THE THREE GUARDSMEN.
Guardsmen have at all periods been a racketing, rollicking set of fellows. Whether ancients or moderns, infidels or Christians, prætorians or janissaries, the mousquetaires and Scottish archers of the French Louises, or the lifeguards of "bonnie Dundee's" own regiment, they have always claimed, and usually enjoyed, a greater degree of license than is accorded to the more unpretending soldiery of the line. The first in the field, and the last out of it, they have sometimes seemed to think that, by thrashing the king's enemies, they acquired a right to baton his subjects, that captured cities atoned for the wrongs of deluded damsels, and that each extra blow struck in the fight, entitled them to an extra bottle in the barrack-room. On duty, discipline—off duty, dissipation—seems to have been the motto of these gentlemen; and if it be the case, that they occasionally forgot the former part of their device, it, on the other hand, is no where upon record, that they were oblivious of its latter portion. Fighting hard and drinking hard, living hard and dying hard, the bravest men and most desperate debauchees of all countries, have worn the uniform of guardsmen.
Our old friend, M. Alexandre Dumas, who, if we may believe one of his biographers, passes twelve hours a-day in driving a goosequill for the entertainment and particular edification of his countrymen, found himself, one fine morning, desperately at a loss for something to write about. He is, perhaps, not the first writer of fiction who has been in a like predicament; and even if he were, it would be neither wonderful nor unpardonable, seeing that his average rate of production is about three volumes per month. There is a limit to all things, even to the imagination of a French romance writer; and M. Dumas, without exception the most prolific of modern scribblers, was for once hard up for a subject.
L'hôpital n'est pas pour les chiens, says the French proverb. It occurred to M. Dumas, that the league or two of books in the Bibliothèque Royale were not placed there for the mere purpose of astonishing provincials, or causing English tourists to stare and lift up their hands in admiration; but that one of the objects of their preservation might well be, that they should afford suggestions to any distinguished littérateur who happened to be, like himself, in want of an idea. Emerging, therefore, from his comfortable abode in the Chaussée d'Antin, he turned his steps in the direction of the royal library, and was soon up to his ears in dusty tomes and jaundiced parchments. After much research, he discovered a folio manuscript, numbered, as he tells us in his preface, 4772 or 4773, and purporting to be a memoir, by a certain Count de la Fère, of events that occurred in France towards the latter part of the reign of Louis the Thirteenth. Upon perusal, he found this MS. so interesting, that he applied for, and obtained permission to publish it; and the memoir in question saw the light under the title of Les Trois Mousquetaires.
The piquant and interesting matter contained in this book, caused it to be much read, and numerous persons were curious to see the original manuscript. To their infinite surprise, however, they could obtain no account whatever of such a document; and what was still more provoking, the librarians seemed to look upon them as insane when they asked for it. There was much running up and down the library stairs, much mounting upon step-ladders, and tumbling of paper and parchment, much grumbling of puzzled librarians and disappointed applicants, until at last, the most obstinate became convinced that the aforesaid MS. had no existence save in the imagination of M. Dumas, who had, as it is vulgarly styled, "taken a rise" out of the public.
In the spring of the year 1625, a young Gascon gentleman named D'Artagnan, left his home to seek fortune at Paris. He was mounted on an ill-looking cob, some fourteen years of age—that is to say, within four years as old as its rider; the sword which his father buckled on him at parting, was more remarkable for its length than its elegance; his purse contained fifteen crowns, and his valise a couple of shirts. To compensate for this meagre equipment, he rode like a Tartar, and fenced like a St George; and was moreover possessed of three qualifications invaluable to a man who has his way to make in the world—a clear head, a light heart, and a courage that nothing could daunt. One thing more he had; a letter of recommendation from his father to Monsieur de Treville, captain of the mousquetaires, or body-guards, of his Majesty Louis the Thirteenth.
Nearly the last words of the worthy old Gascon, who was compelled by his poverty to send his son forth into the world thus slenderly provided, were an injunction to honour the King and Cardinal Richelieu, then in the zenith of his power, and to fight as often as he could get an opportunity. With such counsels yet ringing in his ears, it is not surprising, that before reaching Paris young D'Artagnan gets into a very pretty quarrel against overpowering odds, is somewhat maltreated, and, while senseless from the blows he has received, has his letter stolen from him by an emissary of the Cardinal, among whose political enemies M. de Treville stands in the foremost rank. The young adventurer, however, consoles himself for his loss, shakes his feathers, and arrives at Paris without further accident. Before entering the capital he disposes of his horse, of whose uncouth appearance he is heartily ashamed; and after improving his toilet as well as his scanty wardrobe will allow, he proceeds to the hotel of Monsieur de Treville, where he falls in with the three mousquetaires who give a title to the book, in which, however, D'Artagnan plays the most conspicuous and important part. He finds the hotel Treville throned with applicants for an audience, petitioners, mousquetaires, and lackeys bearing letters from persons of the first importance. He sends in his name, and after some delay, is admitted. Here is M. Dumas' account of the interview.
"Monsieur de Treville was that day in a particularly bad humour; nevertheless he returned D'Artagnan's profound bow with a polite inclination of the head, and smiled at the strong Gascon accent in which the young man uttered his compliments. The sound recalled to his mind his own youth and his native country, two things of which the recollection is apt to make most men smile. He then waved his hand to D'Artagnan, as if requesting him to have a moment's patience, and approaching the door leading to the anteroom, he called out in an imperious and angry tone—
"'Athos! Porthos! Aramis!'
"Two mousquetaires, who had already attracted D'Artagnan's attention, left the groups of which they formed a part, and entered the audience chamber, of which the door was immediately closed behind them.
"There was a remarkable contrast in the appearance of these two guardsmen. One was a man of gigantic stature, loud-voiced, and of stern and haughty countenance; the other, on the contrary, was of gentle and naïve physiognomy, with smooth rosy cheeks, a soft expression in his black eye, a delicate mustache on his upper lip, white hands, and a voice and smile remarkable for their mildness. The bearing of these two gentlemen upon entering the presence of their captain, showed a happy mixture of submission and dignity, which excited the admiration of D'Artagnan, who was already disposed to look upon the mousquetaires as demigods, and upon their chief as an Olympic Jupiter, armed with all his thunders.
"Monsieur de Treville took two or three turns up and down the apartment, silent, and with a contracted brow, passing each time before Porthos and Aramis, who remained mute and immoveable as if upon the parade ground. Suddenly he stopped, and measured them from head to foot with an angry glance.
"'Do you know what the King told me, gentlemen, and that no longer ago than yesternight? Do you know, I say, what his Majesty told me?'
"'No,' replied the two guardsmen after a moment's silence. 'No, sir, we do not know it.'
