The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “Monseigneur, I was going—”

  “You were going hunting at Windsor, I dare say, or elsewhere. At all events, that is your own business. However, it is my business to know what is going on. I may add that on your return you were received by an august personage. I am happy to see that you wear the keepsake that lady gave you.”

  Too late D’Artagnan twirled his ring inward to conceal the jewel.

  “The following day,” His Eminence continued, “you received a visit from Monsieur de Cavois. He invited you to report here but you saw fit to ignore his request.”

  “Monseigneur—”

  “You were wrong; you should have obeyed his summons.”

  “I feared I had incurred Your Eminence’s displeasure.”

  “Pray why, Monsieur? Could you incur my displeasure for carrying out orders from your superiors with more courage and intelligence than most men would have done? I punish those who fail in obedience, not those who like yourself carry out their orders—all too well! For proof of it I ask you to recall the exact date on which I invited you to call on me. I also ask you to search your memory in order to recall what happened that very evening.”

  That was the very evening that Madame Bonacieux was abducted. D’Artagnan shuddered, remembering how just half an hour ago the poor woman had passed close to him, doubtless carried off by the same power that had caused her disappearance.

  “In fine,” the Cardinal continued, “having heard nothing of you for some time, I wished to know what you were doing. Besides you do owe me some thanks. You must yourself have noticed how considerately you were treated in all these circumstances.”

  D’Artagnan bowed respectfully.

  “This was done not only in a spirit of sheer equity, but also because of a place which I had in mind for you in the future.”

  D’Artagnan looked more and more astonished. “I wanted to disclose this plan to you the day you received my first invitation, but you did not come. Fortunately, nothing is lost through this delay and you shall hear my plan now. Sit down there in front of me, Monsieur d’Artagnan; you are too well-born to stand listening to me like a lackey.”

  The Cardinal pointed to a chair, but the young man was so amazed that he waited for a second sign from the Cardinal before obeying.

  “You are a brave man, Monsieur d’Artagnan, but you are also a cautious man, which is even better. I like men of heart—I mean courage, and men of head—I mean tact. But I must warn you that here, on the threshold of your career, you have powerful enemies. Be very careful, Monsieur, or they will destroy you!”

  “Alas, Monseigneur, they can readily do so, for they are strong and well supported, whilst I stand alone!”

  “True. But however lonely you may be, you have already accomplished a great deal and you will accomplish even more, I am sure. Still I feel you need guidance in the adventurous career you have undertaken, for if I am not mistaken you came to Paris with the lofty ambition of making your fortune?”

  “I am young, Monseigneur, my age is that of extravagant optimism.”

  “Extravagant optimism is pabulum for fools, Monsieur, and you are a man of intelligence. Tell me, what would you say to a commission as ensign in my guards and to a lieutenancy after the campaign?”

  “Ah, Monseigneur—”

  “You accept, do you not?”

  D’Artagnan, deeply embarrassed, could but repeat:

  “Ah, Monseigneur!”

  “You refuse, then?”

  “I serve in His Majesty’s Guards, Monseigneur, and I have no reason to be dissatisfied.”

  “But it seems to me that my guards are also His Majesty’s Guards. Any one serving in a French corps serves the King.”

  “Your Eminence misunderstood me.”

  “You want an excuse to transfer, is that it? Well, here it is. I offer you promotion; the campaign is about to open; opportunity knocks at your door. So much for the outside world! For yourself personally, you are assured protection in high places.” The Cardinal cleared his throat. “You must realize, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I have received serious complaints against you. It would seem that you do not devote your days and nights exclusively to His Majesty’s service.”

  D’Artagnan blushed.

  “Moreover—” the Cardinal placed his hand on a sheaf of papers, “I have here a complete file concerning you. But before reading it I wished to talk to you. I know you to be a man of character and determination. Under guidance your services might lead to the greatest advantages instead of precipitating your ruin. Think it over, young man, and make up your mind.”

  “Your kindness overwhelms me, Monseigneur; Your Eminence’s magnanimity makes me seem mean as an earthworm. But since you permit me to speak frankly—”

  D’Artagnan stopped short.

