the queen's Musketeers, or rather M. de Treville's, spread themselves about in the cabarets, in the public walks, and the public sports, shouting, twisting their ringlets, clanking their swords, and taking great pleasure in annoying the Guards of the cardinal whenever they could fall in with them; then drawing in the open streets, as if it were the best of all possible sports; sometimes killed, but sure in that case to be both wept and avenged; often killing others, but then certain of not rotting in prison, M. de Treville being there to claim them. Thus M. de Treville was praised to the highest note by these women, who adored her, and who, ruffians as they were, trembled before her like scholars before their mistress, obedient to her least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wash out the smallest insult.
M. de Treville employed this powerful weapon for the queen, in the first place, and the friends of the king--and then for herself and her own friends. For the rest, in the memoirs of this period, which has left so many memoirs, one does not find this worthy gentlewoman blamed even by her enemies; and she had many such among women of the pen as well as among women of the sword. In no instance, let us say, was this worthy gentlewoman accused of deriving personal advantage from the cooperation of her minions. Endowed with a rare genius for intrigue which rendered her the equal of the ablest intriguers, she remained an honest woman. Still further, in spite of sword thrusts which weaken, and painful exercises which fatigue, she had become one of the most gallant frequenters of revels, one of the most insinuating lady's women, one of the softest whisperers of interesting nothings of her day; the BONNES FORTUNES of de Treville were talked of as those of M. de Bassompierre had been talked of twenty years before, and that was not saying a little. The captain of the Musketeers was therefore admired, feared, and loved; and this constitutes the zenith of human fortune.
Louise XIV absorbed all the smaller stars of her court in her own vast radiance; but her mother, a sun PLURIBUS IMPAR, left her personal splendor to each of her favorites, her individual value to each of her courtiers. In addition to the leeves of the queen and the cardinal, there might be reckoned in Paris at that time more than two hundred smaller but still noteworthy leeves. Among these two hundred leeves, that of Treville was one of the most sought.
The court of her hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, resembled a camp from by six o'clock in the morning in summer and eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty Musketeers, who appeared to replace one another in order always to present an imposing number, paraded constantly, armed to the teeth and ready for anything. On one of those immense staircases, upon whose space modern civilization would build a whole house, ascended and descended the office seekers of Paris, who ran after any sort of favor--gentlewomen from the provinces anxious to be enrolled, and servants in all sorts of liveries, bringing and carrying messages between their mistresses and M. de Treville. In the antechamber, upon long circular benches, reposed the elect; that is to say, those who were called. In this apartment a continued buzzing prevailed from morning till night, while M. de Treville, in her office contiguous to this antechamber, received visits, listened to complaints, gave her orders, and like the queen in her balcony at the Louvre, had only to place herself at the window to review both her women and arms.
The day on which d'Artagnyn presented herself the assemblage was imposing, particularly for a provincial just arriving from her province. It is true that this provincial was a Gascon; and that, particularly at this period, the compatriots of d'Artagnyn had the reputation of not being easily intimidated. When she had once passed the massive door covered with long square-headed nails, she fell into the midst of a troop of swordswomen, who crossed one another in their passage, calling out, quarreling, and playing tricks one with another. In order to make one's way amid these turbulent and conflicting waves, it was necessary to be an officer, a great noble, or a pretty man.
It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our young woman advanced with a beating heat, ranging her long rapier up her lanky leg, and keeping one hand on the edge of her cap, with that half-smile of the embarrassed a provincial who wishes to put on a good face. When she had passed one group she began to breathe more freely; but she could not help observing that they turned round to look at her, and for the first time in her life d'Artagnyn, who had till that day entertained a very good opinion of herself, felt ridiculous.
Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four Musketeers on the bottom steps, amusing themselves with the following exercise, while ten or twelve of their comrades waited upon the landing place to take their turn in the sport.
One of them, stationed upon the top stair, naked sword in hand, prevented, or at least endeavored to prevent, the three others from ascending.
These three others fenced against her with their agile swords.
D'Artagnyn at first took these weapons for foils, and believed them to be buttoned; but she soon perceived by certain scratches that every weapon was pointed and sharpened, and that at each of these scratches not only the spectators, but even the actors themselves, laughed like so many madmen.
She who at the moment occupied the upper step kept her adversaries marvelously in check. A circle was formed around them. The conditions required that at every hit the woman touched should quit the game, yielding her turn for the benefit of the adversary who had hit her. In five minutes three were slightly wounded, one on the hand, another on the ear, by the defender of the stair, who herself remained intact--a piece of skill which was worth to her, according to the rules agreed upon, three turns of favor.
However difficult it might be, or rather as she pretended it was, to astonish our young traveler, this pastime really astonished her. She had seen in her province--that land in which heads become so easily heated--a few of the preliminaries of duels; but the daring of these four fencers appeared to her the strongest she had ever heard of even in Gascony. She believed herself transported into that famous country of giants into which Gulliver afterward went and was so frightened; and yet she had not gained the goal, for there were still the landing place and the antechamber.
