The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas - [Full Version] - (ANNOTATED)

by Alexandre Dumas

  “Watch it, Athos!” cried d’Artagnan. “Can’t you see they’re going to fire?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Athos, “but these bourgeois are terrible shots, and they’re bound to miss me.”

  Just then, four musket shots rang out, and though the balls ricocheted around Athos, none of them hit their target.

  Almost simultaneously, four shots echoed in reply, but much better aimed than those of the attackers. Three soldiers fell dead, and one of the pioneers was wounded.

  “Grimaud, another musket!” said Athos, still in the breach.

  Grimaud instantly obeyed. The other three reloaded their weapons, and another volley followed. The officer and two pioneers fell dead, and the rest of the troop fled.

  “Now, Messieurs, a sortie,” said Athos.

  The four friends dashed out of the fort onto the field of battle and gathered up the four soldiers’ muskets and the officer’s halfpike. Then, convinced that the fugitives wouldn’t stop before they reached the city, they climbed back into to the bastion, carrying their victory trophies.

  “Reload the muskets, Grimaud,” said Athos, “and we, Messieurs, shall resume our breakfast and continue our conversation. Now, where were we?”

  “You were telling us about Milady,” said d’Artagnan, who was more than a little interested in her itinerary.

  “She’s on her way to England,” Athos said.

  “Yes, but to what end?”

  “To assassinate, or arrange the assassination of, the Duke of Buckingham.”

  “But that’s infamous!” d’Artagnan exclaimed.

  “As to that, I must confess little interest and less concern.” Athos shrugged. “If you’re finished, Grimaud, take that officer’s half-pike, tie a napkin to it, and plant it at the peak of our bastion, to show these rebels of Rochelois that they have to deal with brave and loyal soldiers of the king.”

  Silently, Grimaud obeyed. A moment later a white flag, battle standard of the Bourbons, unfurled above the heads of the four friends, to a thunder of applause from the royal lines. Half the camp was lining the barricades.

  “Wait!” d’Artagnan said. “How can you care so little if Buckingham is killed? The duke is our friend.”

  “The duke is English and is fighting against us. Let Milady do as she likes with the duke; he means no more to me than this empty bottle.” Athos drained a bottle into his glass, then threw the dead soldier toward the bodies of the enemy.

  “But hold on—I can’t just abandon Buckingham like that. He gave us four magnificent horses.”

  “Not to mention some very handsome saddles,” added Porthos, who was wearing a cloak edged with the braid from his.

  “Besides,” observed Aramis, “God desires the conversion of the sinner, not his death.”

  “Amen,” said Athos, “and we can return to the subject later, if it pleases you. But at the time, what seemed most important to me— as I’m sure you can understand, d’Artagnan—was acquiring from that woman the carte blanche she’d extorted from the cardinal. She could use it to rid herself of you, and maybe of us, with complete impunity.”

  “What is this woman, some sort of demon?” asked Porthos, holding out his plate to Aramis, who was slicing up a fowl.

  “This carte blanche,” said d’Artagnan, “is it . . . is it still in her hands?”

  “No, it has passed into mine. I won’t say without trouble, for that would be a lie.”

  “My dear Athos, I give up counting how many times I owe you my life,” d’Artagnan said.

  “Then the reason you left us was to go back to her?” asked Aramis.

  “Just so.”

  “Then you have this letter from the cardinal?” d’Artagnan said.

  “Right here,” said Athos. And he drew the precious paper from a pocket inside his tabard.

  D’Artagnan unfolded it, without even trying to hide the tremor in his hands, and read:

  It is by my order, and for the good of the State, that the bearer has done what has been done.

  5 August 1628 RICHELIEU

  “In effect, it absolves the bearer from all penalty,” said Aramis.

  “It must be torn up!” cried d’Artagnan, who saw in it his death warrant.

  “On the contrary,” said Athos, “it must be carefully preserved. I wouldn’t trade this paper for as much gold as it would take to cover it.”

  “What do you think she’s going to do now?” asked the young man.

