The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  Here was the chance Monsieur de Tréville had been waiting for. Knowing the King of old, he realized that all these complaints were but a prelude and a means whereby his master roused himself to the proper pitch of anger.

  “Have I been so unfortunate as to incur Your Majesty’s displeasure?” asked the Captain of Musketeers, feigning the greatest astonishment. Without replying directly to the question:

  “Is this how you perform your duties, Monsieur?” the King continued. “Did I appoint you Captain of Musketeers so that your men should assassinate a soldier, disturb a whole quarter and try to set fire to Paris, while you stand by without opening your mouth?” The King paused a moment, then added judiciously: “But perhaps I am too hasty in rebuking you. Doubtless the rioters are in prison and you have come to tell me that justice has been done.”

  “Sire,” Monsieur de Tréville answered calmly. “On the contrary, I have come to ask you for justice.”

  “Against whom?”

  “Against slanderers.”

  “Well, well, here is something new! I suppose you are going to tell me that your three damned musketeers, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, plus your lad from Béarn, did not fall upon poor Bernajoux like so many maniacs? I suppose they didn’t treat him so roughly that by this time he is probably dead? I suppose they didn’t lay siege to the mansion of the Duc de La Trémouille and even attempt to burn it? This would be no great misfortune in time of war, for the place is a nest of Huguenots. But in times of peace, what a frightful example! Come now, can you deny this?”

  “Who told you this fine story, Sire?”

  “Who told me this fine story? Who but one who watches while I sleep, who labors while I amuse myself, and who governs everything at home and abroad, in France and in all Europe.”

  “Your Majesty is doubtless referring to God, for I know of no one save God who stands so high above Your Majesty.”

  “No, Monsieur, I mean the prop of the State, my only servant, my only friend, the Cardinal!”

  “His Eminence is not His Holiness, Sire.”

  “What do you mean by that, Monsieur?”

  “I mean that only the Pope is infallible and that his infallibility does not extend to cardinals.”

  “Do you propose to tell me that the Cardinal is misleading me? You are accusing him, eh? Come, speak up; tell me frankly, are you accusing him?”

  “No, Sire, but I say that the Cardinal has been misled. I say that he is ill-informed. I say that he was over-hasty in accusing His Majesty’s Musketeers, that he is unjust to them, and—I repeat—that he has not gone to the proper sources for his information.”

  “The accusation comes from Monsieur de La Trémouille himself. What do you say to that?”

  “I might answer, Sire, that he is personally too much involved in the matter to be a very impartial witness. But I shall do nothing of the kind, for I know Trémouille to be a loyal gentleman. I therefore refer the whole thing to him—but on one condition, Sire!”

  “Which is—?”

  “That Your Majesty will summon him here, that you will question him in private, and that I may see Your Majesty as soon as you have seen him.”

  “What? You will subscribe to anything Monsieur de La Trémouille may say?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “You will abide by his advice?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you will agree to any conditions he sets?”

  “Certainly.”

  “La Chesnaye!” the King called. “La Chesnaye!” The monarch’s confidential valet, who never left the door, entered the room. “La Chesnaye,” said the King, “send somebody immediately to find Monsieur de La Trémouille. I wish to speak to him this evening.”

  As the valet withdrew, the Captain of Musketeers turned to the King:

  “Your Majesty promises not to see anyone else in the meantime.”

  “I promise.”

  “Tomorrow, then, Sire?”

  “Until tomorrow, Monsieur.”

  “At what time, if it please Your Majesty?”

  “At any hour you will.”

  “But if I came too early, I would be afraid of awakening Your Majesty.”

  “Afraid of awakening me? Do I ever sleep? No, Monsieur, it is a long time since I had a good night’s rest. I sometimes doze, that is all. Come as early as you like, say at seven. But heaven help you if your musketeers are guilty.”

  “If my musketeers are guilty, Sire, the culprits shall be delivered into Your Majesty’s hands for you to dispose of them at your pleasure. Does Your Majesty require anything further? You have but to speak, Sire, I am ready to obey.”