"'But I hope you will do us the honour to inform us,' said Aramis in his most polite tone, and with his most graceful bow.
"'He told me that henceforward he would recruit his mousquetaires from among the guards of Monsieur le Cardinal.'
"'Among the guards of Monsieur le Cardinal! And why so?' demanded Porthos abruptly.
"'Because he finds that his own sour wine requires to be improved by the admixture of some more generous liquor.'
"The two guardsmen coloured up to the eyes. D'Artagnan felt uncertain whether he was standing on his head or his heels.
"'Yes,' continued Monsieur de Treville with increased vivacity, 'and his Majesty is right; for, by my honour, the mousquetaires cut a sorry figure at the court! Monsieur le Cardinal was relating yesterday at the King's card-table, in a tone of condolence that displeased me no little, how those infernal mousquetaires, those sabreurs as he ironically called them, had forgotten themselves over their bottle at a tavern in the Rue Ferou, and how a patrol of his guards had found it necessary to arrest them. I thought he was going to laugh in my face as he said the words, looking at me all the time with his tiger-cat eyes. Morbleu! you ought to know something about it. You were amongst them; the cardinal named you. Mousquetaires, indeed, who allow themselves to be arrested! But it is my fault for not choosing my men better. What the devil possessed you, Aramis, to ask me for a guardsman's uniform, when a priest's surplice would have fitted you better? And you, Porthos, what is the use of your wearing that magnificent embroidered sword-belt, if the weapon it supports is of such small service to you? And Athos, I do not see Athos. Where is he?'
"'Sir,' replied Aramis gravely, 'he is ill—very ill.'
"'Ill, say you? And of what disease?'
"'It is feared that it is the small-pox, sir,' replied Porthos, who was desirous of putting in a word. 'It would be a great pity, for it would assuredly spoil his appearance.'
"'The small-pox! A fine story indeed! The small-pox at his age! Not so! But wounded, I suppose—killed perhaps. Sangdieu! Messieurs les Mousquetaires, I insist upon your ceasing to frequent taverns and places of bad repute. I will have no more brawling and sword-playing in the public streets. I will not have my regiment made a laughing-stock to the Cardinal's guards, who are brave fellows, prudent and quiet—who do not get themselves into trouble, and if they did, would not allow themselves to be arrested. Not they! They would sooner die upon the spot than recede an inch. It is only the King's mousquetaires who run away or are taken prisoners.'
"Porthos and Aramis trembled with rage. They would willingly have strangled their chief, if they had not felt that it was the great affection he bore them that induced him to speak thus harshly. They bit their lips till the blood came, and clutched the hilts of their swords in silent fury. Several of the guardsmen in the anteroom, who had heard Monsieur de Treville's summons to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and suspected what was going on, had applied their ears to the tapestry, and lost not a word of their captain's reproaches, which they repeated to those around them, who in their turn repeated them to their comrades on the staircase and in the courtyard. In an instant, from the anteroom to the street, all was commotion.
"'Ha! his Majesty's mousquetaires allow themselves to be arrested by the Cardinal's guards!' continued Monsieur de Treville, who was as furious as his soldiers. 'Aha! sirs, six of his Eminence's guards arrest six of the King's! Morbleu! I have made up my mind what to do. I will go at once to the Louvre, resign my post as captain of mousquetaires, and solicit a lieutenancy in the Cardinal's guards; and if I am refused, morbleu! I will turn priest!'
"At these words the murmur outside the audience chamber became an explosion. On all sides oaths and blasphemies were resounding. D'Artagnan looked about for a place to hide himself. He felt a strong inclination to get under the table.
"'Well, captain,' said Porthos, who was completely beside himself with rage and vexation, 'the truth is that we were six against six; but they attacked us treacherously; and before we could draw a sword, two of us were dead men, and Athos desperately wounded and equally useless. You know Athos, captain; well, twice he tried to get up, and twice he fell down again. Nevertheless, we did not yield ourselves prisoners; we were taken off by main force, and on the way to the guard-house we managed to break away from them. As to Athos, they thought him dead, and left him on the ground. That is the real truth of the matter. And what then, captain! One cannot win every battle. The great Pompey lost that of Pharsalia, and Francis I., who, from what I have heard, was no fool in the fighting way, got roughly handled at Pavia.'
"'And I have the honour to assure you, sir,' said Aramis, 'that I killed one of the guards with his own sword, for mine was broken at the first onset.'
"'I did not know that,' said Treville in a more gentle tone. 'I see that the Cardinal exaggerated matters.'
"'But for heaven's sake, sir,' continued Aramis, encouraged by the softened manner of his commander, 'for heaven's sake, do not mention that Athos is wounded: he would be in despair if the King heard of it; and as the wound is very serious, having passed through the shoulder and entered the breast, it is to be feared....'
"At this moment the tapestry that covered the door was raised, and the head of a man of noble aspect and handsome features, but fearfully pale, appeared below the fringe.
"'Athos!' exclaimed the two guardsmen.
"'Athos!' repeated Monsieur de Treville himself.
"You asked for me, sir,' said Athos to Monsieur de Treville, in a calm but enfeebled voice—'my comrades told me that you asked for me, and I hastened to obey your summons.'
"And so saying, the mousquetaire entered the room with a tolerably firm step, in full uniform and belted as usual. Monsieur de Treville, touched to the soul by this proof of courage, sprang to meet him.
"'I was telling these gentlemen,' said he, 'that I forbid my mousquetaires to expose their lives without necessity; that brave men are very dear to the King, and his Majesty knows that his mousquetaires are the bravest men upon the face of the earth. Your hand, Athos!'
"And without waiting for the new comer to hold out his right hand, Monsieur de Treville seized and pressed it energetically, not observing that Athos, in spite of his command over himself, writhed with pain, and grew each moment paler than before. The room-door had remained half open, and a loud murmur of satisfaction from without replied to the words addressed to Athos by Monsieur de Treville. The heads of two or three mousquetaires, who forgot themselves in the enthusiasm of the moment, appeared at the opening of the tapestry. Doubtless Monsieur de Treville was about to check sharply this infraction of the laws of etiquette, when he suddenly felt the hand of Athos contract in his, and looking at the guardsman, he saw that he was going to faint. At the same moment Athos, who had summoned all his energies to struggle against the sufferings he endured, was overcome by the torture of his wound, and fell senseless to the ground.
"'A surgeon!' cried Monsieur de Treville. 'My surgeon—the King's—the best! A surgeon! or, sangdieu! my brave Athos will die!'"