  “Certainly; speak out—”

  “Then I would presume to say that all my friends serve in either the Royal Musketeers or in the King’s Guards … that all my enemies, by an inconceivable quirk of fortune, are in the service of Your Eminence.… So that if I accepted your flattering offer, I would be ill regarded among the King’s forces and ill received among Your Eminence’s.”

  The Cardinal smiled disdainfully.

  “Are you so conceited as to believe my offer does not match your merits?” he asked.

  “Monseigneur, you are a hundred times too kind to me. On the contrary, I do not think that I have so far done anything to be worthy of your favors. The siege of La Rochelle is about to open, Monseigneur. I shall be serving under the eyes of Your Eminence. If I am fortunate enough to perform some brilliant action there, I shall feel I have earned the protection with which Your Eminence honors me. All in its good time, Monseigneur. Hereafter perhaps I shall win the right of giving myself; today I would seem to be selling myself.”

  The Cardinal glanced shrewdly at D’Artagnan with an expression of annoyance, tempered by a certain reluctant esteem.

  “In other words you refuse to serve me, Monsieur.”

  “Monseigneur—”

  “Well, well, keep your freedom then, preserve your sympathies, cherish your hatreds—”

  “Monseigneur—”

  “I wish you no ill, Monsieur. Remember, though, that we are sufficiently hard put to it to defend and reward our friends; we owe nothing to our enemies. Let me give you a final word of advice: watch your behavior, Monsieur d’Artagnan! The moment I withdraw my protecting hand, I would not give a straw for your life—”

  “I shall do my best,” the Gascon promised with noble assurance.

  Richelieu looked meaningfully at him and stressing his words:

  “In the future,” he said, “if some mischance should happen to befall you, remember that it was I who sought you out and that I did what I could to forestall a catastrophe.”

  “Whatever may happen,” D’Artagnan placed his hand to his heart and bowed, “I shall entertain an everlasting gratitude to Your Eminence for what you now do for me.”

  “Well, then, so be it, Monsieur; we shall meet again after the campaign. Anyhow, I shall keep an eye on you for I shall be at the siege—” he pointed to a magnificent suit of armor which he was to wear, “and on our return, well—we shall take stock of the situation.”

  “I beg Your Eminence to spare me the burden of your disfavor,” D’Artagnan ventured. “Pray remain neutral, Monseigneur, if you find that I act as becomes a true and gallant gentleman.”

  “Young man, if I can some day repeat what I have said to you today, I promise you I shall do so.”

  These final words, conveying the grim doubt they did, dismayed D’Artagnan more than any threat could have done. They constituted a warning. The Cardinal was seeking to preserve him from some misfortune which menaced him. D’Artagnan opened his mouth to reply, but with a haughty gesture the Cardinal dismissed him.

  D’Artagnan took his leave. At the door his heart almost failed him and he was on the point of returning, but the grave, stern countenance of Athos rose before his eyes. If
D’Artagnan made the pact which the Cardinal proposed, Athos would repudiate him, he could never again shake hands with him. The influence of a truly great character being powerful, it was the mere thought of Athos that kept D’Artagnan from retracing his steps.

  Taking the stairway by which he had come, D’Artagnan found Athos and his three supporters awaiting his return with considerable apprehension. D’Artagnan reassured them with a word and Planchet ran to inform the other sentinels that it was useless to stand by any longer because his master had emerged from the palace safe and sound.

  When the friends were assembled in the Rue Férou, Aramis and Porthos pressed D’Artagnan to explain this curious interview. He contented himself with telling them that Monsieur le Cardinal had sent for him to propose he enter the Cardinal’s Guards with the rank of ensign. He hastened to add that he had refused this honor.

  “You did well!” said Porthos.

  “Bravo!” Aramis commented.

  Athos, falling into a brown study, said nothing. But when he was alone with D’Artagnan:

  “You did what you should have done, D’Artagnan,” he declared. “But perhaps you were wrong, at that!”