  “No, Monsieur, no. I am not called Louis the Just without reason. Tomorrow, then, Monsieur, until tomorrow.”

  “Till then, and God preserve Your Majesty.”

  Poorly though the King might sleep, Monsieur de Tréville slept still worse. At half-past six next morning, the three musketeers and D’Artagnan were awaiting him; he took them with him but gave no encouragement and made no promises nor did he hide the fact that their luck, and even his own, depended on a throw of the dice. At the foot of the rear stairway, he asked them to wait. If the King was still angry at them, they could depart unseen; if His Majesty consented to receive them, they had only to be called.

  In the King’s private antechamber, Monsieur de Tréville learned from La Chesnaye that they had not been able to reach Monsieur de La Trémouille at his mansion the night before, that he had returned too late to obey the summons, that he had only just arrived, and was even now closeted with His Majesty. The Captain of Musketeers was highly pleased at this news, for he could be certain that no foreign suggestion could insinuate itself between Monsieur de La Trémouille’s testimony and himself. In fact after some ten minutes, the door of the King’s closet opened and the Duc de La Trémouille came out.

  “Monsieur de Tréville,” said the duke, “His Majesty has just sent for me to inquire into the circumstances of what happened yesterday morning at my mansion. I told the King the truth, namely that the fault lay with my people and that I was ready to apologize. Since I have the good fortune to meet you here, I beg you to forgive me and to consider me always your friend.”

  “Monsieur le Duc,” Tréville replied, “I was so confident of your loyalty that I asked for no other defender before His Majesty. I see that I was not mistaken; I thank you. There is still one man in France who measures up to what I said of you.”

  “Well spoken!” cried the King. “Since he claims to be a friend of yours, Tréville, tell him I should like to be a friend of his. But he neglects me. Why, it is nearly three years since I saw him last.”

  “My thanks, Sire, my warmest thanks. Of course I do not refer to Monsieur de Tréville, but I beg Your Majesty to believe that those whom you see at all hours of the day are not your most devoted servants.”

  “So, you heard what I said, Monsieur le Duc. So much the better, so much the better!” the King declared. “Well Tréville, where are your musketeers? I told you the day before yesterday to bring them along; why haven’t you done so, pray?”

  “They are downstairs, Sire, and with your permission La Chesnaye will bid them come up.”

  “Yes, let them come up immediately. It is almost eight o’clock and I expect another visitor at nine. Go, Monsieur le Duc, and please come back to see me occasionally. Come in, Tréville.”

  The duke saluted and retired; as he opened the door, the three musketeers and D’Artagnan, escorted by La Chesnaye, appeared at the top of the staircase.

  “Come in, my brave lads,” the King called. “Come in, I am going to scold you.”

  The musketeers advanced bowing, D’Artagnan close behind them.

  “What the devil!” the King exclaimed. “Seven of His Eminence’s Guards crushed by you four in two days! That’s too many, gentlemen, too many! If you go on at that rate, the Cardinal will have to recruit a new corps and I to apply the dueling edicts with utmost severity. One man, now and then, I don�
��t mind much; but seven in two days, I repeat, is too many, much too many.”

  “As Your Majesty sees, my men have come, contrite and repentant, to make their apologies.”

  “A fig for their contrition and repentance,” the King said. “I place no confidence in their hypocritical faces, particularly that Gascon face over there! Come here, Monsieur.”

  D’Artagnan, aware that the compliment was addressed to him and assuming a most shamefaced air, came forward.

  “Why, you told me he was a young man! This is a boy, Tréville, a mere boy! Do you mean to say it was he who dealt Jussac that master-stroke?”

  “Yes, and he accounted for Bernajoux as well.”

  “Indeed?”

  “And besides this,” Athos put in, “had he not rescued me from Bicarat, I would certainly not have the honor of making my very humble obeisance to Your Majesty at this moment.”

  “La, this lad from Béarn is a very devil! Ventre-Saint-Gris, as the King my father used to say!… I suppose this sort of work involves the slashing of many doublets and the breaking of many swords. And Gascons are always poor, are they not?”