The swoon of Athos had merely been occasioned by loss of blood. The surgeon declares there is no danger, and D'Artagnan, who has stood his ground with true Gascon tenacity, at length obtains an audience. The loss of his letter of recommendation now proves a great disadvantage to him. In those days of court intrigue and espionage, men were naturally suspicious of each other, and the mingled naïveté and shrewdness of the young Béarnais, are causes for Monsieur de Treville at first suspecting him of being a spy of the Cardinal's. His suspicions, however, are wearing off, and he is disposed to be useful to D'Artagnan, although he cannot admit him into the mousquetaires—a noviciate of two years in some other regiment being the indispensable condition of admission into that favoured corps—when D'Artagnan, happening to look out of the window, starts, reddens with anger, and rushes to the door. He has recognised, in a passer-by, the person who had stolen his letter; and leaves Monsieur de Treville in doubt whether he has to do with a madman or with an emissary of the Cardinal's, who, fearing himself suspected, takes this pretext for effecting a retreat.
In his hurry to leave the hotel and pursue his robber, D'Artagnan gets into all sorts of scrapes. On the landing-place he runs against Athos, who is returning home after having his wound dressed. Some hasty words pass, a challenge is the result, and rendezvous is taken for noon in a field near the Carmelite convent, then a favourite duelling ground. In the gateway of the courtyard, Porthos is talking with one of his comrades, and D'Artagnan, in trying to pass between them, gets entangled in the velvet cloak of the former, and discovers, what the guardsman had been most anxious to conceal, that the front only of his embroidered shoulder-belt was gold, and the back mere leather. Porthos, not having sufficient pistoles to purchase a whole belt, had gratified his vanity with half a one, and wore his cloak to conceal the deficiency. The young Gascon finds himself with a second duel on his hands, and sets himself down as a dead man. Meantime his robber has disappeared, and as D'Artagnan is proceeding in the direction of his lodging, he encounters Aramis, standing in the middle of the street with some other gentlemen. Furious with himself for the follies he has been committing, D'Artagnan has made a resolution to be all things to all men, at least for the hour or two that he still has to live; and observing that Aramis has dropped a handkerchief, and placed his foot upon it, he hastens to drag it from under his boot, and present it to him with a most gracious bow and smile. A coronet and cipher on the embroidered cambric attract notice, and draw down a shower of raillery upon the head of the mousquetaire, who, in order to shield the honour of a lady, is compelled to deny that the handkerchief is his. His companions walk away, and Aramis reproaches D'Artagnan with his officiousness. The Gascon blood gets up, good resolutions are forgotten, and a third rendezvous is the result.
M. Dumas is never more at home than in the description of duels. Himself an excellent swordsman, he luxuriates and excels in the description of points and parries, cartes and tierces, and of the vigorous estocades which his heroes administer to each other. One of the good chapters of the book—and there are many such—is the one in which D'Artagnan encounters the three redoubtable champions whom he has so heedlessly provoked. We will endeavour, by abridgement, to lay it before our readers.
"D'Artagnan knew nobody at Paris, and betook himself, therefore, to his first rendezvous without seconds, intending to content himself with those whom his adversary should bring. Moreover, his firm intention was to make all reasonable apologies to Athos, fearing that there would result from this duel the usual consequence of an encounter between a young and vigorous man and a wounded and feeble one—if the former is conquered, his antagonist's triumph is doubled; and if he conquers, he is accused of taking an advantage, or of being brave at small risk. Besides this, either we have been unsuccessful in the exposition of our young adventurer's character, or the reader will have already perceived that D'Artagnan was no ordinary man. Thus, although he repeated to himself that his death was inevitable, he by no means made up his mind to fall an easy sacrifice, as one less cool and courageous than himself might perhaps have done. He reflected on the different characters of the three men with whom he had to fight, and began to think that his case was not so desperate as it might have been. He hoped, by the candid and loyal apology which he intended to offer, to make himself a friend of Athos, whose austere mien and noble air pleased him greatly. He flattered himself that he should be able to intimidate Porthos by the affair of the shoulder-belt, which he could, if not killed upon the spot, relate to every body, and which would cover the giant with ridicule. Finally, he did not feel much afraid of Aramis, and he resolved, if he lived long enough, either to kill him, or at least to administer to him a wound in the face, that would considerably impair the beauty of which he was evidently so proud.
"When D'Artagnan arrived in sight of the waste land adjoining the convent of barefooted Carmelites, noon was striking, and Athos was already on the ground. The guardsman, who still suffered cruelly from his wound, was seated on a post, and awaiting his adversary with the calm countenance and dignified air that never abandoned him. Upon D'Artagnan's appearance, he rose courteously, and advanced a few steps to meet him. Our Gascon, on his side, made his approach hat in hand, the plume trailing on the earth.
"'Sir,' said Athos, 'I have given notice to two gentlemen to act as my seconds, but they are not come. I am surprised at it, for they are usually punctual.'
"'For my part, sir,' returned D'Artagnan, 'I have no seconds. I arrived in Paris yesterday, and know no one but Monsieur de Treville, to whom I was recommended by my father, who has the honour to be a friend of his.'
"Athos glanced at the beardless chin and youthful mien of his adversary, and seemed to reflect for a moment.
"'Ah ça!' said he at last, speaking half to himself and half to D'Artagnan; 'ah ça! but if I kill you, it will be something very like child-murder.'
"'Not exactly, sir,' replied D'Artagnan, with a bow that was not without its dignity; 'not exactly, sir, since you do me the honour to meet me with a wound by which you must be greatly inconvenienced.'
"Inconvenienced certainly, and you hurt me terribly, I must acknowledge, when you ran against me just now; but I will use my left hand, according to my custom in such circumstances. Do not suppose on that account that I am sparing you; I fight decently with both hands, and a left-handed swordsman is an awkward antagonist when one is not prepared for him. I am sorry I did not tell you of it sooner, that you might have got your hand in accordingly.'
"'Truly, sir,' said D'Artagnan, with another bow, 'I know not how to express my gratitude for such courtesy.'
"'You are too obliging to say so,' returned Athos, with his princely air; 'let us talk of something else, if not disagreeable to you. Ah, sangbleu! you hurt me terribly! My shoulder burns.'
"'If you would permit me,' said D'Artagnan, timidly.
"'What then, sir?'
"'I have a balm that is wonderfully efficacious in the cure of wounds. I hold the recipe from my mother, and have myself experienced its good effects.'
"'Well?'
"'Well, I am sure that in less than three days it would heal your wound; and at the end of that time, sir, it would still be a great honour for me to meet you.'
"D'Artagnan said these words with a simplicity that did credit to his natural courtesy of feeling, at the same time that it could not give rise to the slightest doubt of his courage.
"'Pardieu, sir!' said Athos, 'your proposition pleases me, not that I can accept it, but because it is that of a chivalrous gentleman. It is thus that spoke and acted those heroes of Charlemagne's days, on whom every cavalier should strive to model himself. Unfortunately we do not live in the times of the great emperor, but in those of Cardinal Richelieu; and however well we might keep our secret, it would be known before three days had elapsed that we intended to fight, and our duel would be prevented. Ah ça! where can those idlers be?'