  “She’s probably going to write to the cardinal, saying that a damned musketeer named Athos has ravished her of her safe-conduct,” Athos said carelessly. “In the same letter, she’ll probably advise him to rid himself of the said Athos, as well as his two friends, Porthos and Aramis. The cardinal will remember that these men have crossed his path before. Some fine morning he’ll arrest this d’Artagnan fellow, and so he won’t be lonely, he’ll send the rest of us to keep him company in the Bastille.”

  “Hmmph,” said Porthos. “That’s a poor excuse for a joke, my friend.”

  “I’m not joking,” replied Athos.

  “You know,” Porthos said, “twisting this damned Milady’s neck for her would be less of a sin than twisting the necks of these poor Huguenot devils, who’ve committed no crime worse than singing the Psalms in French instead of Latin.”

  “What says the abbot?” asked Athos placidly.

  “I say that in this case, I agree with Porthos,” replied Aramis.

  “As do I!” said d’Artagnan.

  “Fortunately, she’s a long way from here,” Porthos said, “for I must admit that if she were nearby, it would make me . . . uneasy.”

  “She makes me as uneasy in England as she does in France,” Athos said.

  “She makes me uneasy wherever she is,” d’Artagnan said.

  “So when you had her, Athos, why didn’t you drown, strangle, or hang her?” said Porthos. “It’s only the dead who never return.”

  “Is that what you think, Porthos?” the musketeer replied, with a somber smile that only d’Artagnan understood.

  “I,” said d’Artagnan, “have an idea.”

  “Let’s hear it!” said the musketeers.

  “To arms!” cried Grimaud.

  The young men sprang up, grabbing their muskets.

  This time a larger troop was advancing on them, consisting of twenty or twenty-five men—and these were no pioneers, they were soldiers of the garrison.

  “Shouldn’t we maybe return to camp?” said Porthos. “It doesn’t seem to me the sides are quite equal.”

  “Impossible, for three reasons,” Athos replied. “First of all, we haven’t finished our breakfast. Second, we still have some important things to discuss; and third, there are still ten minutes left in our hour.”

  “Then we’re going to need a plan of battle,” Aramis said.

  “That couldn’t be simpler,” Athos replied. “As soon as the enemy are in musket-range, we fire on them. If they continue to advance, we keep firing, as long as we have loaded guns. If the remnants of the troop insist on mounting an assault, we’ll let the besiegers get down into the moat, and then we’ll push down onto their heads that leaning length of stone wall—there, where it still seems to be standing only due to a miracle.”

  “Bravo!” cried Porthos. “Athos, you were born to be a general, and the cardinal, who thinks he’s such a man of war, is nothing next to you.”

  “Attention, Messieurs, if you please,” said Athos. “Pick your man.”

  “I have mine,” said d’Artagnan.

  “As do I,” said Aramis.

  “Me too,” said Porthos.

  “Then, fire!” said Athos.

  The four muskets rang out as one, and four men fell.

  Immediately the drum began to beat and the troop advanced at the charge.

  The gunshots continued, fired irregularly now, but always with the same accuracy. However, the Rochelois continued to advance at a run, as if they knew how few their enemies were.

&nbs
p; At least two men fell for every three shots, but the remaining soldiers refused to relent. When they arrived at the base of the bastion, their enemies still numbered at least a dozen. They were greeted by a final volley, but it didn’t stop them; they jumped into the dry moat and began to climb the fallen stones toward the breach.

  “Now, my friends, the death-blow!” cried Athos. “To the wall! To the wall!”

  And the four friends, aided by Grimaud, pried with their musket-barrels at the base of the immense piece of wall. It leaned over as if bending before the wind, then fell with a horrible crash into the moat. They heard cries of surprise and pain, a cloud of dust rose into the sky, and then it was all over.

  “Do you suppose we crushed every single one of them?” asked Athos.

  “Ma foi! It looks like it,” said d’Artagnan.

  “No,” said Porthos. “See there—two or three of them survived, though not intact.”

  In fact, three or four of the unfortunate troop, covered with dirt and blood, were fleeing for the trench that led back to the city. That was all that remained of their attackers.