  “Sire, I can guarantee that they have not yet discovered any gold mines in their mountains. Yet God owes them this miracle as a reward for the way they championed the King, your father.”

  “Which amounts to saying that the Gascons made a King of me too, for I am my father’s son, eh, Tréville? Well, that’s all true and I shall not deny it. La Chesnaye, go rummage through all my pockets and see if you can find forty pistoles; if you do, bring me the money. And now, let us see, young man: your hand upon your conscience, tell me exactly how all this came about.”

  D’Artagnan related the adventure of the day before in full detail: how he had been unable to sleep for joy at his approaching audience with His Majesty … how he had called at his friends’ three hours before the appointment … how they had gone to the tennis court together … how, afraid of being struck in the face by a ball, he had been ridiculed by Bernajoux … how Bernajoux had very nearly paid for his jeers with his life … and finally how Monsieur de La Trémouille, who had had nothing to do with the matter, almost lost his mansion because of it.…

  “That is what I fancied,” the King murmured. “Your account agrees in every particular with Trémouille’s. Poor Cardinal! Seven men in two days, and his very best men, too! But, that will do, gentlemen, you hear, that will do. You have taken your revenge for the affair of the Rue Férou and even exceeded it; you ought to be satisfied.”

  “If Your Majesty is, then so are we,” said Monsieur de Tréville.

  “Yes, I am quite satisfied.” Taking a handful of gold from La Chesnaye and putting it into D’Artagnan’s hand: “Here you are!” the King said. “Here is a proof of my satisfaction.”

  The notions of pride which are universally observed today did not prevail in the seventeenth century. Gentlemen received gifts of money from the King’s hand without feeling in any way humiliated. D’Artagnan pocketed his forty pistoles without scruple; on the contrary, he thanked His Majesty heartily.

  “There,” said the King looking at the clock, “there, now that it’s half-past eight, you may withdraw. (I told you I was expecting a caller at nine.) Thank you for your devotedness, gentlemen; I can continue to rely upon it, can I not?”

  The four assured His Majesty that nothing was too much to do in his service, that their loyalty was boundless and that, for his sake, they would allow themselves to be cut to pieces.

  “Good, good, but keep whole; that will be better and you will be more useful to me.” As they retired, he turned to Tréville, and added, in a low voice: “I know you have no room in the musketeers, and besides we decided that a trial period elsewhere is necessary before entering that corps. So I beg you to place this young man in the company of guards commanded by Monsieur des Essarts, your brother-in-law.”

  The Captain of Musketeers nodded affirmatively.

  “Ah, Tréville, I rejoice at the face His Eminence will make when he finds this out. He will be furious; but I don’t care, I am doing what is right.”

  The King waved good-bye to Tréville who, joining the four companions, found D’Artagnan dividing his forty pistoles among them.

  As His Majesty had foreseen, the Cardinal was really furious, so furious, indeed, that for a week he kept away from the King’s gaming-table. This did not prevent the King from being as affable to him as possible whenever they met or from asking him in the most kindly tone:

  “Well, Monsieur le Cardinal, how fares it with that poor Bernajoux and that poor Jussac of yours?”

  VII

  HOME LIFE OF THE MUSKETEERS

  When the four young men were outside the Louvre, D’Artagnan consulted his friends on what use he might best make of his share of the forty pistoles. Athos suggested he order a good meal at The Sign of the Fir Cone, an excellent tavern. Porthos urged him to engage a lackey. Aramis proposed that D’Artagnan provide himself with a suitable mistress.

  The banquet took place that very day, with the lackey serving them at table, for Athos had ordered the meal and Porthos had furnished the lackey. D’Artagnan’s domestic was called Planchet; he hailed from Picardy. Porthos had picked him up by the bridge at the Quai de la Tournelle, having found him leaning over the parapet and watching the rings that formed as he spat into the water.

