The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “What fellow?”

  “The haberdasher Bonacieux.”

  “All that could be done with such a man. From now on he will spy on his wife night and day.”

  The Comte de Rochefort bowed deeply. Here was a master of intrigue making of a conventional salutation a tribute to genius.

  Richelieu sat down, penned a letter, stamped it with his private seal, and rang the bell. The orderly officer entered for the fourth time.

  “Send for Vitray,” the Cardinal ordered. “Tell him he is to go on a journey.”

  An instant later, Vitray, booted and spurred, stood before the Cardinal.

  “Vitray,” said His Eminence, “you are to leave immediately for London. You must not stop a moment on the way. You will deliver this letter to Milady. Here is an order for two hundred pistoles; call on my treasurer and get the money. You shall have as much again if you return within six days, your mission accomplished.”

  The messenger bowed, took the letter and the order, and retired without a word.

  The letter read:

  Milady

  You are instructed to go to the first ball or public ceremony that His Grace the Duke of Buckingham may attend. He will wear on his doublet twelve diamond studs; you will approach him and cut off two of them.

  You are to inform me as soon as you have these studs in your possession.

  XV

  MEN OF LAW AND MEN OF THE SWORD

  Next day Athos being still absent, D’Artagnan and Porthos reported his disappearance to Monsieur de Tréville. As for Aramis, he had obtained a leave of absence for four days; it was believed he had gone to Rouen on family affairs.

  Now Monsieur de Tréville was father and friend to his soldiers, the humblest and most obscure of them, in musketeer uniform, was as certain of his help and support as he could be of a brother’s.

  Accordingly Monsieur de Tréville repaired instantly to the bureau of the Lieutenant Provost, the highest police magistrate; the officer in command of the Croix Rouge district was summoned and some time later reported that Athos was in custody at the Fort L’Evêque prison. He had gone through the same questionings and investigations as Bonacieux had gone through and had been brought face to face with the haberdasher. He had refused to speak up because he wished to allow D’Artagnan the time necessary to carry out his plans. This interval assured, Athos boldly declared his own name, expressing some surprise that his identity had been confounded with that of D’Artagnan. He added that he knew neither Monsieur nor Madame Bonacieux … that he had never spoken to either … that he was involved in these idle proceedings only because he had called on his friend Monsieur d’Artagnan at ten o’clock … that he had previously dined at Monsieur de Tréville’s until shortly before ten … and that several gentlemen of rank, including the Duc de La Trémouille, could testify to that effect.…

  Now men of the long robe are at all times eager to be revenged upon men of the long sword; but the firm and direct statement Athos presented took the magistrate somewhat aback and the names of Monsieur de Tréville and the Duc de La Trémouille were indeed impressive.

  Athos was then sent to the Cardinal but unfortunately the Cardinal was closeted with the King at the Louvre. At precisely that time, Monsieur de Tréville, having left first the Lieutenant Provost, then the Governor of the Fort l’Evêque prison, arrived to call upon the King. As Captain of Musketeers, Monsieur de Tréville had privileges of access to the royal presence at all times.

  It was common gossip that the King was violently prejudiced against the Queen. The Cardinal, who in matters of intrigue, was infinitely more wary of women than of men, made a point of encouraging his master’s prejudices. Among these, one of the chief irritants was the friendship Anne of Austria entertained for Madame de Chevreuse. Between them these two women occasioned His Majesty more anxiety than the wars with Spain, the quarrel with England and the troublous state of his country’s finances. He was firmly convinced that Madame de Chevreuse served the Queen not only in her political activity but—more torturous still!—in her amorous intrigues.

  The mere mention of Madame de Chevreuse’s name infuriated the King. Had she not been exiled to Tours, was she not supposed to be in that city? How then dared she come to Paris and stay there five days as if there were no police in the capital? And here was the Cardinal reporting these facts quite blandly. The King flew into a towering rage.

  Capricious and unfaithful as he was, His Majesty nevertheless prided himself on the epithets of Louis the Just and Louis the Chaste, a crochet which history will find it difficult to explain to posterity save by deeds and facts that fly in the face of logic.

