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2. THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TREVILLE

M. de Troisville, as his family was still called in Gascony, or
M. de Treville, as he has ended by styling himself in Paris, had
really commenced life as d'Artagnan now did; that is to say,
without a sou in his pocket, but with a fund of audacity,
shrewdness, and intelligence which makes the poorest Gascon
gentleman often derive more in his hope from the paternal
inheritance than the richest Perigordian or Berrichan gentleman
derives in reality from his. His insolent bravery, his still
more insolent success at a time when blows poured down like hail,
had borne him to the top of that difficult ladder called Court
Favor, which he had climbed four steps at a time.

He was the friend of the king, who honored highly, as everyone
knows, the memory of his father, Henry IV. The father of M. de
Treville had served him so faithfully in his wars against the
league that in default of money--a thing to which the Bearnais
was accustomed all his life, and who constantly paid his debts
with that of which he never stood in need of borrowing, that is
to say, with ready wit--in default of money, we repeat, he
authorized him, after the reduction of Paris, to assume for his
arms a golden lion passant upon gules, with the motto FIDELIS ET
FORTIS. This was a great matter in the way of honor, but very
little in the way of wealth; so that when the illustrious
companion of the great Henry died, the only inheritance he was
able to leave his son was his sword and his motto. Thanks to
this double gift and the spotless name that 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 faithful to
his motto, that Louis XIII, one of the good blades of his
kingdom, was accustomed to say that if he had a friend who was
about to fight, he would advise him to choose as a second,
himself first, and Treville next--or even, perhaps, before
himself.

Thus Louis XIII had a real liking for Treville--a royal liking, a
self-interested liking, it is true, but still a liking. At that
unhappy period it was an important consideration to be surrounded
by such men as Treville. Many might take for their device the
epithet STRONG, which formed the second part of his motto, but
very few gentlemen could lay claim to the FAITHFUL, which
constituted the first. Treville was one of these latter. His
was one of those rare organizations, endowed with an obedient
intelligence like that of the dog; with a blind valor, a quick
eye, and a prompt hand; to whom sight appeared only to be given
to see if the king were dissatisfied with anyone, and the hand to
strike this displeasing personage, whether a Besme, a Maurevers,
a Poltiot de Mere, or a Vitry. In short, up to this period
nothing had been wanting to Treville but opportunity; but he was
ever on the watch for it, and he faithfully promised himself that
he would not fail to seize it by its three hairs whenever it came
within reach of his hand. At last Louis XIII made Treville the
captain of his Musketeers, who were to Louis XIII in devotedness,
or rather in fanaticism, what his Ordinaries had been to Henry
III, and his Scotch Guard to Louis XI.

On his part, the cardinal was not behind the king in this
respect. When he saw the formidable and chosen body with which
Louis XIII had surrounded himself, this second, or rather this
first king of France, became desirous that he, too, should have
his guard. He had his Musketeers therefore, as Louis XIII had
his, and these two powerful rivals vied with each other in
procuring, not only from all the provinces of France, but even
from all foreign states, the most celebrated swordsmen. It was
not uncommon for Richelieu and Louis XIII to dispute over their
evening game of chess upon the merits of their servants. Each
boasted the bearing and the courage of his own people. While
exclaiming loudly against duels and brawls, they excited them
secretly to quarrel, deriving an immoderate satisfaction or
genuine regret from the success or defeat of their own
combatants. We learn this from the memoirs of a man who was
concerned in some few of these defeats and in many of these
victories.

Treville had grasped the weak side of his master; and it was to
this address that he owed the long and constant favor of a king
who has not left the reputation behind him of being very faithful
in his friendships. He paraded his Musketeers before the
Cardinal Armand Duplessis with an insolent air which made the
gray moustache of his Eminence curl with ire. Treville
understood admirably the war method of that period, in which he
who could not live at the expense of the enemy must live at the
expense of his compatriots. His soldiers formed a legion of
devil-may-care fellows, perfectly undisciplined toward all but
himself.

Loose, half-drunk, imposing, the king's Musketeers, or rather M.
de Treville's, spread themselves about in the cabarets, in the
public walks, and the public sports, shouting, twisting their
mustaches, clanking their swords, and taking great pleasure in
annoying the Guards of the cardinal whenever they could fall in
with them; then drawing in the open streets, as if it were the
best of all possible sports; sometimes killed, but sure in that
case to be both wept and avenged; often killing others, but then
certain of not rotting in prison, M. de Treville being there to
claim them. Thus M. de Treville was praised to the highest note
by these men, who adored him, and who, ruffians as they were,
trembled before him like scholars before their master, obedient
to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wash out
the smallest insult.

M. de Treville employed this powerful weapon for the king, in the
first place, and the friends of the king--and then for himself
and his own friends. For the rest, in the memoirs of this
period, which has left so many memoirs, one does not find this
worthy gentleman blamed even by his enemies; and he had many such
among men of the pen as well as among men of the sword. In no
instance, let us say, was this worthy gentleman accused of
deriving personal advantage from the cooperation of his minions.
Endowed with a rare genius for intrigue which rendered him the
equal of the ablest intriguers, he remained an honest man. Still
further, in spite of sword thrusts which weaken, and painful
exercises which fatigue, he had become one of the most gallant
frequenters of revels, one of the most insinuating lady's men,
one of the softest whisperers of interesting nothings of his
day; the BONNES FORTUNES of de Treville were talked of as those
of M. de Bassompierre had been talked of twenty years before, and
that was not saying a little. The captain of the Musketeers was
therefore admired, feared, and loved; and this constitutes the
zenith of human fortune.