"'If you are in haste, sir,' resumed D'Artagnan with the same simplicity with which he had a moment before proposed to put off the duel for three days—'if you are pressed for time, and that it pleases you to finish with me at once, let me beg of you to do so.'
"'Another proposal that I like,' said Athos with an approving nod of the head; 'it is that of a man lacking neither wit nor valour. Sir, I like men of your stamp; and I see that if we do not kill one another, I shall hereafter have much pleasure in your society. But let us wait for these gentlemen, I beg of you. I have plenty of time, and it will be more according to rule. Ha! here comes one of them.'
"At that moment the gigantic form of Porthos appeared at the extremity of the Rue Vaugirard.
"'What!' cried D'Artagnan, 'Monsieur Porthos is one of your seconds?'
"'Yes; is it disagreeable to you?'
"'By no means.'
"'And here is the other.'
"D'Artagnan turned his head and recognised Aramis.
"'What!' he exclaimed in still greater astonishment, 'Monsieur Aramis is the other?'
"'Certainly; do you not know that we are never seen asunder, and are known in court, camp, and city, as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the three inseparables? But you are just arrived from Gascony, which accounts for your being unacquainted with these circumstances.'
"Meanwhile Porthos, who had abandoned his cloak and changed his shoulder-belt, approached, nodded to Athos, but on beholding D'Artagnan, remained struck with astonishment.
"'This is the gentleman I am to fight with,' said Athos indicating D'Artagnan with his hand, at the same time bowing to him.
"'It is with him that I am to fight,' said Porthos.
"'Not till one o'clock,' said D'Artagnan.
"'And I also,' said Aramis, who just then came up.
"'Our appointment was for two o'clock,' said D'Artagnan with perfect composure.
"'What are you going to fight about, Athos?' asked Aramis.
"'Faith, I can hardly tell you. He hurt my shoulder. And you, Porthos?'
"'I fight because I am so minded,' replied Porthos colouring.
"Athos, whom nothing escaped, saw a slight smile curling D'Artagnan's lip.
"'We had a dispute about dress,' said the young Gascon.
"'And you, Aramis?' asked Athos.
"'A theological difference,' replied Aramis, making a sign to D'Artagnan that he wished the cause of their duel to remain a secret.
"'Indeed!' said Athos looking at D'Artagnan.
"'Yes, a point of St Augustin on which we are not agreed,' said the latter.
"'Decidedly he is a man of wit and sense,' muttered Athos to himself.
"'And now that you are all assembled, gentlemen,' said D'Artagnan, 'allow me to apologise to you.'
"At the word apologise, a cloud passed across the features of Athos, Porthos smiled contemptuously, Aramis made a negative sign.
"'You do not understand me, gentlemen,' said D'Artagnan raising his head proudly. 'I only apologise in case I should not be able to pay my debt to all of you; for Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me the first, which greatly diminishes the value of my debt to you, Monsieur Porthos, and renders that to Monsieur Aramis nearly worthless. And now, gentlemen, I say again, accept my apologies, but on that account only—and to work!'
"And so saying, he drew his sword with the most fearless and gallant mien possible to be seen. His blood was up, and at that moment he would have fought not only Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, but the whole regiment of mousquetaires.
"'When you please, sir,' said Athos, putting himself on guard.
"'I was waiting your orders,' returned D'Artagnan.
"But the two rapiers had scarcely clashed together, when five of the Cardinal's guards, commanded by Monsieur de Jussac, appeared from behind a corner of the convent.
"'The Cardinal's guards!' exclaimed Porthos and Aramis. 'Sheath your swords, gentlemen!'
"But it was too late. The combatants had been seen in an attitude that left no doubt as to their pugnacious intentions.
"'Hola!' cried Jussac advancing towards them, followed by his men. 'Hola, mousquetaires! fighting here? And the edicts. We have forgotten them, eh?'
"'Your generosity is really remarkable, gentlemen of the guards,' said Athos bitterly, for Jussac had been one of the aggressors in the recent affray. 'I promise you that if we saw you fighting we would not interrupt you. Leave us alone, then, and you will have your amusement for nothing.'
"'Gentlemen,' said Jussac, 'I am grieved to tell you that the thing is impossible. Duty before every thing. Be pleased to sheath your swords, and follow us.'
"'Sir,' replied Aramis, parodying Jussac's manner, 'we should have the greatest pleasure in accepting your polite invitation, if it depended upon us so to do, but unfortunately the thing is impossible; Monsieur de Treville has forbidden it. Move on, therefore; it is the best thing you can do.'
"This bantering exasperated Jussac. 'We will charge you,' said he, 'if you disobey.'
"'They are five,' said Athos in a low voice, 'and we are but three; we shall be beaten again, and we must die here; for I swear not to reappear before the captain if conquered.'
"Athos, Porthos, and Aramis drew closer to each other. Jussac was arranging his men in line. This single moment of delay was sufficient for D'Artagnan to make up his mind; it was one of those moments that decide a man's whole life. The choice was to be made between King and Cardinal, and, once made, it must be persevered in. If he fought, he disobeyed the law, risked his head, and made an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself. All these considerations passed like lightning through the mind of the young Gascon; but, be it said to his honour, he did not hesitate an instant. Turning towards Athos and his friends.
"'Gentlemen,' said he, 'allow me to amend the words last spoken. You said you were only three, but to my thinking we are four.'
"'But you are not one of us,' said Porthos.
"'True,' replied D'Artagnan, 'I have not the coat; but I have the spirit. In my heart I am a mousquetaire—I feel it, and that leads me on.'
"'You may retire, young man,' cried Jussac, who doubtless guessed D'Artagnan's intentions by his gestures and the expression of his face. 'You may retire, we permit it. Be-gone, then, and quickly.'
"D'Artagnan did not stir.
"'Decidedly you are a fine fellow,' said Athos, pressing the young man's hand.
"But the three mousquetaires thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and distrusted his inexperience.
"'We should only be three, of whom one wounded, and a child,' said Athos; 'but they will say all the same, that there were four of us.'
"'Gentlemen,' said D'Artagnan, 'only try me, and I swear by my honour that if we are conquered I will not leave the ground alive.'
"'What is your name, my brave fellow?' said Athos.
"'D'Artagnan, sir.'
"'Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forwards!' cried Athos.
"'What do you decide to do?' cried Jussac.
"'We are going to have the honour of charging you,' said Aramis, raising his hat with one hand and drawing his sword with the other.