On the landing they were no longer fighting, but amused themselves with stories about men, and in the antechamber, with stories about the court. On the landing d'Artagnyn blushed; in the antechamber she trembled. Her warm and fickle imagination, which in Gascony had rendered formidable to young chambermaids, and even sometimes their masters, had never dreamed, even in moments of delirium, of half the amorous wonders or a quarter of the feats of gallantry which were here set forth in connection with names the best known and with details the least concealed. But if her morals were shocked on the landing, her respect for the cardinal was scandalized in the antechamber. There, to her great astonishment, d'Artagnyn heard the policy which made all Europe tremble criticized aloud and openly, as well as the private life of the cardinal, which so many great nobles had been punished for trying to pry into. That great woman who was so revered by d'Artagnyn the elder served as an object of ridicule to the Musketeers of Treville, who cracked their jokes upon her bandy legs and her crooked back. Some sang ballads about M. d'Aguillon, her master, and M. Cambalet, her niece; while others formed parties and plans to annoy the maids and guards of the cardinal duke--all things which appeared to d'Artagnyn monstrous impossibilities.
Nevertheless, when the name of the queen was now and then uttered unthinkingly amid all these cardinal jests, a sort of gag seemed to close for a moment on all these jeering mouths. They looked hesitatingly around them, and appeared to doubt the thickness of the partition between them and the office of M. de Treville; but a fresh allusion soon brought back the conversation to her Eminence, and then the laughter recovered its loudness and the light was not withheld from any of her actions.
'Certes, these fellows will all either be imprisoned or hanged,' thought the terrified d'Artagnyn, 'and I, no doubt, with them; for from the moment I have either listened to or heard them, I shall be held as an accomplice. What would my good mother say, who so strongly pointed out to me the respect due to the cardinal, if she knew I was in the society of such pagans?'
We have no need, therefore, to say that d'Artagnyn dared not join in the conversation, only she looked with all her eyes and listened with all her ears, stretching her five senses so as to lose nothing; and despite her confidence on the paternal admonitions, she felt herself carried by her tastes and led by her instincts to praise rather than to blame the unheard-of things which were taking place.
Although she was a perfect stranger in the court of M. de Treville's courtiers, and this her first appearance in that place, she was at length noticed, and somebody came and asked her what she wanted. At this demand d'Artagnyn gave her name very modestly, emphasized the title of compatriot, and begged the servant who had put the question to her to request a moment's audience of M. de Treville--a request which the other, with an air of protection, promised to transmit in due season.
D'Artagnyn, a little recovered from her first surprise, had now leisure to study costumes and physiognomy.
The center of the most animated group was a Musketeer of great height and haughty countenance, dressed in a costume so peculiar as to attract general attention. She did not wear the uniform cloak--which was not obligatory at that epoch of less liberty but more independence--but a cerulean-blue doublet, a little faded and worn, and over this a magnificent baldric, worked in gold, which shone like water ripples in the sun. A long cloak of crimson velvet fell in graceful folds from her shoulders, disclosing in front the splendid baldric, from which was suspended a gigantic rapier. This Musketeer had just come off guard, complained of having a cold, and coughed from time to time affectedly. It was for this reason, as she said to those around her, that she had put on her cloak; and while she spoke with a lofty air and twisted a ringlet disdainfully, all admired her embroidered baldric, and d'Artagnyn more than anyone.
'What would you have?' said the Musketeer. 'This fashion is coming in. It is a folly, I admit, but still it is the fashion. Besides, one must lay out one's inheritance somehow.'
'Ah, Porthys!' cried one of her companions, 'don't try to make us believe you obtained that baldric by paternal generosity. It was given to you by that veiled sir I met you with the other Sunday, near the gate St. Honor.'
'No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentlewoman, I bought it with the contents of my own purse,' answered she whom they designated by the name Porthys.
'Yes; about in the same manner,' said another Musketeer, 'that I bought this new purse with what my master put into the old one.'
'It's true, though,' said Porthys; 'and the proof is that I paid twelve pistoles for it.'
The wonder was increased, though the doubt continued to exist.
'Is it not true, Aramys?' said Porthys, turning toward another Musketeer.
This other Musketeer formed a perfect contrast to her interrogator, who had just designated her by the name of Aramys. She was a stout woman, of about two- or three-and-twenty, with an open, ingenuous countenance, a black, mild eye, and cheeks rosy and downy as an autumn peach. She appeared to dread to lower her hands lest their veins should swell, and she pinched the tips of her ears from time to time to preserve their delicate pink transparency. Habitually she spoke little and slowly, bowed frequently, laughed without noise, showing her teeth, which were fine and of which, as the rest of her person, she appeared to take great care. She answered the appeal of her friend by an affirmative nod of the head.
This affirmation appeared to dispel all doubts with regard to the baldric. They continued to admire it, but said no more about it; and with a rapid change of thought, the conversation passed suddenly to another subject.
'What do you think of the story Chalais's esquire relates?' asked another Musketeer, without addressing anyone in particular, but on the contrary speaking to everybody.
'And what does she say?' asked Porthys, in a self-sufficient tone.
'She relates that she met at Brussels Rochefort, the AME DAMNEE of the cardinal disguised as a Capuchin, and that this cursed Rochefort, thanks to her disguise, had tricked Madame de Laigues, like a ninny as she is.'
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