  For the King it was offensive enough to learn that Madame de Chevreuse had come to Paris. But he was angry beyond belief when he heard that the Queen had renewed relations with her by correspondence … that the two women had formed what was then mysteriously called a cabal … that he, the Cardinal himself, on the point of unraveling the most mysterious details of this intrigue, was suddenly foiled … that the Cardinal, in possession of all necessary proof, was about to arrest, in flagrante delicto, the Queen’s emissary to the banished Madame de Chevreuse … that at this moment a musketeer had dared interrupt the course of justice in the most violent fashion … and that this same musketeer had fallen, sword in hand, upon honest men of the law who were investigating the affair in the line of duty.…

  Losing all self-control, Louis XIII started toward the Queen’s apartment, his features set in that mute, pale indignation which when it broke out drove this monarch to commit the most pitiless cruelties. And yet, so far, the Cardinal had not breathed a word about My Lord Duke of Buckingham.

  At exactly this point Monsieur de Tréville entered, cool, polite and impeccably clad. Realizing from the Cardinal’s presence and the King’s sullen rage what had occurred, Monsieur de Tréville felt very much as Samson must have felt among the Philistines. Louis XIII had his hand on the doorknob when Monsieur de Tréville entered. The King swung round:

  “Your arrival is timely, Monsieur,” he said testily, for when he lost his temper he was incapable of dissembling. “I have just learned some pretty things about your musketeers.”

  “Sire,” Tréville countered phlegmatically, “I have some pretty things to tell Your Majesty about his men of law.”

  “Pray explain,” the King commanded haughtily.

  “I have the honor to inform your Majesty,” Monsieur de Tréville continued coolly as ever, “that a party of commissioners, investigators and policemen—excellent folk, I have no doubt, but apparently rabid enemies of all who wear the King’s uniform—took it upon themselves to enter the house of one of my musketeers. They dared arrest him without warrant, led him away through the streets and tossed him into the prison of Fort L’Evêque. I say without warrant, Sire, because they refused to show me any order; and when I say one of my musketeers, I should more properly say one of your musketeers. I hasten to add that the soldier in question is a man of irreproachable conduct and of almost illustrious repute. Undoubtedly Your Majesty recalls him favorably; his name is Athos.”

  “Athos?” the King mechanically repeated. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do know that name.”

  “If Your Majesty recalls,” Monsieur de Tréville insisted, “Monsieur Athos is the musketeer who, in the untoward duel you know of, had the misfortune to wound Monsieur de Cahusac so grievously.” Tréville paused a moment to make his point, then, turning to the Cardinal: “By the way, Monsieur le Cardinal, I trust Monsieur de Cahusac has recovered.”

  “Quite, thank you,” the Cardinal replied, biting his lips.

  “May it please Your Majesty, here are the facts. Monsieur Athos had gone to call upon one of his friends who was out. The friend is a young man from Béarn, a cadet in Your Majesty’s Guards; Monsieur des Essarts is his commanding officer. Athos had barely made himself comfortable at his friend’s and taken up a book while awaiting his friend’s return when a motley crew of bailiffs and soldiers laid siege to the
house, broke down several doors—”

  (The Cardinal made a sign to the King, as if to say: “That was on account of the matter I just mentioned.”)

  “We know all about that!” the King retorted. “It was all done in our service.”

  “Then it was also in Your Majesty’s service that one of my musketeers, an innocent man, was seized, hemmed in between two guards like a malefactor and, gallant gentleman though he is, was paraded through the streets to serve as the laughing stock of an insolent rabble? This gentleman, I may add,” Monsieur de Tréville’s voice rose ever so slightly, “this gentleman,” he emphasized, “has shed his blood at least a dozen times on behalf of Your Majesty and he is ready to do so again.”

  “Indeed?” The King seemed somewhat shaken. “Is that what actually happened?”

  “Monsieur de Tréville has failed to mention an important fact, Sire,” the Cardinal commented drily. “One hour previously this innocent musketeer and paragon of gallantry, his sword in hand, struck down four commissioners who had been sent personally by myself to inquire into a matter of the highest importance.”