"And the nine combatants precipitated themselves on each other with a fury that did not exclude a certain degree of method. Athos took one Cahusac, a favourite of the Cardinal's; Porthos had Bicarat; and Aramis found himself opposed to two adversaries. As to D'Artagnan, he encountered Jussac himself.
"The heart of the young Gascon beat high, not with fear, there was no shadow of it, but with emulation; he fought like an enraged tiger, turning about his enemy, changing each moment his ground and his guard. Jussac was one of the good blades of the day, and had had much practice; but he had, nevertheless, all the difficulty in the world to defend himself against a supple and active antagonist, who was constantly deviating from the received rules of fencing, attacking him on all sides at once, and parrying, at the same time, like a man who had the greatest regard for his epidermis. At last Jussac lost patience. Furious at being thus kept at bay by one whom he looked upon as a child, his sang-froid abandoned him, and he began to commit blunders. D'Artagnan, who, although lacking practice, was perfect in theory, redoubled his agility. Jussac, with the design of finishing him at once, delivered a terrible thrust, which D'Artagnan parried adroitly, and, before his opponent could raise himself, he glided like a serpent under his guard, and passed his sword through his body. Jussac fell heavily to the earth.
"D'Artagnan now cast an uneasy and rapid glance over the field of battle. Aramis had already killed one of his adversaries. The other gave him plenty to do, but Aramis was able to take care of himself. Bicarat and Porthos were wounded; Porthos in the arm, and Bicarat in the thigh. But neither wound was serious, and the sight of their blood made them fight all the better. There was no need to interfere there. Athos, wounded again by Cahusac, was growing each moment paler, but he did not give way an inch. He had changed his sword to his left hand. D'Artagnan caught his eye as he was looking to see who most required his aid. The look of the wounded mousquetaire was most eloquent; he would have died sooner than call for assistance, but his glance said how much he stood in need of it. With a single bound, D'Artagnan was upon Cahusac's flank.
"'Have a care, sir guardsman,' cried he, 'or I slay you on the spot.'
"Cahusac turned to face his new opponent. It was high time, for Athos, who had only been sustained by his extreme courage, sank upon one knee.
"'Sangdieu!' cried he to D'Artagnan, 'do not kill him, young man, I beg of you; I have an old quarrel to terminate with him when my wound is healed. Disarm him only—So—Well done!'
"This last exclamation was caused by Cahusac's sword, which flew from his hand to a distance of twenty paces. D'Artagnan and Cahusac rushed to pick it up, but D'Artagnan reached it first, and put his foot upon it. Cahusac ran to the guardsman whom Aramis had killed, took his rapier, and was returning to D'Artagnan; but on his road he met Athos, who had taken breath during the moment's respite which the latter had procured him, and now recommenced the fight, fearing that the Gascon would kill his enemy. D'Artagnan saw that he should disoblige him by again interfering. A few seconds later, Cahusac fell with a wound through the throat. At the same moment Aramis placed his sword's point on the breast of his prostrate adversary, and forced him to sue for mercy.
"Porthos and Bicarat alone remained. Porthos, while fighting, indulged in all sorts of fanfarronades, asking Bicarat what time of day it was, and complimenting him on the company which his brother had just attained in the regiment of Navarre. In spite of his jests, however, he did not gain ground. Bicarat was a stubborn and skilful opponent. It was time to bring matters to a conclusion before some patrol should arrive, and take both royalists and cardinalists into custody. Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, surrounded Bicarat, and summoned him to surrender. Although alone against four, and with a wound through the thigh, he would not give in, though Jussac, who had raised himself on his elbow, called out to him to yield. Bicarat was a Gascon, like D'Artagnan; he only laughed, and pretended not to hear, at the same time pointing to the ground at his feet. 'Here will die Bicarat,' said he, 'the last of those who are with him.'
"'But they are four against you,' cried Jussac; 'I order you to desist.'
"'Ah, if you order me, it is another affair!' said Bicarat; 'you are my superior, and I must obey.'
"And giving a spring backwards, he broke his sword across his knee, in order not to yield it up, threw the pieces over the convent wall, and, crossing his arms, whistled a Cardinalist air.
"Courage is always respected even in an enemy. The mousquetaires saluted Bicarat with their swords, and returned them to their scabbards. D'Artagnan did the same, and, assisted by Bicarat, he carried under the convent porch Jussac, Cahusac, and that one of Aramis's adversaries who was only wounded. The other, as already observed, was dead. They then rang the bell, and left the ground; the mousquetaires and D'Artagnan, intoxicated with joy, carrying away four swords out of five, and taking the direction of Monsieur de Treville's hotel. Every mousquetaire whom they met, and informed of what had happened, turned back and accompanied them; so that at last their march was like a triumphal procession. D'Artagnan was beside himself with delight; he walked between Athos and Porthos, holding an arm of each.
"'If I am not yet a mousquetaire,' said he to his new friends, as they crossed the threshold of the Hotel Treville, 'I may at least say that I am received apprentice.'"
The result of this affair is to procure D'Artagnan the favour of Monsieur de Treville and the King—the latter of whom dislikes the Cardinal in secret nearly as much as he fears him. The young Gascon has an audience of Louis the Just, who recruits his finances by the present of a handful of pistoles; and a few days later he is appointed to a cadetship in the company of guards of the Chevalier des Essarts, a brother-in-law of Treville. According to the singular ideas of those days, there was nothing degrading to a gentleman in receiving money from the king's hand. D'Artagnan, therefore, pockets the pistoles with many thanks, and takes an early opportunity of dividing them with his friends with the mythological names, Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, who, according to the custom of mousquetaires, have more gold upon their coats than in their purses. The courage and good qualities of the Gascon have won the hearts of the three guardsmen, and he is admitted to make a fourth in their brotherhood, of which the motto is, "Un pour tous, et tous pour un." All is in common amongst them—pleasures, perils, pistoles.
The characters of the three mousquetaires are well sketched and sustained, and illustrate admirably the vices, virtues, and propensities of their time and station. Aramis, who was originally intended for the church, has relinquished the black coat of an abbé in order to fight a nobleman who had insulted him. He still, however, persists in considering himself as a guardsman only pro tempore; and whenever fortune or his mistress frowns upon him, he declares his intention of abandoning his sinful mode of life, and throwing himself into the arms of mother church. Vanity is the failing of Porthos, who shines more by his imposing appearance, brilliant attire, and bull-dog courage, than by any qualities of the head. To Athos, who is the most interesting of the three, a certain mystery is attached, which, however, is seen through early in the book. He is a man of high birth, princely manners, and chivalrous feeling, but whose stormy life has cast a strong tinge of melancholy over his character, and who now finds his sole consolation in the wine-cup. It must not be therefore supposed that Athos is a sot, a wallower in wine, or a haunter of tavern orgies. He drinks, it is true, enough to prostrate any three ordinary men; but he takes his liquor, as he does every thing else, so much like a gentleman, and, moreover, there is so much self-devotion and generosity in his character, such dignity of manner and rectitude of feeling—his temper so even and kindly—his courage so heroic—that he is unquestionably the most amiable and interesting of the dramatis personæ, preferable to D'Artagnan, to whom premature worldly wisdom gives a hardness bordering upon egotism. While Aramis is sighing sonnets to his mistress, and Porthos parading on the crown of the causeway in all the glory of gold lace and embroidery, Athos sits tranquilly at home, and says, like Gregory in the Deserter—
"J'aime mieux boire."
