“When you please, sir,” said Athos, putting himself on guard.
“I was awaiting your order,” said D’Artagnan, crossing swords.
But scarcely had the two rapiers clashed on meeting when a company of the guards of his Eminence, commanded by M. de Jussac, turned the angle of the convent.
“The cardinal’s guards! the cardinal’s guards!” cried Aramis and Porthos at the same time. “Sheathe swords, gentlemen! sheathe swords!”
But it was too late. The two combatants had been seen in a position which left no doubt of their intentions.“Halloo!” cried Jussac, advancing towards them, and making a sign to his men to do the same—“halloo, musketeers! fighting here, then, are you? And the edicts—what has become of them?”
“You are very generous, gentlemen of the guards,” said Athos with acrimony, for Jussac was one of the aggressors of the preceding day. “If we were to see you fighting, I can assure you that we would make no effort to prevent you. Leave us alone, then, and you will enjoy a little amusement without cost to yourselves.”
“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “I greatly regret to declare the thing impossible. Duty before everything. Sheathe, then, if you please, and follow us.”
“Sir,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac, “it would afford us great pleasure to obey your polite invitation if it depended upon ourselves; but unfortunately the thing is impossible: M. de Tréville has forbidden it. Pass on your way, then; it is the best thing you can do.”
This raillery exasperated Jussac.
“We will charge upon you, then,” said he, “if you disobey.”
“There are five of them,” said Athos, half aloud, “and we are but three. We shall be beaten again, and must die on the spot; for, I swear it, I will never appear before the captain again as a conquered man.”
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his soldiers.
This short interval was sufficient to determine D’Artagnan. It was one of those events which decide the life of a man. It was a choice between the king and the cardinal. The choice made, it must be persisted in. To fight was to disobey the law, to risk his head, to make at once an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself; all this the young man perceived, and yet, to his praise be it said, he did not hesitate a second. Turning towards Athos and his friends,
“Gentlemen,” said he, “allow me to correct your words, if you please. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we are four.”
“But you are not one of us,” said Porthos.
“That’s true,” replied D’Artagnan; “I do not wear the uniform, but I am with you in spirit. My heart is that of a musketeer. I feel it, sir, and that urges me on.”
“Withdraw, young man,” cried Jussac, who, doubtless by his gestures and the expression of his countenance, had guessed D’Artagnan’s design. “You may retire; we allow you to do so. Save your skin; begone quickly.”
D’Artagnan did not move.
“Well, you are a real good fellow,” said Athos, pressing the young man’s hand.
“Come, come, decide one way or the other,” replied Jussac.
“Well,” said Porthos to Aramis, “we must do something.”
“You are very generous,” said Athos.But all three were thinking of the youthfulness of D’Artagnan, and dreaded his inexperience.
“We would be only three, one of whom is wounded, with the addition of a boy,” resumed Athos, “and yet they will say none the less that we were four men.”
“Yes, but to yield!” said Porthos.
“That’s rather difficult,” replied Athos.
D’Artagnan understood their hesitancy.
“Try me, gentlemen,” said he, “and I swear to you by my honour that I will not go hence if we are conquered.”
“What is your name, my brave fellow?” said Athos.
“D’Artagnan, sir.”
“Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan, forward!” cried Athos.
“Come, gentlemen, have you made your minds up?” cried Jussac for the third time.
“It is done, gentlemen,” said Athos.
“And what do you mean to do?” asked Jussac.
“We are about to have the honour of charging you,” replied Aramis, lifting his hat with one hand and drawing his sword with the other.
“Oh! you resist, do you?” cried Jussac.
“’Sblood! does that astonish you?”
And the nine combatants rushed at one another with a madness which, however, did not exclude a certain amount of method.
Athos fixed upon Cahusac, a favourite of the cardinal’s, Porthos had Bicarat, and Aramis found himself opposed to two adversaries. As to D’Artagnan, he sprang towards Jussac himself.
The heart of the young Gascon beat as though it would burst its fetters—not from fear, God be thanked (he had not the shade of it), but with emulation. He fought like a mad tiger, turning ten times round his adversary, and changing his ground and his guard twenty times. Jussac was, as they said then, fond of the sword, and had had much practice; nevertheless it required all his skill to defend himself against an adversary who, active and energetic, departed every instant from received rules, attacking him on all sides at once, and yet parrying like a man who had the greatest respect for his own epidermis.
