“Godeau, Steward of the Musketeers.”
“That’s good!” cried D’Artagnan; “they think of me in their pleasures, as I thought of them in my troubles. Well, I will certainly drink to their health with all my heart, but I will not drink alone.”
And D’Artagnan went after two guardsmen with whom he had formed greater intimacy than with the others, to invite them to drink with him this delicious Anjou wine which had just been sent him from Villeroi.
One of the two guardsmen was engaged that evening, and the other for the next. So the meeting was fixed for the day after that.
Planchet, very proud of being raised to the dignity of butler, thought he would get everything ready, like an intelligent man; and with this object in mind called in the assistance of the lackey of one of his master’s guests, named Fourreau, and the sham soldier who had tried to kill D’Artagnan, and who, belonging to no corps, had been in D’Artagnan’s service, or rather Planchet’s, ever since D’Artagnan saved his life.
The hour of the banquet having come, the two guests arrived, took their places, and the dishes were served on the table. Planchet waited, towel on arm; Fourreau uncorked the bottles, and Brisemont, as the convalescent was named, carefully poured into glass decanters the wine, which seemed to be rather muddy after the joltings of the journey. Brisemont poured the dregs into a glass, and D’Artagnan allowed him to drink it, for the poor devil had not as yet much strength.
The guests, after having eaten their soup, were on the point of touching the first glass of wine to their lips, when suddenly the cannon roared from Fort Louis and Fort Neuf. Instantly the guardsmen, imagining this to be caused by some unexpected attack, either of the besieged or the English, sprang to their swords.
But scarcely were they out of the messroom when they learned the cause of the noise. Cries of “Hurrah for the king! hurrah for the cardinal!” were resounding on every side, and drums were beating in all directions.
In fact, the king had made forced marches, and had just arrived with all his household and a reinforcement of ten thousand troops. His musketeers rode in front of him and behind him. D’Artagnan, standing with his company drawn up in line, saluted with an expressive gesture his friends, whom he followed with his eyes, and M. de Tréville, who instantly recognized him.
The ceremony of reception over, the four friends were soon in one another’s arms.
“By jove!” cried D’Artagnan, “you could not have arrived more opportunely; the dinner cannot have had time to cool.—Can it, gentlemen?” added the young man, turning to the two guardsmen, whom he introduced to his friends.
“Ah, ha!” said Porthos, “so it seems we were feasting!”
“Is there any drinkable wine in your shanty?” asked Athos.
“Well, by Jove! there is your own, my dear friend,” replied D’Artagnan.
“Our wine!” exclaimed Athos in astonishment.
“Yes, the wine you sent me.”
“We sent you wine?”
“Yes; you know what I mean—the wine from the slopes of Anjou.”
“Did you send this wine, Aramis?” said Athos.
“No; and you, Porthos?”
“No; and you, Athos?
“No!”
“Well, but if it was not you, it was your steward,” said D’Artagnan.
“Our steward!”
“Here is his letter,” said D’Artagnan, and he exhibited the note to his comrades.
“That is not his writing!” said Athos; “I know it. Before we left Villeroi I settled the accounts of our crowd.”
“It is a forged letter,” said Porthos. “We have not been under arrest.”
D’Artagnan rushed towards the messroom, the three musketeers and the two guards following him.
The first object that met D’Artagnan’s eyes on entering the diningroom was Brisemont stretched on the ground and rolling in horrible convulsions.
Planchet and Fourreau, pale as death, were trying to aid him; but it was plain that all assistance was useless—all the features of the dying man were distorted with the death struggle.
“Ah!” cried he, perceiving D’Artagnan—“ah! it is frightful! You pretend to pardon me, and you poison me!”
“I swear to you on the Gospel,” said D’Artagnan, throwing himself down by the dying man, “that I didn’t know the wine was poisoned, and I was going to drink of it as you did.”
“I do not believe you,” cried the soldier.
And he expired under redoubled torments.
“Oh, my friends,” said D’Artagnan, “you come once more to save my life—not only mine, but the lives of these gentlemen.—Gentlemen,” continued he, addressing the guardsmen, “I request you say nothing about this adventure. Great personages may have had a hand in what you have seen, and if talked about, the evil would only recoil on us.”
“Ah, sir,” stammered Planchet, more dead than alive—“ah, sir, what a narrow escape I have had!”
“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, addressing the guardsmen, “you will easily see that such a feast can only be very melancholy after what has just taken place; so I beg you to accept my excuses, and put off the party till another day.”