His real name—for Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are merely assumed ones—is known only to the King and to Monsieur de Treville.
It would be difficult within the limits of this paper to give an idea of the entire plot of the Three Mousquetaires, which is, in fact, less a tale with a regular intrigue and dénouement, than a narrative of adventures and incidents, extending over a period of nearly three years. D'Artagnan, whose enterprising character and Gascon acuteness qualify him admirably to take a part in the court intrigues of the time, soon finds himself almost at open war with the Cardinal, and engaged in serving the interests of Louis the Thirteenth's unhappy queen, Anne of Austria, who, by rejecting the suit of the scarlet duke—as the mousquetaires irreverently style the Cardinal Duke of Richelieu—has drawn upon herself the deadly hatred of that omnipotent personage. The Duke of Buckingham, who is madly in love with the queen, visits Paris in disguise, and obtains an interview with her. At parting, he implores her to give him some trifle, which he may preserve as a souvenir of their attachment; and Anne of Austria gives him the first thing that comes to hand, which happens to be a jewel-case, containing twelve diamond clasps or ferrets that she has lately received from the King. The Cardinal, omnipresent by his spies, learns this; manages adroitly to rouse the king's jealousy; and prevails on him to give a ball, at which the queen is desired to appear, wearing the ferrets in question. Anne of Austria is in despair. To obtain the restitution of the jewels within the eight days that have to elapse before the one fixed for the ball, appears impossible. Buckingham is in England; if she writes, her letter will be intercepted by the Cardinal; if she sends, her messenger will be stopped. Nothing could at that time be done in France without coming to the knowledge of Richelieu. In her extremity she is induced to confide in one of her attendants, with whom D'Artagnan is in love; and a few hours later, the intrepid Gascon and his three inseparable friends set out for England, provided with a leave of absence from Monsieur de Treville, and attended by their four lackeys. D'Artagnan alone knows the object of their journey; but the others, confiding implicitly in his judgment, and bound, moreover, by the rules of their association, ask no questions, and willingly brave the dangers that the Cardinal strews in their path. It is agreed that, in case of rencontres by the way, the dead or wounded are to be left to their fate, and the others are to push on without an instant's delay. Should D'Artagnan fall, the survivors are to take from his pocket the queen's letter to Buckingham, and continue their route.
The adventurers are not allowed to proceed far without molestation. They stop to breakfast, and a stranger picks a quarrel with Porthos, who stays behind to fight him, and does not rejoin them. Near Beauvais they receive a volley from some pretended labourers; D'Artagnan's hat is knocked off by a ball; a lackey is left in the road, and Aramis is badly wounded, and obliged to remain at the next town. D'Artagnan, Athos, and their two attendants, reach Amiens at midnight, and stop to sleep at the sign of the Golden Lily. Here various suspicious incidents occur, and in the morning their horses are found to be dead-lame, and unable to proceed. One that might still have gone on has been bled by mistake.
"All these accidents succeeding each other began to alarm our travellers; they might be the result of chance, but they were more probably that of an organized plot. Athos and D'Artagnan left their room, while Planchet (D'Artagnan's groom) went to enquire whether there were any horses to be bought in the neighbourhood. At the door were standing two vigorous animals, saddled and bridled, and which would have suited the guardsmen well. Planchet asked to whom they belonged, and was told that their masters had passed the night at the inn, and were then paying their score previous to departure. Athos went to do the same, while D'Artagnan and Planchet remained at the street door.
"The host was in a small back room, which Athos was requested to enter. He did so without suspicion, and took out some pistoles to pay. The innkeeper, who was seated at a desk, of which one of the drawers was half-open, took the money, turned it about, and examined it on all sides, and suddenly exclaiming that it was false, declared that he would have Athos and his companion arrested as coiners.
"'Scoundrel!' cried Athos, advancing towards him; 'I will cut your ears off for your insolence.'
"But the man stooped down, took a brace of pistols out of the open drawer, and pointing them at Athos, called loudly for help. On the instant four armed men entered by a side-door, and attacked Athos.
"'I am taken!' cried the mousquetaire, with all the power of his lungs. 'To horse, D'Artagnan! Spur! spur!'
"And he fired both his pistols. D'Artagnan and Planchet untied the two horses that were waiting at the door, sprang upon their backs, and set off full gallop.
"By dint of spurring and precaution, D'Artagnan and his follower reach Calais without further accident; the horse of the former falling dead within a hundred yards of the town. They hasten to the port, and find themselves close to a gentleman and his servant, dusty and travel-stained, who are enquiring for a vessel to take them to England. The master of a sloop that is ready to sail informs them, that an order had arrived that very morning to prevent any ship from leaving the harbour without an express permission from the Cardinal.
"'I have that permission,' said the gentleman, taking a paper from his pocket.
"'Very good!' said the sailor. 'Get it countersigned by the governor of the port, and give me the preference.'
"'Where shall I find the governor?'
"'At his country-house, a quarter of a league from the town. You see it yonder. A slated roof at the foot of a little hill.'"
The gentleman and his attendant take the direction of the governor's house. D'Artagnan follows them; picks a quarrel with the stranger, who is a certain Count de Wardes, an adherent of the Cardinal's, wounds him desperately, himself receiving a scratch, takes the pass, gets it countersigned, and proceeds to England. The Duke of Buckingham is hunting at Windsor with the king; but the indefatigable Gascon follows him thither, and delivers his letter. The duke hurries with him to London to give him the ferrets; but, to his unspeakable consternation, finds that two out of the twelve are missing. They had been cut from his dress by an emissary of the Cardinal's at a ball at Windsor Castle, at which he had worn the queen's present. The ferrets are of immense value, and difficult workmanship. Buckingham sends for his jeweller, who demands eight days and three thousand pistoles to replace the missing ornaments. The duke locks him up in a room, with his tools and a workman, and allows him six thousand pistoles, and thirty-six hours to complete then. The ferrets are ready within the prescribed period. Furnished with a password from the duke, who has trusty agents in France, D'Artagnan reaches Paris by a different road and without impediment, arriving in time to save the queen, who appears at the ball with her twelve ferrets, to the vast discomfiture of the Cardinal. Meanwhile D'Artagnan's mistress had been spirited away by Richelieu, and the young Gascon is in despair. He confides his misfortunes to Monsieur de Treville, who promises to do what he can to find the lady, and advises D'Artagnan to leave Paris till the Cardinal's wrath is a little blown over. D'Artagnan takes his advice; bethinks him of the three mousquetaires, and sets out to look for them. He finds Porthos and Aramis where he left them, nearly recovered from their wounds; and proceeding to Amiens, enters the hotel of the Golden Lily, and confronts the host—his whip in his right hand, his left on his sword-hilt, and evidently meaning mischief.