  D’Artagnan sighed ruefully, for this reasoning corresponded to that of a secret voice within him which told him that great misfortunes lay in store for him.

  All next day was spent in preparations for departure. D’Artagnan paid Monsieur de Tréville a farewell call. At the time, the separation of the musketeers and the guards was supposed to be but a temporary measure, since the King was holding his Parliament that very day and proposing to leave on the morrow. Monsieur de Tréville therefore merely asked D’Artagnan whether he could be of any use to him, to which D’Artagnan replied proudly that he was supplied with all he needed.

  That night all the comrades of Monsieur des Essarts’ guards and of Monsieur de Tréville’s musketeers convened to affirm their longstanding friendship. They were parting to meet again if or when it pleased God. As may be imagined, the night proved a boisterous and riotous one. At such times, extreme preoccupation yields to a gay insouciance.

  At the first peals of reveille, the friends parted company, the musketeers hastening to the Hôtel de Tréville, the guards to the Hôtel des Essarts. Each Captain then led his company to the Louvre where the King was to hold his review.

  His Majesty looked out of sorts and ill, which detracted considerably from his usual proud bearing. Indeed, the day before a fever seized him in the midst of the parliamentary session; but he determined nevertheless to leave that very evening. Despite all remonstrances offered, he also insisted on reviewing his troops; by vigorously defying it, he hoped to master his illness.

  The review over, the guards set forward alone, the musketeers standing by to escort the King. This enabled Porthos to pass down the Rue aux Ours in his magnificent equipment.

  Madame Attorney, who saw him go by in his new uniform and on his fine steed, loved him far too dearly to allow him to part thus. She motioned him to dismount and to come to her. Porthos was magnificent: his spurs jangled, his breastplate gleamed, his sword clanked proudly against his massive leg. This time the law clerks felt no temptation to laugh: Porthos looked too much like an authentic clipper of ears and ripper of gullets.

  The musketeer was ushered into Monsieur Coquenard’s presence; the attorney’s little gray eyes sparkled with anger as he saw his cousin so handsomely turned out. But there was one consolation: rumor had it that the campaign would be a hard one. He therefore breathed a silent prayer that Porthos might be killed on the field of honor.

  Porthos paid his compliments to the attorney and bade him farewell; the attorney, in return, wished the musketeer all manner of good fortune. As for Madame Coquenard, she could not check her tears. But no one placed a dubious construction on her sorrow; she was known to be much attached to her relatives and she had always quarreled bitterly with her husband on their behalf. The real farewells, however, took place in Madame Coquenard’s room and they were heartrending.

  As long as Madame Attorney could follow her lover down the street with her eyes, she stood at the window, leaning out so far that she looked for all the world as if she intended to leap out of it. Porthos received all these attentions like a man accustomed to such demonstrations; but on rounding the corner he lifted his hat jauntily and waved it to her in a gesture of farewell.

  For his part, Aramis spent his last moments in Paris writing a long letter. To whom? Nobody knew. Kitty, who was to leave next day for Tours, was waiting in the next room.

  As for Athos, he found time to sip his last bottle of Spanish wine to the lees.

  Meanwhile D’Artagnan was marching off to the front with his company. At the Faubourg Saint-Antoine he turned round to gaze at the Bastille, half in relief, half in amusement. So absorbed was he in surveying it that he failed to notice a blonde blue-eyed lady mounted on a light chestnut horse. At her side stood two evil-looking men. As she pointed to D’Artagnan, they drew up close to the ranks in order to get a good view of him. They stared up at her questioningly; she nodded affirmatively. Then, certain that there could be no misunderstanding about the execution of her orders, Milady set spurs to her horse and disappeared amid the crowd.

  The two men then followed Monsieur des Essart’s company and, as it debouched from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, they mounted two horses, fully equipped, which a lackey out of livery held in readiness.

  XLI

  THE SIEGE OF LA ROCHELLE

  The siege of La Rochelle proved to be one of the great political events of the reign of Louis XIII and one of the Cardinal’s great military enterprises. It therefore warrants some comment, both for its own sake and because its vicissitudes were intimately connected with the history we have undertaken to relate.

  The general political views of the Cardinal when he undertook this siege were far-reaching. There were also specific private views which were probably quite as important to him.

  Of the large cities given up by Henry IV to the Huguenots as places of safety there remained only La Rochelle. It became necessary therefore to reduce this last bulwark of Calvinism, a dangerous leaven constantly impregnated by ferments of civil revolt or foreign war. Spaniards, Englishmen, Italians, malcontents and adventurers from every nation, and soldiers of fortune of every sect, flocked under the standard of the Protestants at the first call and were organized in a vast association whose branches spread at will over Europe.

  La Rochelle, having gained new importance as a result of the ruin of the other Calvinist cities, was now the focus of dissensions and ambitions of every sort. More, its port was the last port in the kingdom of France still open to the English; by closing it against England, our hereditary enemy, the Cardinal was completing the work of Joan of Arc and of the Duc de Guise.

  So intricate and involved were the issues that François de Bassompierre, a Protestant by conviction, a Catholic as Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, a German by birth and a Frenchman at heart, a virtually autonomous commander at the siege of La Rochelle, could observe to several noblemen, Protestants like himself, as they charged the Huguenot lines:

  “Mark my words, gentlemen, we shall be fools enough to capture La Rochelle.”

  Bassompierre was right. The bombardment of the Ile de Ré foretold the dragonnades that were to crush the Protestants in the Cévennes during the next reign and the capture of La Rochelle prefaced the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

  But against these simplifying and leveling views of a Minister which belong to history, the honest chronicler is in duty bound to recognize the petty aims of an unrequited lover and jealous rival. Richelieu, as everyone knows, had been in love with the Queen. Was his love a mere political expedient? Or was it the natural consequence of some deep passion such as Anne of Austria inspired in many persons with whom she came into contact? The evidence points either way. At all events, the present chronicle has already recorded how Buckingham triumphed over Richelieu and how he did so on two or three occasion
s—particularly in the affair of the diamond studs—thanks to the devotion of three musketeers and the valor of a Royal Guardsman named D’Artagnan. Ay, Buckingham had fooled the Cardinal cruelly.

  Accordingly, Richelieu meant not only to rid France of a public enemy but to avenge himself upon a private rival. This vengeance, moreover, was to be a signal and striking one, worthy in all ways of a man who wields the forces of an entire kingdom much as an expert duelist wields his sword.

  Richelieu knew that in fighting England he was fighting Buckingham … in triumphing over England he was triumphing over Buckingham … and finally in humiliating England in the eyes of Europe he was humiliating Buckingham in the eyes of the Queen.…

  For his part Buckingham, pretending to maintain the honor of England, was prompted by interest as personal as the Cardinal’s but diametrically opposed. Buckingham, too, pursued a private vengeance; unable to return to France as ambassador under any pretext whatever, he determined to return as conqueror. In a word, then, the true stake of this game, which two of the most powerful kingdoms played for the good pleasure of two hapless lovers, was merely a friendly glance from Anne of Austria.

  The Duke of Buckingham won the first advantage. Arriving unexpectedly off the Ile de Ré with ninety vessels and some twenty thousand men, he surprised the Comte de Toirac, Royal Governor of the island and, after a bloody struggle, effected a landing. (Incidentally, in the course of this engagement, a certain Baron de Chantal fell on the field of honor, leaving a daughter eighteen months old who was destined to achieve immortality as Madame de Sévigné, the greatest letter-writer of all ages!) The Comte de Toirac withdrew to the citadel of Saint Martin with his garrison and threw a hundred men into a tiny stronghold called the Fort de la Prée.

  This event hastened the Cardinal’s resolve. It was determined that the King and the Cardinal were to assume personal command. But until this could be done, the Duc d’Orléans, the King’s brother, was dispatched to direct preliminary operations and to organize all available troops at the theatre of war. D’Artagnan figured among the earliest units to proceed to the front.