  “I defy Your Eminence to prove that!” cried Monsieur de Tréville with typically Gascon frankness and soldierly bluntness. “Exactly one hour previously, Monsieur Athos—who, I may say confidentially, is a man of lofty rank—had just finished doing me the honor of dining at my board and was conversing in my drawing room with the Duc de La Trémouille, the Comte de Châlus and myself.”

  The King glanced quizzically at the Cardinal.

  “Official reports do not lie,” the Cardinal said meaningfully in reply to the King’s mute query. “The officers of the law who were molested drew up this official record which I have the honor to bring to Your Majesty’s attention.”

  Tréville broke in: “Is the written testimony of a man of law to be compared to the word of honor of a soldier?”

  “Come, come, Tréville, hush!”

  But Tréville persisted:

  “If His Eminence entertains the slightest suspicion against one of my musketeers, the justice of Monsieur le Cardinal is famed enough for me to demand an inquiry of my own.”

  “If I am not mistaken,” the Cardinal observed impassively, “a Béarnais, a friend of this musketeer’s, lives in the house which my police raided.”

  “Your Eminence means Monsieur d’Artagnan?”

  “I mean a young man you have taken under your wing, Monsieur.”

  “Yes, D’Artagnan, Your Eminence, precisely.”

  “Do you not suspect this young man of giving bad counsel to—”

  “To Monsieur Athos, a man double his age?” Monsieur de Tréville asked wonderingly; and, before the Cardinal could reply, “No, Monseigneur, I do not suspect anything of the kind. Besides, Monsieur d’Artagnan also spent the evening with me.”

  “Well, well!” the Cardinal exclaimed. “Everybody seems to have spent the evening with you.”

  “Does His Eminence venture to doubt my word?” Tréville asked hotly.

  “Heaven forbid!” the Cardinal said piously. “But tell me, at what time was he at your house?”

  “I can tell Your Eminence that quite positively. Just as he arrived I happened to notice that it was half-past eight by the clock though I had thought it was later.”

  “And at what time did he leave your house?”

  “At ten-thirty—an hour after the event.”

  The Cardinal, who did not for a moment question Tréville’s integrity, felt victory slipping through his fingers. Here was a mystery he must solve. “After all, Monsieur,” he went on, “Athos was certainly picked up at the house in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.”

  “Is one friend forbidden to visit another? Is a musketeer in my company forbidden to fraternize with a guardsman in Monsieur des Essart’s?”

  “Yes, when they meet in a house that is suspect.”

  “Quite so, Tréville,” the King remarked. “The house is under suspicion. Perhaps you did not know it?”

  “Indeed, Sire, I did not. Of course some part of the house may bear investigation but not Monsieur d’Artagnan’s apartment. That, I can swear to! If I can believe what the young man says, Sire—and I do—Your Majesty has no more devoted servant and the Cardinal no more profound admirer.”

  The King turned toward His Eminence and, with a suggestion of malice:

  “Surely this must be the youth who wounded De Jussac in that unfortunate encounter near the convent of the Carmelites?”

  The Cardinal blushed.

  “Yes, Sire,” Tréville put in quickly. “And he wounded Bernajoux the day after. Your Majesty has an excellent memory!”

  “Come, what shall we decide?” the King asked His Eminence.

  “That concerns Your Majesty more than myself,” the Cardinal replied. “I maintain that he is guilty.”

  “And I deny it!” Tréville retorted. “But His Majesty has judges and those judges will decide.”

  “Agreed!” said the King. “Let us refer the matter to the judges. It is their business to judge and judge they shall!”

  “And yet,” Tréville commented. “In these sorry times, it seems a pity that the noblest of men must be subjected to obloquy and persecution.

  “The Army will resent it, I am sure; are your soldiers varlets that the police may molest them for alleged misdemeanors?”

  These words were deliberately insolent; Tréville hoped for an explosion. Does not a mine sprung burst afire and does not fire shed considerable light?