The two guardsmen courteously accepted D’Artagnan’s excuses, and perceiving that the four friends desired to be alone, they retired.
When the young guardsman and the three musketeers were without witnesses, they looked at each other with an air which plainly expressed that each of them realized the seriousness of the situation.
“In the first place,” said Athos, “let us leave this room; a dead man, especially the victim of a violent death, is not agreeable company.”
The manager gave them another room, and served them with boiled eggs, while Athos went himself to draw water at the spring. In a few words Porthos and Aramis were informed of all that had occurred.
“Well,” said D’Artagnan to Athos, “you see, dear friend, that it is war to the death!”
“Bah!” said Athos; “God has preserved us hitherto; God will preserve us still.”
“Yes, He has. Besides, we are men; and all things considered, it is our lot to risk our lives. But she—” added D’Artagnan in an undertone.
“She? Who?” asked Athos.
“Constance.”
“Madame Bonacieux! Ah, that’s true!” Said Athos. “My poor friend, I had forgotten.”
“Well,” said Aramis, “but have you not learned by the letter you found on the dead assassin that she is in a convent? One may be very comfortable in a convent; and as soon as the siege of Rochelle is over, I promise you, I take upon myself to get news of her.”
“You, Aramis!” cried the three friend. “How?”
“By the queen’s almoner, with whom I am very intimately acquainted.”
And with this assurance the four friends, having finished their modest repast, separated, promising to meet again that evening. D’Artagnan returned to the Minimes, and the three musketeers repaired to the king’s quarters, where they had to prepare their lodging.
Chapter 38 - The Tavern of the Red Dovecot
Meanwhile the king, who, although he had so recently arrived, was in such haste to face the enemy, and, with more reason than the cardinal, shared his hatred for Buckingham, desired every disposition to be made, first to drive the English from the Isle of Ré, and afterwards to press the siege of Rochelle.
As it is not our intention to write a journal of the siege, but, on the contrary, only to introduce such events of it as are connected with the story we are telling, we will content ourselves with saying in a word or two that the expedition succeeded, to the king’s great astonishment and the cardinal’s great glory. The English, driven back foot by foot, beaten in every skirmish, and overwhelmed in the passage of the Isle of Loix, were obliged to re-embark, leaving on the battlefield two thousand men, among whom were five colonels, three lieutenantcolonels, two hundred and fifty captains, and twenty gentlemen of rank, four pieces of cannon, and sixty colours, which were taken to Paris by Claude de St. Simon, and suspended with great pomp in the arches of Notre Dame.
The cardinal was left free to carry on the siege without having, at least for the moment, anything to fear from the English.
All the responsibility rested on the cardinal, for one cannot be a despotic minister without responsibility; therefore all the resources of his mighty genius were expended night and day engaged in listening to the slightest rumour heard in any of the great kingdoms of Europe.
The cardinal, to whom his most inveterate detractors have never denied personal bravery, was not prevented, however, from making excursions by night, sometimes to communicate to the Duc d’Angoulême important orders; sometimes to go and confer with the king; sometimes to have an interview with a messenger whom he did not wish to receive at his headquarters.
Now, one evening, when D’Artagnan, who was in the trenches, was not able to accompany them, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, mounted on their war-horses, enveloped in their military cloaks, with their hands on their pistol-butts, were returning from an ale-house called the Red Dovecot, which Athos had discovered two days before on the road to La Jarrie. They were riding along on the road leading to the camp, and quite on their guard, as we have stated, for fear of an ambuscade, when, about a quarter of a league from the village of Boinar, they fancied they heard the trampling of horses approaching them. All three instantly halted, closed in, and waited, occupying the middle of the road. In an instant, just as the moon broke out from behind a cloud, they saw appear at a turn of the road two horsemen, who, on perceiving them, stopped in their turn, seemingly to deliberate whether they should continue their route or go back. Their hesitation aroused some suspicion in the three friends, and Athos, riding a few paces in advance of the others, cried in a firm voice,
“Who goes there?”
“Who goes there, yourselves?” replied one of the two horsemen.
“That is not an answer,” replied Athos. “Who goes there? Answer, or else we charge.”
“Your name?” insisted the horseman, letting his cloak fall, and leaving his face uncovered.
“The cardinal!” cried the astonished musketeer.
“Your name?” cried his Eminence for the third time.
“Athos,” said the musketeer.
The cardinal made a sign to his attendant, who drew near to him.
