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THE THREE MUSKETEERS
THE THREE MUSKETEERS ALEXANDRE DUMAS Contents
Author's Preface
1. THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
2. THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TREVILLE
3. THE AUDIENCE
4. THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND THE
HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS
5. THE KING'S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL'S GUARDS
6. HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII
7. THE INTERIOR OF "THE MUSKETEERS"
8. CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
9. D'ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF
10. A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
11. IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
12. GEORGE VILLIERS DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
13. MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
14. THE MAN OF MEUNG
15. MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
16. M. SEGUIER KEEPER OF THE SEALS LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL
IN ORDER TO RING IT AS HE DID BEFORE
17. BONACIEUX AT HOME
18. LOVER AND HUSBAND
19. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
20. THE JOURNEY
21. THE COUNTESS DE WINTER
22. THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON
23. THE RENDEZVOUS
24. THE PAVILION
25. PORTHOS
26. ARAMIS AND HIS THESIS
27. THE WIFE OF ATHOS
28. THE RETURN
29. HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS
30. D'ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN
31. ENGLISH AND FRENCH
32. A PROCURATOR'S DINNER
33. SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS
34. IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED OF
35. A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID
36. DREAM OF VENGEANCE
37. MILADY'S SECRET
38. HOW WITHOUT INCOMMODING HIMSELF ATHOS PROCURED HIS EQUIPMENT
39. A VISION
40. A TERRIBLE VISION
41. THE SEIGE OF LA ROCHELLE
42. THE ANJOU WINE
43. THE SIGN OF THE RED DOVECOT
44. THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES
45. A CONJUGAL SCENE
46. THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS
47. THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
48. A FAMILY AFFAIR
49. FATALITY
50. CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER
51. OFFICER
52. CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY
53. CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY
54. CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD DAY
55. CAPTIVITY: THE FOURTH DAY
56. CAPTIVITY: THE FIFTH DAY
57. MEANS FOR CLASSICAL TRAGEDY
58. ESCAPE
59. WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH
60. IN FRANCE
61. THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BETHUNE
62. TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS
63. THE DROP OF WATER
64. THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
65. TRIAL
66. EXECUTION
67. CONCLUSION
EPILOGUE
The Three Musketeers
Alexandre Dumas
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
In which it is proved that notwithstanding their names' ending
in OS and IS the heroes of the story which we are about to have
the honor to relate to our readers have nothing mythological
about them.
A short time ago while making researches in the Royal Library
for my History of Louis XIV I stumbled by chance upon the
Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan printed--as were most of the works of
that period in which authors could not tell the truth without
the risk of a residence more or less long in the Bastille--at
Amsterdam by Pierre Rouge. The title attracted me; I took them
home with me with the permission of the guardian and devoured
them.
It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this
curious work; and I shall satisfy myself with referring such of
my readers as appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages.
They will therein find portraits penciled by the hand of a
master; and although these squibs may be for the most part
traced upon the doors of barracks and the walls of cabarets they
will not find the likenesses of Louis XIII Anne of Austria
Richelieu Mazarin and the courtiers of the period less
faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.
But it is well known what strikes the capricious mind of the
poet is not always what affects the mass of readers. Now while
admiring as others doubtless will admire the details we have to
relate our main preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one
before ourselves had given a thought.
D'Artagnan relates that on his first visit to M. de Treville
captain of the king's Musketeers he met in the antechamber three
young men serving in the illustrious corps into which he was
soliciting the honor of being received bearing the names of
Athos Porthos and Aramis.
We must confess these three strange names struck us; and it
immediately occurred to us that they were but pseudonyms under
which d'Artagnan had disguised names perhaps illustrious or else
that the bearers of these borrowed names had themselves chosen
them on the day in which from caprice discontent or want of
fortune they had donned the simple Musketeer's uniform.
From the moment we had no rest till we could find some trace in
contemporary works of these extraordinary names which had so
strongly awakened our curiosity.
The catalogue alone of the books we read with this object would
fill a whole chapter which although it might be very
instructive would certainly afford our readers but little
amusement. It will suffice then to tell them that at the
moment at which discouraged by so many fruitless investigations
we were about to abandon our search we at length found guided
by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulin Paris a
manuscript in folio endorsed 4772 or 4773 we do not recollect
which having for title "Memoirs of the Comte de la Fere
Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the
Reign of King Louis XIII and the Commencement of the Reign of
King Louis XIV."
It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when in turning
over this manuscript our last hope we found at the twentieth
page the name of Athos at the twenty-seventh the name of
Porthos and at the thirty-first the name of Aramis.