This contest at length exhausted Jussac’s patience. Furious at being held in check by one whom he had considered a boy, he grew angry and began to make mistakes. D’Artagnan, who, though wanting in practice, had a profound theory, redoubled his agility. Jussac, anxious to put an end to this, springing forward, aimed a terrible thrust at his adversary, but the latter parried it; and while Jussac was recovering himself, glided like a serpent beneath his blade, and passed his sword through his body. Jussac fell in a heap.
D’Artagnan then cast an anxious and rapid glance over the field of battle.Aramis had already killed one of his adversaries, but the other was pressing him warmly. Nevertheless Aramis was in a good situation and still able to defend himself.
Bicarat and Porthos had just made counter hits. Porthos had received a thrust through his arm, and Bicarat one through his thigh. But neither of the wounds was serious, and they only fought the more earnestly for them.
Athos, wounded again by Cahusac, was steadily growing paler, but did not give way a foot; he had only changed his sword-hand, and was fighting with his left.
According to the laws of duelling at that period, D’Artagnan was at liberty to assist the one he pleased. While he was trying to find out which of his companions needed his aid, he caught a glance from Athos. This glance was of sublime eloquence. Athos would have died rather than appeal for help; but he could look, and with that look ask assistance. D’Artagnan interpreted it. With a terrible bound he sprang to the side of Cahusac, crying,
“To me, Sir Guard, or I will slay you!”
Cahusac turned. It was time, for Athos, whose great courage alone supported him, sank upon his knee.
“ ’Sblood!” cried he to D’Artagnan, “do not kill him, young man, I beg of you. I have an old affair to settle with him when I am healed and sound again. Disarm him only; make sure of his sword. That’s it! that’s it! well done! very well done!”
This exclamation was drawn from Athos by seeing the sword of Cahusac fly twenty paces from him. D’Artagnan and Cahusac sprang forward at the same instant, the one to recover, the other to obtain, the sword; but D’Artagnan, being the more active, reached it first and placed his foot upon it.
Cahusac immediately ran to the guardsman whom Aramis had killed, seized his rapier, and returned towards D’Artagnan; but on his way he met Athos, who, during the momentary relief which D’Artagnan had procured for him, had recovered his breath, and who, for fear that D’Artagnan should kill his own personal enemy, wished to resume the fight.
D’Artagnan perceived that it would be disobliging Athos not to leave him alone; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell, with a swordthrust through his throat.
At the same instant Aramis placed his sword-point on the breast of his fallen enemy, and compelled him to ask for mercy.
Only Porthos and Bicarat remained. Porthos was boasting merrily, asking Bicarat what o’clock it could be, and offering him his compliments upon his brother having just obtained a company in the regiment of Navarre; but joke as he might, he gained no advantage. Bicarat was one of those iron men who never fall dead.
Nevertheless it was necessary to put an end to the affair. The watch might come up and take all the combatants, wounded or not, royalists or cardinalists. Athos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan surrounded Bicarat and summoned him to surrender. Though alone against all, and with a wound in his thigh, Bicarat wished to hold out; but Jussac, who had risen upon his elbow, cried out to him to yield. Bicarat was a Gascon, as D’Artagnan was; he turned a deaf ear, and contented himself with laughing; and between two parries, finding time to point to a spot of earth with his sword.
“Here,” cried he, parodying a verse of the Bible—“here will Bicarat die, the only one of those who are with him!”
“But there are four against you; leave off, I command you!”
“Ah, if you command me, that’s another thing,” said Bicarat; “you being my sergeant, it is my duty to obey.”
And springing backward, he broke his sword across his knee to avoid the necessity of surrendering it, threw the pieces over the convent wall, and crossed his arms, whistling a cardinalist air.
Bravery is always respected, even in an enemy. The musketeers saluted Bicarat with their swords, and returned them to their sheaths. D’Artagnan did the same; then assisted by Bicarat, the only one left standing, he bore Jussac, Cahusac, and that one of Aramis’s adversaries who was only wounded, under the porch of the convent. The fourth, as we have said, was dead. They then rang the bell, and carrying away four swords out of five, they took their road, intoxicated with joy, towards the h?tel of M. de Tréville.
They walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street, and accosting every musketeer they met, so that in the end it became a triumphal march. The heart of D’Artagnan throbbed with wild delight; he walked between Athos and Porthos, pressing them tenderly.
“If I am not yet a musketeer,” said he to his new friends, as he passed through the gateway of M. de Tréville’s h?tel, “at least I have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven’t I?”
Chapter 6 - His Majesty King Louis XIII
This affair made a great noise. M. de Tréville scolded his musketeers in public and congratulated them in private; but as no time was to be lost in gaining the king, M. de Tréville made all haste to the Louvre. But he was too late; the king was closeted with the cardinal, and M. de Tréville was informed that the king was busy and could not receive him. In the evening M. de Tréville went to the king’s card-table. The king was winning, and as his Majesty was very avaricious, he was in an excellent humour; therefore, perceiving M. de Tréville at a distance,
“Come here, captain,” said he—“come here, that I may scold you. Do you know that his Eminence has just made fresh complaints against your musketeers, and with so much emotion that his Eminence is indisposed this evening? Why, these musketeers of yours are very devils—fellows to be hanged!”
“No, sire,” replied Tréville, who saw at the first glance which way things would turn—“no, sire; on the contrary, they are good creatures, as meek as lambs, and have but one desire, I’ll be their warranty; and this is, that their swords may never leave their scabbards but in your Majesty’s service. But what are they to do? The guards of the cardinal are for ever seeking quarrels with them, and for the honour of the corps even the poor young men are obliged to defend themselves.”
“Listen to M. de Tréville,” said the king, “listen to him! Would not one say he was speaking of a religious community?
“La Vieuville,” said he, “take my place; I must speak to M. de Tréville on an affair of importance. Ah, I had eighty louis before me; put down the same sum, so that they who have lost may have nothing to complain of—justice before everything.” Then turning towards M. de Tréville, and walking with him towards the embrasure of a window,
“Well, monsieur,” continued he, “you say it is his Eminence’s guards who sought a quarrel with your musketeers?”
“Yes, sir, as they always do.”
“And how did the thing happen? Let us see, for you know, my dear captain, a judge must hear both sides.”
“Good Lord! in the most simple and natural manner possible. Three of my best soldiers, whom your Majesty knows by name, and whose devotion you have more than once appreciated, and who have, I can assure the king, his service much at heart—three of my best soldiers, I say—Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—had made a party of pleasure with a young cadet from Gascony, whom I had introduced to them the same morning. The party was to take place at St. Germain, I believe, and they had appointed to meet at the Carmes-Deschaux, when they were disturbed by De Jussac, Cahusac, Bicarat, and two other guards, who certainly did not go there in a body without some ill intention against the edicts.”
“Ah, ah! you incline me to think so,” said the king. “There is no doubt they went thither with the intention of fighting.”
“I do not accuse them, sire; but I leave your Majesty to judge what five armed men could possibly be going to do in such a retired spot as the environs of the Convent des Carmes.”
“You are right, Tréville, you are right!”
“Then, upon seeing my musketeers, they changed their minds, and forgot their private hatred for their corps feuds; for your Majesty cannot be ignorant that the musketeers, who belong to the king, and to nobody but the king, are the natural enemies of the guards, who belong to the cardinal.”
“Yes, Tréville, yes,” said the king in a melancholy tone; “and it is very sad, believe me, to see thus two parties in France, two heads to royalty. But all this will come to an end, Tréville, will come to an end. You say, then, that the guards sought a quarrel with the musketeers?”
“I say that it is probable that things did happen thus, but I will not swear to it, sire. You know how difficult it is to discover the truth; and unless a man be endowed with that admirable instinct which causes Louis XIII to be termed the Just—”
“You are right, Tréville. But they were not alone, your musketeers; they had a youth with them?”
“Yes, sire, and one wounded man; so that three of the king’s musketeers—one of whom was wounded—and a youth not only maintained their ground against five of the most terrible of his Eminence’s guards, but absolutely brought four of them to the earth.”
“Why, this is a victory!” cried the king, glowing with delight, “a complete victory!”
“Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Cé.”
“Four men, one of them wounded, and a youth, say you?”
“One scarcely a grown man, but who, however, behaved himself so admirably on this occasion that I will take the liberty of recommending him to your Majesty.”
“What is his name?”