“These three musketeers shall follow us,” said he in an undertone. “I do not wish it known I left the camp; and by following us we shall be certain they will tell no one.”
“We are gentlemen, monseigneur,” said Athos; “put us on our honour, and give yourself no uneasiness. Thank God, we can keep a secret.”
The cardinal fixed his keen eyes on the bold speaker.
“You have a quick ear, Monsieur Athos,” said the cardinal; “but now listen to this: it is not from mistrust that I ask you to follow me, but for my security. No doubt your companions are MM. Porthos and Aramis.”
“Yes, your Eminence,” said Athos, while the two musketeers who had remained behind advanced, hat in hand.
“I know you, gentlemen,” said the cardinal, “I know you. I know you are not altogether my friends, and I am sorry for it; but I know you are brave and loyal gentlemen, and that confidence may be reposed in you. Monsieur Athos, do me the honour of accompanying me, you and your two friends, and then I shall have an escort to excite envy in his Majesty, if we should meet him.”
The three musketeers bowed to the necks of their horses.
“Well, on my honour,” said Athos, “your Eminence is right in taking us with you; we have seen ill-looking faces on the road, and we have even had a quarrel at the Red Dovecot with four of them.”
“And pray what was your quarrel about?”
“These fellows were drunk,” said Athos, “and knowing that a lady had arrived at the tavern this evening, they were on the point of forcing her door.”
“Forcing her door!” said the cardinal; “and for what purpose?”
“To do her violence, without doubt,” said Athos. “I have had the honour of informing your Eminence that these wretches were drunk.”
“And was the lady young and handsome?” asked the cardinal in some anxiety.
“We did not see her, monseigneur,” said Athos.
“You did not see her! Ah, very well,” replied the cardinal quickly; “you acted quite right in defending a woman’s honour; and as I myself am going to the Red Dovecot, I shall know whether you have told me truth or not.”
Athos bowed.
“And now, gentlemen, that’s all very well,” continued his Eminence. “I know what I wanted to know. Follow me.”
The three musketeers fell behind his Eminence, who again enveloped his face in his cloak and started up his horse, keeping at from eight to ten paces in advance of his four companions.
They soon reached the silent, solitary tavern. The landlord doubtless knew what illustrious visitor was coming, and had consequently sent intruders away.
At ten paces from the door the cardinal made a sign to his attendant and the three musketeers to halt. A saddled horse was fastened to the window-shutter. The cardinal knocked three times in a peculiar manner.
A man enveloped in a cloak immediately came out, and exchanged some rapid words with the cardinal; after which he got on horseback and set off in the direction of Surgères, which was likewise that of Paris.
“Advance, gentlemen,” said the cardinal.
“You have told me the truth, gentlemen,” said he, addressing the three musketeers, “and it will not be my fault if our meeting this evening be not advantageous to you; meanwhile follow me.”
The cardinal alighted; the three musketeers followed his example. The cardinal threw the bridle of his horse to his attendant; the three musketeers fastened their horses to the shutters.
The landlord stood at the door; for him, the cardinal was only an officer coming to visit a lady.
“Have you a room on the ground floor where these gentlemen can wait, near a good fire?” the cardinal asked.
The landlord opened the door of a large room, in which a poor stove had just been replaced by a large and excellent fireplace.
“I have this, sir,” said he.
“That will do,” replied the cardinal.—“Come in, gentlemen, and be kind enough to wait for me; I shall not be more than half an hour.”
And while the three musketeers were going into the ground-floor room, the cardinal, without asking further information, mounted the staircase like a man who has no need of his way being pointed out to him.
Chapter 39 - The Utility of Stove-Pipes
It was evident that without suspecting it, and actuated solely by their chivalric and adventurous characters, our three friends had just rendered a service to some one whom the cardinal honoured with his special protection.
Now who was that some one? This was the question the three musketeers put to each other. Then, seeing that none of the replies their wits could furnish was satisfactory, Porthos called the landlord and asked for dice.
Porthos and Aramis sat down at the table and began to play. Athos walked about in a contemplative mood.
While thinking and walking, Athos kept passing and re-passing before the stove-pipe, broken in half, the other end of which went into the upper chamber; and every time he passed he heard a murmur of words, which at length attracted his attention. Athos went close to it, and distinguished some words which undoubtedly seemed to deserve so deep an interest that he beckoned to his friends to be silent, remaining himself bent, with his ear placed against the opening of the lower orifice.