  Athos looked at his watch. “Messieurs,” he said, “we’ve been here an hour, and our wager is now won, but we mustn’t grab at our winnings. Besides, d’Artagnan hasn’t told us his idea.”

  And the musketeer, with his habitual sangfroid, sat down beside the remains of the breakfast.

  “My idea?” said d’Artagnan.

  “Yes, you said you had an idea,” Athos replied.

  “Ah, yes, right!” said d’Artagnan. “I’ll go to England a second time, find Monsieur de Buckingham, and warn him about this plot against his life.”

  “D’Artagnan,” said Athos coolly, “you will not do that.”

  “And why not? I did it once before.”

  “Yes, but at that time we were not yet at war; Monsieur de Buckingham was still an ally, not an enemy. To take that trip now would be tantamount to treason.”

  D’Artagnan saw the logic of this, and was silent.

  “But wait!” said Porthos. “I think I may have an idea!”

  “Silence, all, for the idea of Monsieur Porthos!” said Aramis.

  “I’ll ask Monsieur de Tréville for a leave, on some pretext you’ll have to figure out—I’m not so good at pretexts. Anyway, Milady doesn’t know me, so I can approach her unsuspected. Then, when I catch my little beauty alone, I’ll strangle her.”

  “You know,” said Athos, “there’s something to be said for Porthos’s idea.”

  “What, kill a woman? Have you no shame?” said Aramis. “No, listen: I have a much better idea.”

  “If you have an idea, Aramis, let’s have it,” said Athos, who had a great respect for the young musketeer.

  “We must warn the queen.”

  “Ah! My faith, yes,” said Porthos.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” said d’Artagnan.

  “Warn the queen?” said Athos. “And just how are we going to do that? Do we have any entrée at Court? And if one of us goes to Paris, won’t it be known throughout the camp? From here to Paris is one hundred and forty leagues—we couldn’t get past Angers without being thrown into prison.”

  “As to getting a letter safely to Her Majesty, I will see to that,” said Aramis, reddening. “I know a clever person at Tours . . .”

  Aramis stopped, seeing Athos smile.

  “Well, do you approve of this plan, Athos?” said d’Artagnan.

  “I don’t reject it out of hand,” Athos said, “but I will observe to Aramis that we can’t desert the siege, and nobody but one of us would be a reliable messenger. If one of us leaves, within two hours all the cardinal’s agents, spies, and Capuchin monks would know the letter by heart, and you and your clever person would be arrested.”

  “Not to mention that the queen would save Monsieur de Buckingham and leave the rest of us to fry,” objected Porthos.

  “What Porthos says makes sense to me, Messieurs,” said d’Artagnan.

  “One moment—what are they up to, there in the city?” said Athos.

  “They’re beating the general call to arms!”

  The four friends listened: the sound of drums rolled out.

  “They’re sending out a whole regiment, just for us,” said Athos.

  “You’re not thinking of taking on a whole regiment,” said Porthos. “Are you?”

  “Why not?” said the musketeer. “I’m just in the mood for it. I’d take on a whole army, if we’d taken the precaution of bringing another dozen bottles of wine.”

  “The drums are definitely approaching,” said d’Artagnan.

  “Let them come,” said Athos. “It’s a quarter-hour’s march from here to the city, so it’s the same from the city to here, which is more than enough time to complete our plan. If we leave here now, we’ll never find another place as suitable. And you know, Messieurs, I think the right idea has just come to me.”

  “Let’s hear it!”

  “Just permit me to give Grimaud a few indispensable orders.” Athos called over his valet with a gesture. “Grimaud,” he said, pointing to the bodies lying inside the bastion, “take these deceased gentlemen here and lean them up against the wall, with their hats on their heads and their guns in their hands.”

  “O Great Man!” cried d’Artagnan. “I get it!”

  “You get what?” said Porthos.

  “Do you get it, Grimaud?” asked Aramis.

  Grimaud gestured his affirmative.

  “Then that’s all we need,” said Athos. “Now, as to my idea.”

  “But I, too, would like to get it,” said Porthos.

