The Three Musketeers. Александр Дюма

to the Quai de la Feraille, to procure a new blade for his sword; after which he returned to the Louvre, and learned from the first musketeer he met where M. de Treville’s hotel was situated. This he ascertained to be in the Rue de Vieux Colombier; that is, in the very neighbourhood where he had himself taken up his abode; a circumstance which he construed into a happy omen of the success of his expedition.

      These matters disposed of, and satisfied with the manner in which he had behaved at Meung, without remorse for the past, confident in the present, and full of hope for the future, he went to bed and slept the sleep of the brave. This sleep, still that of a rustic, lasted till nine o’clock in the morning, the hour at which he rose to repair to the hotel of this famed M. de Treville, who, according to d’Artagnan’s father, was the third personage in the realm.

CHAPTER 2 The Antechamber of M. de Treville

      M. de Troisville, as his family was yet called in Gascony, or M. de Treville, as he called himself in Paris, had actually begun life like d’Artagnan; that is to say, without being worth a sou, but with that fund of audacity, esprit, and resolution, which makes the poorest Gascon gentleman often inherit more in imagination than the richest nobleman of Perigord or Berri receives in reality. His daring and haughty courage—still more haughty in success—at the time when blows fell thick as hail, had raised him to the top of that difficult ladder which is called court favour, and which he had climbed four rungs at a time. He was the confidential friend of the king, who, as every one knows, greatly honoured the memory of his father, Henry IV. The father of M. de Treville had served the latter so faithfully in his wars against the League, that, for want of ready money—(a commodity which, during his life, was very scarce with the Bearnese, who constantly paid his debts with what he never had occasion to borrow, that is to say, with his genius)—for want of ready money, as we have said, he had authorised him, after the reduction of Paris, to take for his arms—“Un lion d’or passant, sur gueules,” with the motto, “fidelis et fortis.” It was a great deal of honour, but not much profit; therefore, when the illustrious companion of Henry the Great died, the sole inheritance he left his son was his sword, with the arms and motto. Thanks, however, to this double legacy, and to the name without tarnish which accompanied it, M. de Treville was admitted into the household of the young prince, where he made such good use of his sword, and was so true to his motto, that Louis XIII., one of the best hands with the rapier in his own kingdom, used to say, that if he had a friend who was going to fight, he would advise him to take for a second, first himself, and then Treville, or even perhaps Treville before himself. On this account Louis had a real affection for Treville; a royal affection, an egotistical affection, it must be allowed, but an affection nevertheless. In those unhappy days it was an important consideration to surround oneself with men of Treville’s stamp. Many could take for their device the epithet of “fortis,” which formed the second part of the motto, but very few men could claim the epithet “fidelis,” which formed the first part of it. Treville was one of the few: his was one of those rare organisations with the intelligence and obedience of the mastiff, and a blind courage, and a ready hand, one to whom the eye had been given only to see whether the king was dissatisfied with any one, and the hand only to strike the offending person—a Besme, a Maurevers, a Poltrot de Mere, a Vitry; in short, Treville only wanted an opportunity; but he watched for it, and was resolved to seize it by its three hairs if ever it came within reach of his grasp. Louis XIII. therefore appointed Treville captain of the musketeers, who, by their devotion, or rather fanaticism, became what his ordinary troops were to Henry III., and his Scottish guard to Louis XI. In this respect the cardinal was not behind the king; for when he saw the formidable picked guard with which Louis surrounded himself, this second, or rather this first, king of France, wished also to have his own guard; he therefore, as well as the king, had his musketeers; and these two potent rivals were seen selecting for their service, from all the provinces of France, and even from all foreign countries, men famous for their skill as swordsmen. It was not rare for Richelieu and the king, over their game of chess in the evening, to dispute concerning the merits of their respective followers. Each boasted of the deportment and the courage of his own; and whilst openly inveighing against duels and imbroglios, they secretly excited their respective partisans to right, and experienced immoderate delight, or intense chagrin, at their respective victories or defeats. Thus at least says the memoir of one who was concerned in some of these defeats, and many of these victories.

      Treville had seized on the weak point in his master’s character; and to this knowledge he owed the long and constant favour of a king who has not left behind him the reputation of having been constant in his friendships. He paraded his musketeers before the cardinal Armand Duplessis with an air of insolence which made the gray moustache of his eminence curl with anger. Treville also thoroughly understood the war of that period, when, if you lived not at the expense of the enemy, you lived at that of your countrymen. His soldiers formed a legion of very devils, under no discipline but his own. Swaggering bullies, given to wine, the king’s musketeers, or rather M. de Treville’s, spread themselves through the taverns, the public walks, and the theatres, talking loud, curling their moustaches, jingling their swords, hustling the guards of the cardinal when they met them, indulging, in the open street, in a thousand jokes; sometimes killed, but then certain of being lamented and avenged; sometimes killing, but then quite certain not to languish in prison, since M. de Treville was always at hand to procure their pardon and release. Therefore M. de Treville was lauded in every tone, sung of in every key, by these men, who adored him; yet, hang-dogs as they were, they trembled before him as scholars before their master, obedient to a word, and ready to meet death to wipe away any reproach. M. de Treville had used this powerful lever, first, for the king and his friends, and next, for himself and his own friends. The captain of the musketeers was, therefore, admired, feared, and loved, which state constitutes the apogee of human affairs.

      Louis XIV. absorbed all the lesser stars of his court, by his vast brilliancy; but his father, “Sol pluribus impar,” imparted his personal splendour to many of his favourites—his individual valour to each of his courtiers. Besides the king’s levee, and that of the cardinal, there were then at Paris at least two hundred smaller ones, fairly exclusive; and amongst these two hundred smaller levees, that of M. de Treville was one of those most frequented. From six o’clock in the morning during summer, and eight in the winter, the courtyard of his hotel, in the Rue du Vieux Colombier, resembled a camp. From fifty to sixty musketeers, who appeared to relieve each other, and to present a number always imposing, were stalking about incessantly, armed to the teeth, and ready for anything. From one end to the other of one of those long staircases, on whose space our modern civilisation would build an entire mansion, ascended and descended those petitioners who sought favours; with provincial gentlemen, eager to be enrolled; and liveried lacqueys of every colour, in the act of delivering messages from their masters to M. de Treville. In the antechamber, on long circular benches, reclined the elite, that is, such of them as had assembled; a continual buzzing prevailed from morning till night; whilst M. de Treville, in his cabinet adjoining the antechamber, received visits, listened to complaints, gave his orders, and, like the king in his balcony at the Louvre, had only to place himself at his window to review his men and their arms.

      On the day when d’Artagnan presented himself, the assembly was very imposing, especially to a provincial just arrived in Paris. It is true, this provincial was a Gascon, and at this period more especially, d’Artagnan’s countrymen had the reputation of not being easily intimidated. In fact, as soon as any one had passed the threshold of the massive door, studded with long square nails, he found himself in the midst of a troop of swordsmen, who were cruising about the court, talking, quarrelling, and jesting with each other. To clear a path through these eddies, it was necessary to be an officer, a man of rank, or a pretty woman. It was, therefore, in the midst of this crowd and disorder that our youth, holding his long rapier against his slender legs, and the rim of his beaver in his hand, advanced with palpitating heart, yet with that sort of half smile of provincial embarrassment which wishes to create a good impression. When he had passed one group, he breathed more freely; but he perceived that they turned to look at him, and d’Artagnan, who to that day had invariably entertained a pretty good opinion of himself, for the first time in his life thought himself