  Porthos vowed that this occupation gave proof of reflective and contemplative disposition; he therefore engaged him without further recommendation. The musketeer’s noble bearing had won Planchet over immediately and he congratulated himself on serving so elegant a gentleman, but Porthos soon disabused him by explaining that he already had a valet called Mousqueton, that his mode of life though considerable would not support two servants, and that Planchet must enter D’Artagnan’s service. However, when Planchet waited at the dinner given by his master and saw him take out a handful of gold to pay for it, he believed his fortune made and he gave thanks to Heaven for his luck in meeting such a Croesus. He persevered in this illusion even after the feast, for with its remnants he repaired his long abstinence. But when he made his master’s bed that evening, his chimeras vanished like so much smoke. D’Artagnan’s was the only bed in the apartment, which consisted of an antechamber and a bedroom; Planchet had to sleep in the antechamber on a coverlet which D’Artagnan stripped from the bed and had thenceforth to do without.

  Athos, for his part, had a valet named Grimaud (the word means ignoramus and, by extension, a scribbler) whom he had trained to serve him in a singularly original manner. He was an extraordinarily taciturn man, this Athos! He had been living in the strictest intimacy with his comrades Porthos and Aramis for five or six years; during all that time they could remember having often seen him smile but they had never once heard him laugh. His words were brief and expressive, conveying all that was meant and no more, with never any embellishments, embroideries or arabesques. His conversation dealt with hard facts, with never an episode or interlude of fantasy.

  Although Athos was barely thirty years old, strikingly handsome and remarkably intelligent, he was never known to have had a mistress. He never spoke of women. To be sure he never prevented others from doing so in his presence but this sort of talk, to which he contributed only bitter comment and misanthropic observations, was obviously disagreeable to him. His reserve, his severity and his silence made almost an old man of him. In order not to depart from his habits, he had accustomed Grimaud to obey his slightest gesture or a mere movement of his lips. He spoke to him only under the most exceptional circumstances.

  Though Grimaud entertained a strong attachment to his master’s person and a great veneration for his character, he feared him as he feared fire. Sometimes, believing he understood what Athos desired, he would hasten to execute the order received and do precisely the contrary. Athos would then shrug his shoulders and, without losing his temper, give Grimaud a sound thrashing. On these occasions, Athos would speak a little.

  Porthos, as we have
already seen, was by character quite the opposite of Athos. Porthos not only talked much but he talked loudly and, to do him justice, without caring whether anybody was listening to him or not. He talked for the pleasure of talking and for the pleasure of hearing himself talk on all subjects except the sciences, explaining this omission by the inveterate hatred he had borne scholars since childhood. Less distinguished in bearing and manner than Athos, he was conscious of his inferiority; in the early days of their intimacy, this had often caused him to be unjust toward his friend, whom he sought to outshine by the brilliance of his sartorial effects. But in his simple musketeer’s uniform, with only his way of tossing back his head or of advancing his foot, Athos at once regained the place that was his due, relegating the ostentatious Porthos to a subordinate position. Porthos consoled himself by filling Monsieur de Tréville’s antechamber and the guardroom at the Louvre with his amatory triumphs, which Athos never mentioned. At the present moment, having passed from the judiciary to the military, from the legist’s lady to the warrior’s wife, Porthos was concerned with nothing less than a foreign princess who was enormously fond of him.

  The old proverb says: “Tel maître, tel valet; like master, like man.” Having considered Grimaud, valet to Athos, let us now consider Mousqueton, who served Porthos in like capacity.

  He was a Norman rejoicing under the pacific name of Boniface (a term applied to artless or witless persons) until Porthos made him change it to the infinitely more sonorous name of Mousqueton. He agreed to serve Porthos on condition he be merely clothed and lodged, but on a handsome scale; in return, he worked elsewhere two hours a day at a job which provided for his other wants. Porthos accepted the bargain for it suited him perfectly. He would have doublets fashioned out of his old clothes and spare cloaks for Mousqueton; thus, thanks to a very skilful tailor who made the clothes look as good as new by turning them (his wife was suspected of wishing to lure Porthos away from his aristocratic habits) Mousqueton cut a very dashing figure when he waited upon his master.