  “That’s not at all necessary.”

  “Yes, Athos—give us your idea!” said d’Artagnan and Aramis.

  “This woman, this creature, this demon of a Milady—didn’t you say she has a brother-in-law, d’Artagnan?”

  “Yes, I know him rather well. But I don’t think he has a lot of affection for his sister-in-law.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” replied Athos. “In fact, if he detested her, it would be all the better.”

  “In that case, we should be fine.”

  “However,” said Porthos, “I really would like to get what Grimaud is up to.”

  “Oh, hush, Porthos,” said Aramis.

  “What’s the name of this brother-in-law?”

  “Lord de Winter.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He returned to London at the first rumor of war.”

  “Well, he’s just the man for us,” said Athos. “He’s the one we must warn. We’ll let him know that his sister-in-law is out to have someone assassinated and beg him not to lose sight of her. There is in London, one hopes, some establishment on the order of the Mad-elonnettes, or the Daughters of Repentance.101 He must commit his sister-in-law to one of these, and then we can rest easy.”

  “Right,” said d’Artagnan, “until she escapes.”

  “My faith, d’Artagnan!” said Athos. “You ask too much! I’ve given you all I have, and I must warn you that’s the bottom of the barrel.”

  “Personally, I think it would be best to warn both the queen and Lord de Winter,” said Aramis.

  “Yes, but who’s going to carry the letter to Tours, not to mention the letter to London?”

  “I’ll answer for Bazin,” said Aramis.

  “And I, for Planchet,” said d’Artagnan.

  “That’s right! We can’t desert the camp, but our lackeys can certainly go,” said Porthos.

  “True. They can even go today, if we get the letters written,” said Aramis. “We’ll give them some money and send them off.”

  “We’ll give them some money?” said Athos. “Do you have any money?”

  The four friends looked at each other, a cloud darkening expressions that had just been so bright.

  “Look!” cried d’Artagnan. “See those black and red specks moving out there? That’s no regiment, Athos—it’s a whole army!”

  “Ma foi,” said
Athos, “there they are. What cunning dogs, advancing without tambours or trumpets. Grimaud! Are you finished yet?”

  Grimaud signed Yes, and pointed to the dozen bodies he’d set up, quite artistically: some held their weapons ready, while others appeared to be taking aim, or waiting, sword in hand.

  “Bravo!” said Athos. “I honor your imagination.”

  “Fine,” said Porthos, “but I still don’t get it.”

  “Get out first, get it later,” said d’Artagnan.

  “In a moment, Messieurs! Give Grimaud a chance to bus the table.”

  “I must point out that those black and red specks are enlarging rapidly,” Aramis said. “I am of d’Artagnan’s opinion: we have no time to lose if we’re going to regain the camp.”

  “Then I withdraw my opposition to a tactical retreat,” Athos said. “My faith, we wagered on an hour, and have been here an hour and a half. No one can say anything against that! Let’s be on our way, Messieurs.”

  Grimaud, with the basket, took the lead, the four friends following about ten paces behind.

  “The devil!” cried Athos, turning around.

  “Did you forget something?” asked Aramis.

  “Our banner! Morbleu! We can’t leave a flag in the hands of the enemy, even if that flag is only a napkin.”

  And Athos dashed back to the bastion, mounted the wall, and recovered the flag. The Rochelois, meanwhile, were now within musket-range, and they opened a withering fire on this man who appeared to be exposing himself just for the sport of it.

  But Athos seemed to have a charmed life. The balls whistled all around him, but he remained untouched. He waved his standard, turned his back on the Rochelois, and saluted the camp. Shouts arose from both sides: cries of anger from one, cheers from the other.

  A second volley followed the first, and three balls, passing through the napkin, made it into a real battle flag. The whole camp clamored, “Come down! Come down!”

  Athos came down. His comrades, awaiting him anxiously, were overjoyed at his return.

  “Come on, Athos, come on!” said d’Artagnan. “Let’s pick up the pace! Now that we’ve figured out everything except where to find some money, it would be stupid to get killed.”