The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in
which historical science is carried to such a high degree
appeared almost miraculous. We hastened therefore to obtain
permission to print it with the view of presenting ourselves
someday with the pack of others at the doors of the Academie des
Inscriptions et Belles Lettres if we should not succeed--a very
probable thing by the by--in gaining admission to the Academie
Francaise with our own proper pack. This permission we feel
bound to say was graciously granted; which compels us here to
give a public contradiction to the slanderers who pretend that we
live under a government but moderately indulgent to men of
letters.
Now this is the first part of this precious manuscript which we
offer to our readers restoring it to the title which belongs to
it and entering into an engagement that if (of which we have no
doubt) this first part should obtain the success it merits we
will publish the second immediately.
In the meanwhile as the godfather is a second father we beg the
reader to lay to our account and not to that of the Comte de la
Fere the pleasure or the ENNUI he may experience.
This being understood let us proceed with our history.
1 THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
On the first Monday of the month of April 1625 the market town
of Meung in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born
appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the
Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many
citizens seeing the women flying toward the High Street leaving
their children crying at the open doors hastened to don the
cuirass and supporting their somewhat uncertain courage with a
musket or a partisan directed their steps toward the hostelry of
the Jolly Miller before which was gathered increasing every
minute a compact group vociferous and full of curiosity.
In those times panics were common and few days passed without
some city or other registering in its archives an event of this
kind. There were nobles who made war against each other; there
was the king who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain
which made war against the king. Then in addition to these
concealed or public secret or open wars there were robbers
mendicants Huguenots wolves and scoundrels who made war upon
everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against
thieves wolves or scoundrels often against nobles or Huguenots
sometimes against the king but never against cardinal or Spain.
It resulted then from this habit that on the said first Monday
of April 1625 the citizens on hearing the clamor and seeing
neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de
Richelieu rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When
arrived there the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.
A young man--we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to
yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his
corselet without his coat of mail without his cuisses; a Don
Quixote clothed in a wooden doublet the blue color of which had
faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly
azure; face long and brown; high cheek bones a sign of sagacity;
the maxillary muscles enormously developed an infallible sign by
which a Gascon may always be detected even without his cap--and
our young man wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye
open and intelligent; the nose hooked but finely chiseled. Too
big for a youth too small for a grown man an experienced eye
might have taken him for a farmer's son upon a journey had it not
been for the long sword which dangling from a leather baldric
hit against the calves of its owner as he walked and against the
rough side of his steed when he was on horseback.
For our young man had a steed which was the observed of all
observers. It was a Bearn pony from twelve to fourteen years
old yellow in his hide without a hair in his tail but not
without windgalls on his legs which though going with his head
lower than his knees rendering a martingale quite unnecessary
contrived nevertheless to perform his eight leagues a day.
Unfortunately the qualities of this horse were so well concealed
under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable gait that
at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh the
appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place he had
entered about a quarter of an hour before by the gate of
Beaugency--produced an unfavorable feeling which extended to his
rider.
And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young
d'Artagnan--for so was the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante
named--from his not being able to conceal from himself the
ridiculous appearance that such a steed gave him good horseman
as he was. He had sighed deeply therefore when accepting the
gift of the pony from M. d'Artagnan the elder. He was not
ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and
the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.
"My son" said the old Gascon gentleman in that pure Bearn
PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid himself "this horse was
born in the house of your father about thirteen years ago and
has remained in it ever since which ought to make you love it.
Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old
age and if you make a campaign with it take as much care of it
as you would of an old servant. At court provided you have ever
the honor to go there" continued M. d'Artagnan the elder "--an
honor to which remember your ancient nobility gives you the
right--sustain worthily your name of gentleman which has been
worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years both for
your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the
latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from
anyone except Monsieur the Cardinal and the king. It is by his
courage please observe by his courage alone that a gentleman
can make his way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second
perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second
fortune held out to him. You are young. You ought to be brave
for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon and the
second is that you are my son. Never fear quarrels but seek
adventures. I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have
thews of iron a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight
the more for duels being forbidden since consequently there is
twice as much courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you
my son but fifteen crowns my horse and the counsels you have
just heard. Your mother will add to them a recipe for a certain
balsam which she had from a Bohemian and which has the
miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that do not reach the
heart. Take advantage of all and live happily and long. I have
but one word to add and that is to propose an example to you--
not mine for I myself have never appeared at court and have
only taken part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of
Monsieur de Treville who was formerly my neighbor and who had
the honor to be as a child the play-fellow of our king Louis
XIII whom God preserve! Sometimes their play degenerated into
battles and in these battles the king was not always the
stronger. The blows which he received increased greatly his
esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Treville. Afterward
Monsieur de Treville fought with others: in his first journey to
Paris five times; from the death of the late king till the young
one came of age without reckoning wars and sieges seven times;
and from that date up to the present day a hundred times
perhaps! So that in spite of edicts ordinances and decrees
there he is captain of the Musketeers; that is to say chief of
a legion of Caesars whom the king holds in great esteem and whom
the cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing as it is said. Still
further Monsieur de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year;
he is therefore a great noble. He began as you begin. Go to him
with this letter and make him your model in order that you may
do as he has done."
Upon which M. d'Artagnan the elder girded his own sword round his
son kissed him tenderly on both cheeks and gave him his
benediction.
On leaving the paternal chamber the young man found his mother
who was waiting for him with the famous recipe of which the
counsels we have just repeated would necessitate frequent
employment. The adieux were on this side longer and more tender
than they had been on the other--not that M. d'Artagnan did not
love his son who was his only offspring but M. d'Artagnan was a
man and he would have considered it unworthy of a man to give
way to his feelings; whereas Mme. d'Artagnan was a woman and
still more a mother. She wept abundantly; and--let us speak it
to the praise of M. d'Artagnan the younger--notwithstanding the
efforts he made to remain firm as a future Musketeer ought
nature prevailed and he shed many tears of which he succeeded
with great difficulty in concealing the half.
The same day the young man set forward on his journey furnished
with the three paternal gifts which consisted as we have said
of fifteen crowns the horse and the letter for M. de Treville--
the counsels being thrown into the bargain.
With such a VADE MECUM d'Artagnan was morally and physically an
exact copy of the hero of Cervantes to whom we so happily
compared him when our duty of an historian placed us under the
necessity of sketching his portrait. Don Quixote took windmills
for giants and sheep for armies; d'Artagnan took every smile for
an insult and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted
that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was constantly doubled or his
hand on the hilt of his sword; and yet the fist did not descend
upon any jaw nor did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was
not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite numerous
smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the side
of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length and as over
this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty these
passers-by repressed their hilarity or if hilarity prevailed
over prudence they endeavored to laugh only on one side like
the masks of the ancients. D'Artagnan then remained majestic
and intact in his susceptibility till he came to this unlucky
city of Meung.
But there as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the
Jolly Miller without anyone--host waiter or hostler--coming to
hold his stirrup or take his horse d'Artagnan spied though an
open window on the ground floor a gentleman well-made and of
good carriage although of rather a stern countenance talking
with two persons who appeared to listen to him with respect.
d'Artagnan fancied quite naturally according to his custom that
he must be the object of their conversation and listened. This
time d'Artagnan was only in part mistaken; he himself was not in
question but his horse was. The gentleman appeared to be
enumerating all his qualities to his auditors; and as I have
said the auditors seeming to have great deference for the
narrator they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now as
a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the
young man the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth
may be easily imagined.
Nevertheless d'Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance
of this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his
haughty eye upon the stranger and perceived a man of from forty
to forty-five years of age with black and piercing eyes pale
complexion a strongly marked nose and a black and well-shaped
mustache. He was dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet
color with aiguillettes of the same color without any other
ornaments than the customary slashes through which the shirt
appeared. This doublet and hose though new were creased like
traveling clothes for a long time packed in a portmanteau.
d'Artagnan made all these remarks with the rapidity of a most
minute observer and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that
this stranger was destined to have a great influence over his
future life.
Now as at the moment in which d'Artagnan fixed his eyes upon the
gentleman in the violet doublet the gentleman made one of his
most knowing and profound remarks respecting the Bearnese pony
his two auditors laughed even louder than before and he himself
though contrary to his custom allowed a pale smile (if I may
allowed to use such an expression) to stray over his countenance.
This time there could be no doubt; d'Artagnan was really
insulted. Full then of this conviction he pulled his cap down
over his eyes and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs he
had picked up in Gascony among young traveling nobles he
advanced with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other
resting on his hip. Unfortunately as he advanced his anger
increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty
speech he had prepared as a prelude to his challenge he found
nothing at the tip of his tongue but a gross personality which
he accompanied with a furious gesture.
"I say sir you sir who are hiding yourself behind that
shutter--yes you sir tell me what you are laughing at and we
will laugh together!"
The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his
cavalier as if he required some time to ascertain whether it
could be to him that such strange reproaches were addressed;
then when he could not possibly entertain any doubt of the
matter his eyebrows slightly bent and with an accent of irony
and insolence impossible to be described he replied to
d'Artagnan "I was not speaking to you sir."
"But I am speaking to you!" replied the young man additionally
exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners of
politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile and
retiring from the window came out of the hostelry with a slow
step and placed himself before the horse within two paces of
d'Artagnan. His quiet manner and the ironical expression of his
countenance redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom he had
been talking and who still remained at the window.
D'Artagnan seeing him approach drew his sword a foot out of the
scabbard.
"This horse is decidedly or rather has been in his youth a
buttercup" resumed the stranger continuing the remarks he had
begun and addressing himself to his auditors at the window
without paying the least attention to the exasperation of
d'Artagnan who however placed himself between him and them.
"It is a color very well known in botany but till the present
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