The innkeeper, however, turns out to be more an object of pity than blame. Previously to the arrival of D'Artagnan and Athos on their way to England, he had received information from the authorities, that a party of coiners, disguised as guardsmen, would arrive at his inn, and that he was to take measures to arrest them. The six men who brought him these orders disguised themselves as servants and stable-boys, and remained to assist in the capture. In the skirmish, Athos shot two of them, wounded a third, cut the host across the face with the flat of his sword, and retreated fighting to the cellar stairs. Entering the cellar, he pulled the door to and barricaded it. His assailants left the house, carrying off their killed and wounded; and when the innkeeper, recovering a little from his alarm, went to inform the governor of what had occurred, the latter declared himself totally ignorant of the whole business, denied that he had given orders to arrest any coiners, and threatened to hang the unlucky host if he mixed up his name in the affair.
"'But, Athos!' cried D'Artagnan, losing all patience at the innkeeper's prolixity,—'Athos, what is become of him?'
"'I was eager to repair my wrongs towards the gentleman,' replied the innkeeper, 'and hurried to the cellar to set him at liberty. But on my declaring what I came for, he swore it was only a snare laid for him, and insisted upon making his conditions before he came out. I told him very humbly—for I was aware of the scrape into which I had got myself by my violence towards one of the King's mousquetaires—that I was ready to submit to them.'
"'In the first place,' said he, 'I must have my servant delivered to me, fully armed.'
"His order was obeyed, and Monsieur Grimaud was taken down to the cellar, wounded as he was. His master received him, barricaded the door again, and bid us go to the devil.
"'But where is he?' cried D'Artagnan. 'Where is Athos?'
"'In the cellar, sir.'
"'Scoundrel! you have kept him all this time in the cellar?'
"'Good heavens, sir! I keep him in the cellar! You do not know what he is doing there, or you would not suppose it. If you can prevail upon him to come out, I shall be grateful to you to the last day of my life; I will adore you as my guardian angel.'
"'I shall find him there, then?'
"'Certainly you will, sir—he won't come out. Every day we are obliged to hand him down bread at the end of a hay-fork, and meat too, when he asks for it. But, alas! it is not of bread and meat that he makes the largest consumption. I tried once to enter the cellar with two of my servants, and he put himself in a most terrible passion. I heard him and his lackey cocking their pistols and carbine; and when we asked what their intentions were, your friend said that they had forty shots to fire, and that they would fire every one before allowing us to enter the cellar. I then went to complain to the governor, and he told me that I had only got what I deserved, and that it would teach me to maltreat honourable gentlemen who used my house.'
"'So that, since that time....' said D'Artagnan, who could not help laughing at the pitiable countenance of the host.
"'Since that time, sir,' continued the latter, 'we lead the most wretched life imaginable; for you must know that all our provisions are in the cellar, our wine in bottle and our wine in cask, beer, oil, and spices, hams and sausages; and as we cannot get at them, we are unable to give food or drink to the travellers who alight here, and our inn is losing all its custom. If your friend stops one week longer in my cellar, I am a ruined man.'
"'And quite right that you should be, scoundrel! It was easy to see by our appearance, that we were men of quality and not coiners.'
"'Yes, sir, you are right,' replied poor Boniface. 'But only listen to him, he is getting into a passion.'
"'Doubtless somebody has disturbed him,' said D'Artagnan.
"'We are obliged to disturb him,' cried the host; 'two English gentlemen have just arrived. The English, as you know, love good wine, and these have asked for the best. My wife is gone to beg Monsieur Athos to let her in, and he has no doubt refused as usual. Holy Virgin! What a racket he is making.'
"D'Artagnan rose from his seat, and followed by the host and by Planchet with his cocked carbine, took the direction of the cellar, whence a tremendous noise was proceeding. The Englishmen were exasperated; they had just come off a long journey, and were dying of hunger and thirst.
"'It is perfect tyranny,' cried they in very good French, 'that this madman will not allow these good people the use of their wine. But we will break open the door, and if he is too furious, we will kill him.'
"'Not so fast, gentlemen,' said D'Artagnan, drawing his pistols from his belt. 'You will kill nobody, if you please.'
"'Let them come,' said Athos, in his usual calm voice, from the other side of the door, 'let them come in, and we shall see.'
"Brave as they appeared to be, the two Englishmen hesitated and looked at one another. One might almost have supposed that the cellar was garrisoned by one of those hungry ogres of the fairy tale, whose cavern no one could enter with impunity. There was a moment's silence; but the Englishmen were ashamed to retreat, and one of them, descending the five or six steps leading to the cellar, gave the door a kick that made it rattle on its hinges.
"'Planchet,' said D'Artagnan, cocking his pistols, 'you take the one at the bottom of the stairs; I will take the other. Since you are for a fight, gentlemen, you shall have a bellyfull.'
"'Is that D'Artagnan's voice?' cried Athos.
"'It is,' replied the Gascon.
"'Very good,' said Athos, 'we will work them a little, these door-breakers.'
"'A moment's patience, Athos,' said D'Artagnan. 'Gentlemen,' he continued, turning to the Englishmen, 'you are between two fires. My servant and myself have three shots to fire, you will receive as many from the cellar, besides which we have got our swords, with the use of which, I can assure you, my friend and myself are tolerably well acquainted. Allow me to arrange matters. I give you my word that you shall have some wine just now.'
"'If there is any left,' growled Athos in a tone of raillery.
"'What does he mean—if there is any left?' cried the host, who felt a cold perspiration break out all over him.
"'Nonsense, there will be some left,' replied D'Artagnan; 'two men cannot have drunk the whole cellar out.'
"The Englishmen sheathed their swords, and D'Artagnan related to them the history of the imprisonment of Athos, upon hearing which they greatly blamed the innkeeper.
"'Now, gentlemen,' said D'Artagnan, 'if you will be pleased to return to your apartment, in ten minutes you shall have what you require.'
"The Englishmen bowed and retired.
"'I am alone, my dear Athos,' said D'Artagnan.—'Open the door.'