  “Misdemeanors!” The King scowled. “Misdemeanors indeed! And what do you know about them, Monsieur? Stick to your musketeers and do not annoy us with such statements. To hear you speak, if by ill luck some musketeer should happen to be arrested, all France is in danger. Good heavens! What a pother about one musketeer! By God, I shall arrest ten of them, fifty, a hundred, the whole company without tolerating a whisper of comment.”

  “So long as the musketeers are victims of your suspicion, Sire, the musketeers are guilty. Therefore, as Your Majesty sees, I am prepared to surrender my sword. Having accused my musketeers, the Cardinal will, I am sure, proceed to accuse me. Accordingly I prefer to constitute myself a prisoner with Monsieur Athos, who is already under arrest and with Monsieur d’Artagnan who doubtless soon will be.”

  “You Gascon firebrand, will you have done?” said the King.

  “Sire,” Tréville replied evenly, “pray order my musketeer to be returned to me or else to be tried by process of law.”

  “He shall be tried,” said the Cardinal.

  “So much the better then. I shall request His Majesty to allow me to plead in his behalf.”

  The King, fearing a public scandal, suggested:

  “If His Eminence had not certain personal motives …?”

  “Excuse me, Sire,” the Cardinal interrupted, forestalling what he knew the King was about to say. “The moment Your Majesty considers me prejudiced, I beg to withdraw.”

  “Come now, Tréville,” the King urged, “will you swear by my father that Monsieur Athos was at your house during the event and that he had no hand in it?”

  “By your glorious father and by yourself whom I love and revere above all else in the world, I swear it!”

  “Pray reflect, Sire,” the Cardinal coaxed, “if we release the prisoner, we shall never discover the truth.”

  “Monsieur Athos will be at hand,” Tréville retorted, “ready to testify whenever the gownsmen care to question him. He will not desert, Monsieur le Cardinal, rest assured of that. I will be personally answerable for him.”

  “Of course he will not desert,” the King agreed, “and he can always be found, just as Monsieur de Tréville has said. Moreover—” here the King lowered his voice and glanced beseechingly at His Eminence, “let us give them apparent security. It is good policy to do so.”

  This policy of Louis XIII made Richelieu smile.

  “Order it as you will, Sire; you possess the right of pardon.”

  “The right of pardon
is applicable only to the guilty,” Tréville demurred, eager to have the last word, “and my musketeer is innocent. It is not an act of mercy you are about to perform, Sire, but an act of justice.”

  “He is now at Fort L’Evêque?”

  “Yes, Sire, held incommunicado, in solitary confinement, like the lowest of criminals.”

  “The devil, the devil!” murmured the King. “What must we do?”

  “Sign the order for his release, Sire. That will be the end of it,” the Cardinal proposed. “I believe with Your Majesty that Monsieur de Tréville’s guarantee is more than sufficient.”

  Tréville bowed respectfully, with a joy not unmixed with fear; he would have preferred stubborn resistance on the part of the Cardinal to this sudden compliance. The King signed the order for release; Tréville accepted it with alacrity. Just as he was leaving, the Cardinal gave him a friendly smile and said to the King:

  “A perfect harmony reigns between the Commanding Officer of Your Musketeers, Sire, and his soldiers. That is really very profitable for the service and reflects honor upon all concerned.”

  Monsieur de Tréville was not fooled by these honeyed words. The Cardinal would play him some nasty trick or other, and in short order. Who had ever outwitted the Cardinal with impunity? The Captain of Musketeers realized he must make haste, too, for the King might change his mind at any moment. After all it was harder to send a man back to the Bastille or to Fort L’Evêque once he had been released than to detain a man already behind bars.

  When, after a triumphant entry into Fort L’Evêque, he liberated Athos he found that the musketeer’s quiet indifference had not forsaken him.

  Later as soon as Athos met D’Artagnan: “You have had a narrow escape,” he told him. “You bested De Jussac; I have just paid the price for your gallantry. But your account with Bernajoux remains to be settled and I advise you to be careful.”

  Indeed, Monsieur de Tréville had good reason to mistrust the Cardinal and to sense that all was not finished yet. Scarcely had the Captain of Musketeers closed the door behind him than His Eminence said to the King: