The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  The conjuncture was favorable. The English, who require good fare above all else to fight well, subsisted on salted meat and wretched biscuits. Many of them fell sick. Worse, the sea, very rough at this time of year all along the sea-coast, destroyed some little vessel or other day-in day-out. At every tide the shore from the point of Aiguillon to the trenches was literally strewn with the wrecks of pinnaces, roberges and feluccas. Thus even if the French remained quietly intrenched in their camp, it was evident that Buckingham, who was hanging on in the Ile de Ré through sheer obstinacy, must perforce raise the siege soon.

  Yet Monsieur de Toirac reported that preparations for a fresh assault were being made in the enemy camp; so King Louis, judging it best to put an end to the whole business, gave the necessary orders for a decisive action.

  It is not our intention to give an account of the siege but merely to describe events connected with the tale that we are relating. We need but state that the expedition succeeded, to the vast astonishment of the King and to the greater glory of Monsieur le Cardinal. The English, repulsed foot by foot, beaten in all encounters and crushed in the passage of the Ile de Loix, were forced to sail away, leaving numerous casualties on the field, including five colonels, three lieutenant-colonels, two hundred and fifty captains and twenty gentlemen of rank. Four pieces of cannon fell into the hands of the French; sixty flags, likewise captured, were taken to Paris by Claude de Saint-Simon and suspended amid great pomp under the arches of Nôtre-Dame. Te Deums were chanted in camp and the news spread throughout France.

  The Cardinal was now free to carry on the siege without having anything to fear, for the present at least, from the English. But this security proved short-lived indeed.

  An envoy of the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Montagu, having been captured, proof was obtained of a league between the Empire, Spain, England and Lorraine. This league was of course directed against France. Further proof was found in Buckingham’s quarters which he had been forced to abandon more hurriedly than he expected; these papers confirmed the existence of this league; and, as the Cardinal later asserted in his Memoirs, they strongly compromised Madame de Chevreuse and consequently the Queen.

  The whole responsibility for meeting this problem fell squarely on the Cardinal’s shoulders, for no man can be a despotic minister without incurring vast liabilities. All the resources of his mighty genius were employed night and day in learning and analyzing the vaguest rumors afoot in the great kingdoms of Europe.

  The Cardinal was acquainted with Buckingham’s activity and more particularly with the hatred Buckingham bore him. If the league which threatened France were to triumph, Richelieu’s influence would be at an end; Spanish policy and Austrian policy would have representatives in the Louvre cabinet, where as yet they had only partisans, and he, Richelieu, the French minister, the national minister par excellence, would be ruined. Though the King obeyed him like a child, he detested him too, as a child detests his master. Louis XIII would surely abandon him to the personal vengeance of the Duc d’Orléans and the Queen; Richelieu would then be lost and France perhaps with him. It was imperative that he prepare now against any such eventuality.

  And so, in the little house by the bridge of La Pierre that served as Richelieu’s headquarters, night and day in rapid succession and in ever-increasing numbers, the couriers arrived, paused and departed on their mysterious errands. There were monks who wore the frock with such an ill grace that obviously they belonged to the church militant … there were women somewhat inconvenienced by their costume as pages and not wholly able to conceal their rounded forms despite the wide trousers they wore … and there were peasants with blackened hands but of noble form who smacked of the man of quality a league off.… There were also other less agreeable visitors, for it was reported that the Cardinal had narrowly escaped assassination two or three times.

  Truth to tell, certain enemies of His Eminence accused him of having himself set these bungling assassins to work in order to create justification for reprisals if these became necessary. But statements made by ministers or by their enemies are not always to be credited.

  These attempts did not prevent the Cardinal, to whom his most inveterate detractors have never denied personal bravery, from making nocturnal excursions, sometimes to communicate important orders to the Duc d’Angoulême, sometimes to confer with the King, sometimes to interview a messenger he was unwilling to meet at home.

  Meanwhile the musketeers, having little to do, were not under strict orders. They led a carefree, joyous life, our three companions in particular. As friends of Monsieur de Tréville, they easily obtained special leave to be absent from camp.

  One evening when D’Artagnan, on duty in the trenches, could not accompany them, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, mounted on their steeds and buried in their cloaks, their hands on their pistol-butts, were returning from a tavern called the Sign of the Red Dovecote. Athos had discovered it two days before on the La Jarrie road. They were riding home to camp, very much on their guard for fear of an ambuscade, when at about a quarter of a league from the village of Boisnau, they heard the sound of horses approaching. Immediately all three halted, closed in tightly and waited in the middle of the road. A moment later, as the moon broke from behind a cloud, they saw two horsemen at a bend in the road. Perceiving the musketeers, the two strangers stopped in their turn, apparently to deliberate whether they should continue on their way or retreat. This hesitation aroused the suspicion of the musketeers. So Athos, advancing a few paces in front of the others, cried in a firm voice:

  “Who goes there?”

  “Who goes there, yourselves?” one of the horsemen replied.

  “That is no answer,” Athos called back. “Who goes there? Answer or we charge.”

  “Beware of what you are about, gentlemen!” said a clear voice in tones accustomed to command.

  “It is some higher officer making his night-rounds,” said Athos. “What do you wish, gentlemen?”

  “Who are you?” said the same voice in the same commanding tone. “Answer in your turn or you may well repent of your disobedience.”

  “Royal Musketeers,” said Athos, ever more convinced that their questioner had full authority to challenge them.

  “What company?”

  “Monsieur de Tréville’s.”

  “Advance and give an account of what you are doing here at this hour.”

  The three companions advanced rather shamefacedly, for all were now certain they had to deal with someone more powerful than themselves. As usual, by tacit agreement, Athos filled the rôle of spokesman.

  The horseman who had spoken so authoritatively sat erect and still in his saddle, some ten paces in front of his companion. Athos signaled to Porthos and Aramis to remain in the rear and rode his horse forward at a walk.

  “Your pardon, Sir,” he said, “but we did not know whom we were speaking to. As you saw we were keeping close watch.”

  “Your name?” asked the officer, drawing up his cloak to cover his face.

  “But yourself, Monsieur,” Athos protested, now somewhat annoyed at this inquisition. “I beg you to give me some proof of your right to question me.”

  “Your name?” the horseman repeated sharply as he drew his cloak down, leaving his face uncovered.

  “Monsieur le Cardinal!”

  “Your name?” His Eminence cried for the third time.

  “Athos.”

  The Cardinal motioned to his attendant to draw near.

  “These three musketeers shall follow us,” he said in an undertone. “I do not care to have it known that I left camp. If they follow us, we shall be certain they will tell nobody.”

  “We are gentlemen, Monseigneur,” Athos objected. “Ask us but to give you our word, you need worry no further. Thank God we can keep a secret.”

  The Cardinal fixed his piercing eyes on his courageous interlocutor.

  “You have a sharp ear, Monsieur Athos,” he said. “But now listen to this. It is not from mistrust
I request you to follow me but for reasons of my personal security. Doubtless the gentlemen accompanying you are Messieurs Porthos and Aramis?”

  “Ay, Your Eminence,” Athos nodded as his two friends rode forward slowly, hat in hand.

  “I know you, gentlemen, I know you!” the Cardinal said. “I am aware that you are not exactly my friends and I am sorry for it. But I am also aware that you are brave, loyal, trustworthy gentlemen. I shall therefore ask you, Monsieur Athos, and your two friends, to do me the honor to accompany me. Yon will thus be providing me with an escort fit to excite envy in even His Majesty should we chance to meet him.”

  The three musketeers bowed so low that their chins grazed the necks of their horses.

  “Upon my honor,” Athos exclaimed, “Your Eminence is right in taking us with you. We saw several ruffian faces on the road and we even had a quarrel at the Sign of the Red Dovecote with four of those faces.”

  “A quarrel? For what reason, gentlemen? You know I do not like quarrels.”

  “That is exactly why I have the honor to inform Your Eminence of what happened. Otherwise you might learn about it from others, and, on the strength of false witness, believe us to be at fault.”

  “And how was this quarrel settled?” the Cardinal demanded, knitting his brow.

  “My friend Aramis, here, was pinked in the arm. But, as Your Eminence can see, his wound is not serious enough to prevent him from going into action tomorrow, if Your Eminence orders an escalade.”

  “But surely, gentlemen, you are not the kind of men who blithely allow themselves to be wounded,” the Cardinal observed. “Come, be frank with me; I am sure you have settled accounts with somebody. Confess! You know I have the right to give absolution.”

  “As for me, Monseigneur,” Athos explained, “I did not even draw my sword. I took the fellow who offended me round the waist and tossed him out of the window. It appears that in falling,” Athos continued with some hesitation, “he broke his thigh.”

  “Well, well! And you, Monsieur Porthos?”

  “Monseigneur, I know that dueling is prohibited. I therefore seized a bench and brought it down on one of the brigands so hard that I fancy his shoulder is broken.”

  “So!” said the Cardinal in a dulcet ironic tone. “And Monsieur Aramis?”

  “For my part, Monseigneur, I am of a very mild disposition. Besides—perhaps Your Eminence is not aware of it—I am about to enter Holy Orders. I endeavored to appease my comrades when one of those rascals dealt me a treacherous swordblow across the left arm. I must admit I lost my patience then, drew my sword and, as he attacked me again, I had the impression that in charging violently he must have run into my sword. I do know that he fell and I rather imagine he was conveyed from the scene with his two companions.”

  “The devil, gentlemen!” grumbled the Cardinal. “Three soldiers placed hors de combat in a tavern brawl! I must say you don’t do your work by halves! Pray what was the cause of the quarrel?”

  “These wretches were drunk,” Athos elucidated. “Knowing that a lady had arrived at the inn this evening, they sought to force their way into her room.”

  “To force their way into her room? For what purpose?”

  “Doubtless to have their will of her, Monseigneur,” Athos specified. “I have had the honor of informing Your Eminence that these men were drunk.”

  “What of the lady?” the Cardinal inquired with a certain anxiety. “Was she young and comely?”

  “We did not see her, Monseigneur.”

  “You did not see her? Ah, well! You acted rightly in defending a woman’s honor, gentlemen. As I am now myself going to the Red Dovecote, I shall find out if you have told me the truth.”

  “Monseigneur, we are gentlemen,” Athos retorted haughtily. “We would not tell a lie even if our heads hung in the balance.”

  “I do not doubt it for a minute, Monsieur Athos,” the Cardinal agreed. Then, changing the conversation:

  “Was this lady alone?” he added.

  “There was a cavalier closeted with her. Strangely enough, despite the uproar, this cavalier did not show his face. Obviously a coward, Monseigneur!”

  “ ‘Judge not according to the appearance’ says the Gospel.”

  Athos bowed.

  “And now, gentlemen, everything is in order,” the Cardinal continued, “I know what I wished to know. Follow me.”

  The three musketeers fell in behind His Eminence who again buried his face in his cloak and started his horse off at a walk, keeping some ten paces ahead of his companions.

  Soon they reached the silent, solitary inn. The landlord, doubtless aware of how illustrious the visitor he expected, had got rid of all intruders. Ten paces from the door, the Cardinal signaled to his esquire and the musketeers to halt. A saddled horse stood by the wall, his bridle fastened to the shutter of the window. The Cardinal rapped against the shutter three times, in a peculiar staccato manner.

  Immediately a man wrapped deep in a cloak emerged, exchanged a few rapid words with the Cardinal, climbed into the saddle again and galloped off toward Surgères, along the road that led on to Paris.

  “Advance, gentlemen,” the Cardinal ordered. Then, turning to the musketeers: “You have told me the truth, gentlemen, and it will not be my fault if our encounter this evening does not prove of advantage to you. Meanwhile, follow me.”

  The Cardinal dismounted, the musketeers followed suit; the Cardinal tossed the bridle of his horse to his esquire and the musketeers fastened their horses to the shutter.

  The landlord stood at the door, indicating in no way that the Cardinal was more than an ordinary officer coming to visit a lady.

  “Have you a room on the ground floor where these gentlemen can wait around a good fire?” the Cardinal asked.

  The landlord opened the door of a large room in which an old stove had recently been replaced by a large and excellent chimney.

  “I have this room, Monsieur,” he said.

  “That will do very well,” the Cardinal said. “Come in, gentlemen, and kindly wait for me here. I shall not be more than half an hour.”

  As the three musketeers filed in, His Eminence, without more ado, ascended the staircase like a man who did not need to be shown the way.

  XLIV

  OF THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES

  It was evident that our three friends, moved only by their chivalrous and adventurous character, had just rendered a service to somebody whom the Cardinal honored with his special protection.

  But who was this somebody? They puzzled over that question at length; then, realizing that none of their conjectures was satisfactory, Porthos called the host and asked for dice.

  As Porthos and Aramis sat down at a table and began to play, Athos paced the room, deep in thought. Moving back and forth, he kept passing by the broken stovepipe which obviously communicated with the room above; each time he did so, he could hear a murmur of voices which finally succeeded in attracting his attention. Drawing closer to the pipe, Athos distinguished a few words which appeared to him so interesting that he motioned to his companions to be silent. Then he bent down, his ear glued to the lower end of the pipe.

  “I beg you to listen, Milady,” the Cardinal was saying, “this matter is highly important. Pray sit down and let us talk.”

  “Milady!” Athos murmured and winced as he heard a woman’s voice replying:

  “I am listening to Your Eminence most attentively.”

  “A small vessel with an English crew, whose captain is at my orders, awaits you at the mouth of the Charente, at the fort of La Pointe. It will sail tomorrow morning.”

  “I must go there tonight?”

  “Instantly—that is, of course, after you have received my instructions. As you leave this house, you will find two men at the door; they will serve as your escorts. You will allow me to leave first; then, half an hour later, you yourself will go.”

  “I understand, Monseigneur. Now let us come back to the mission you are willing to en
trust to me. Since I desire to continue to merit the confidence Your Eminence places in me, I beg you to give me clear and precise instructions. I would not wish to make the slightest mistake.”

  A moment of deep silence ensued. Clearly the Cardinal was weighing the terms in which he was about to speak; Milady, meanwhile, was steeling all her intellectual faculties in order thoroughly to grasp his orders and to impress them upon her memory.

  Profiting by this moment of silence, Athos signaled to his companions to close the door and to join him at his listening-post. Loving their ease as they did, Porthos and Aramis drew up three chairs and the trio sat down; then, their heads close together and their ears cocked, they listened avidly.

  “You are to go to London,” the Cardinal continued. “Once there, you are to see Buckingham.”

  “I must remind Your Eminence that the Duke of Buckingham has always suspected me of responsibility in the affair of the diamond studs. His Grace of Buckingham distrusts me.”

  “This time you need not trouble to gain his confidence. You have but to present yourself frankly and loyally as a negotiator.”

  “Frankly and loyally?” Milady repeated with an indescribable expression of duplicity.

  “Frankly and loyally,” the Cardinal echoed evenly: “The present negotiation is to be carried on quite openly.”

  “I shall follow Monseigneur’s instructions to the letter. I await Your Eminence’s pleasure; pray tell me what I am to do.”

  “You will go to Buckingham on my behalf. You will tell him I know of all the preparations that he is making. You will add that I am not uneasy because, at the first move he makes, I shall ruin the Queen.”

  “Will he believe that Your Eminence is in a position to carry out this threat?”