"There was a great noise of fagots and beams falling down; the besieged was demolishing his counter-scarps and bastions. The next moment the door opened, and the pale face of the mousquetaire appeared. D'Artagnan sprang forward and embraced him, but when he tried to lead him out of the cellar, he perceived that Athos staggered.
"'You are wounded?' cried he.
"'I! not the least,' was the reply. 'I am dead drunk, that is all, and never did any man better deserve to be so. Fore God! mine host, I have drunk for my share, at least one hundred and fifty bottles.'
"'Heaven have mercy on me!' cried the host. 'If the servant has drunk half as much as the master, I am a ruined man.'
"'Grimaud knows his place too well to drink the same wine as his master; he has drunk from the cask. By-the-by, I think he must have forgotten to put in the spigot—I hear a running.'
"D'Artagnan burst into a fit of laughter. The innkeeper was in a high fever. Just then Grimaud showed himself behind his master, his carbine on his shoulder, and his head shaking like that of the drunken satyr in some of Rubens' pictures. His clothes were smeared with an unctuous liquid, which the host immediately recognized as his best olive oil.
"D'Artagnan and Athos now crossed the common room, and installed themselves in the best apartment of the hotel; while the innkeeper and his wife lighted lamps, and rushed into the cellar, where a frightful spectacle awaited them. In rear of the fortifications, in which Athos had made a breach for his exit, and which were composed of fagots, planks, and empty casks, arranged according to all the rules of strategy, were numerous pools of oil and wine, in which the bones of the hams that had been eaten were lying. In one corner was a pile of broken bottles, and in another a huge cask of wine was just yielding up the last drops of its blood. Out of fifty large sausages that had been suspended to the beams of the roof, ten only were remaining. The image of devastation and death, as the ancient poet said, reigned there as upon a field of battle."
With characteristic generosity and insouciance, Athos forgives the host, and compensates him for the damage done to his property. The two guardsmen then sit down to drink, and D'Artagnan tells his friend of the misfortune he has had in the loss of his mistress.
"'Your misfortune makes me laugh,' said Athos, shrugging his shoulders. 'I wonder what you would say to a love story that I could tell you.'
"'Something that happened to yourself?'
"'Or to one of my friends; no matter.'
"'Tell it me.'
"'I would rather drink.'
"'You can do both.'
"'True,' said Athos, filling his glass; 'the two things go well together.'
"The mousquetaire paused, and seemed to be collecting his thoughts; and as he did so, D'Artagnan observed that he grew each moment paler. He had reached that stage of intoxication at which ordinary drinkers fall under the table and sleep. Athos, however, did not do that; he dreamed aloud without sleeping. There was something frightful in this somnambulism of drunkenness.
"'One of my friends,' he began—'one of my friends, mind you, not myself,' interrupted he with a gloomy smile; 'a count of my province, that is to say of Berri, noble as a Dandolo or a Montmorency, fell in love when twenty-five years of age, with a young girl of seventeen, beautiful as painters have depicted Venus. Joined to the naïveté of her age, she possessed the soul and feeling of a poet; she could not be said to please—she intoxicated all who approached her. She lived in a little village with her brother, who was a priest. None knew who they were, nor whence they came; but she was so beautiful, and her brother so pious, that none thought of asking. It was rumoured and believed that they were of good family. My friend, who was lord of that country, might have seduced the young girl or taken her by force, as he chose; he was the master; who would have come to the assistance of two friendless strangers? Unfortunately he was an honest man, and he married her. The fool-the idiot!'
"'Why a fool, since he loved her?' asked D'Artagnan.
"'Patience,' said Athos. 'He conducted her to his castle, and made her the first lady of the province; and, to do her justice, she knew perfectly how to support her rank.'
"'Well?' said D'Artagnan.
"'Well! one day she was out hunting with her husband,' continued Athos, speaking in a low tone and very fast, 'she was overcome by the heat, and fell from her horse in a swoon; the count sprang to her assistance, and as her clothes seemed to prevent her breathing, he cut them open with his dagger, and her shoulder was uncovered. Guess what she had upon her shoulder, D'Artagnan?' said Athos with a strange wild laugh.
"'How can I tell?' said D'Artagnan.
"'A fleur-de-lis. She was branded!'
"And Athos emptied at a draught the cup that stood before him.
"'Horror!' exclaimed D'Artagnan. 'What do you tell me?'
"'The truth—the angel was a devil—the innocent young girl was a convict.'
"'And what did the count do?'
"'The count was a powerful nobleman; he had right of pit and halter upon his lands; he bared the shoulder of the countess, tied her hands behind her back, and hung her to a tree.'
"'Heavens! Athos! a murder!' cried D'Artagnan.
"'Yes, a murder, nothing more,' said Athos, pale as death. 'But there is no wine—we are drinking nothing.'
"And Athos seized the last bottle by the neck, put it to his mouth, and emptied it as though it had been an ordinary glass."
This strange story, that could hardly have proceeded from any but a French imagination, is nevertheless very effective, far more so in Monsieur Dumas' terse and pointed diction than in our imperfect translation. The dame with the fleur-de-lis on her shoulder is not dead, but on the contrary married again, and proves to be no other than an emissary of the Cardinal, a certain Lady de Winter, or Milady, as M. Dumas persists in calling her. She it was who cut the diamonds off Buckingham's dress, and informed the Cardinal of the same. Throughout the whole book she plays the part of a sort of Mephistopheles in petticoats, doing evil for evil's sake; and finally, when in prison in England, gains over a fanatical young officer named Felton, who is set to guard her, and working on him by the power of her charms and an artfully devised story, instigates him to the murder of Buckingham, who is at Portsmouth fitting out an armament for the relief of La Rochelle, then besieged by Richelieu. She escapes to France, but there falls into the hands of her deadly enemy, D'Artagnan, and of her first husband, Athos, otherwise Count de la Fère. Her punishment is one of the last and most striking scenes in the book, which concludes with the capture of La Rochelle, leaving D'Artagnan a lieutenant of mousquetaires, and, to all appearance, on the high-road to further preferment. Some account of his future fortune is promised us by Monsieur Dumas; and, however alarming a continuation to a book in eight volumes may sound, we cannot help wishing he may keep his promise. There is less occasion to be alarmed at the length of a six or eight volume book from his hands, than at that of a three volume one from those of many other writers; and moreover one must take into account the ingenuity of French publishers, who manage to have the type spread out over the largest possible amount of white paper. The system of putting little in a page, and diminishing that little by the interpolation of huge and apparently objectless blank spaces, has reached its height in Paris; and, although an imposition on the public, it perhaps renders a book lighter and pleasanter to read. Light reading and pleasant reading Monsieur Dumas' romance assuredly is; and we can wish our readers no better pastime, during the long evenings of this wintry season, than the perusal of the feats and fortunes of the Trois Mousquetaires.