Louis XIV absorbed all the smaller stars of his court in his own
vast radiance; but his father, a sun PLURIBUS IMPAR, left his
personal splendor to each of his favorites, his individual value
to each of his courtiers. In addition to the leeves of the king
and the cardinal, there might be reckoned in Paris at that time
more than two hundred smaller but still noteworthy leeves. Among
these two hundred leeves, that of Treville was one of the most
sought.

The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier,
resembled a camp from by six o'clock in the morning in summer and
eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty Musketeers, who
appeared to replace one another in order always to present an
imposing number, paraded constantly, armed to the teeth and ready
for anything. On one of those immense staircases, upon whose
space modern civilization would build a whole house. Ascended and
descended the office seekers of Paris, who ran after any sort of
favor--gentlemen from the provinces anxious to be enrolled, and
servants in all sorts of liveries, bringing and carrying messages
between their masters and M. de Treville. In the antechamber,
upon long circular benches, reposed the elect; that is to say,
those who were called. In this apartment a continued buzzing
prevailed from morning till night, while M. de Treville, in his
office contiguous to this 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 the window to review
both his men and arms.

The day on which d'Artagnan presented himself the assemblage was
imposing, particularly for a provincial just arriving from his
province. It is true that this provincial was a Gascon; and
that, particularly at this period, the compatriots of d'Artagnan
had the reputation of not being easily intimidated. When he had
once passed the massive door covered with long square-headed
nails, he fell into the midst of a troop of swordsmen, who
crossed one another in their passage, calling out, quarreling,
and playing tricks one with another. In order to make one's way
amid these turbulent and conflicting waves, it was necessary to
be an officer, a great noble, or a pretty woman.

It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our
young man advanced with a beating heat, ranging his long rapier
up his lanky leg, and keeping one hand on the edge of his cap,
with that half-smile of the embarrassed a provincial who wishes
to put on a good face. When he had passed one group he began to
breathe more freely; but he could not help observing that they
turned round to look at him, and for the first time in his life
d'Artagnan, who had till that day entertained a very good opinion
of himself, felt ridiculous.

Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four
Musketeers on the bottom steps, amusing themselves with the
following exercise, while ten or twelve of their comrades waited
upon the landing place to take their turn in the sport.

One of them, stationed upon the top stair, naked sword in hand,
prevented, or at least endeavored to prevent, the three others
from ascending.

These three others fenced against him with their agile swords.

D'Artagnan at first took these weapons for foils, and believed
them to be buttoned; but he soon perceived by certain scratches
that every weapon was pointed and sharpened, and that at each of
these scratches not only the spectators, but even the actors
themselves, laughed like so many madmen.

He who at the moment occupied the upper step kept his adversaries
marvelously in check. A circle was formed around them. The
conditions required that at every hit the man touched should quit
the game, yielding his turn for the benefit of the adversary who
had hit him. In five minutes three were slightly wounded, one on
the hand, another on the ear, by the defender of the stair, who
himself remained intact--a piece of skill which was worth to him,
according to the rules agreed upon, three turns of favor.

However difficult it might be, or rather as he pretended it was,
to astonish our young traveler, this pastime really astonished
him. He had seen in his province--that land in which heads
become so easily heated--a few of the preliminaries of duels; but
the daring of these four fencers appeared to him the strongest he
had ever heard of even in Gascony. He believed himself
transported into that famous country of giants into which
Gulliver afterward went and was so frightened; and yet he had not
gained the goal, for there were still the landing place and the
antechamber.

On the landing they were no longer fighting, but amused
themselves with stories about women, and in the antechamber, with
stories about the court. On the landing d'Artagnan blushed; in
the antechamber he trembled. His warm and fickle imagination,
which in Gascony had rendered formidable to young chambermaids,
and even sometimes their mistresses, had never dreamed, even in
moments of delirium, of half the amorous wonders or a quarter of
the feats of gallantry which were here set forth in connection
with names the best known and with details the least concealed.
But if his morals were shocked on the landing, his respect for
the cardinal was scandalized in the antechamber. There, to his
great astonishment, d'Artagnan heard the policy which made all
Europe tremble criticized aloud and openly, as well as the
private life of the cardinal, which so many great nobles had been
punished for trying to pry into. That great man who was so
revered by d'Artagnan the elder served as an object of ridicule
to the Musketeers of Treville, who cracked their jokes upon his
bandy legs and his crooked back. Some sang ballads about Mme.
d'Aguillon, his mistress, and Mme. Cambalet, his niece; while
others formed parties and plans to annoy the pages and guards of
the cardinal duke--all things which appeared to d'Artagnan
monstrous impossibilities.

Nevertheless, when the name of the king was now and then uttered
unthinkingly amid all these cardinal jests, a sort of gag seemed
to close for a moment on all these jeering mouths. They looked
hesitatingly around them, and appeared to doubt the thickness of
the partition between them and the office of M. de Treville; but
a fresh allusion soon brought back the conversation to his
Eminence, and then the laughter recovered its loudness and the
light was not withheld from any of his actions.

"Certes, these fellows will all either be imprisoned or hanged,"
thought the terrified d'Artagnan, "and I, no doubt, with them;
for from the moment I have either listened to or heard them, I
shall be held as an accomplice. What would my good father say,
who so strongly pointed out to me the respect due to the
cardinal, if he knew I was in the society of such pagans?"

We have no need, therefore, to say that d'Artagnan dared not join
in the conversation, only he looked with all his eyes and
listened with all his ears, stretching his five senses so as to
lose nothing; and despite his confidence on the paternal
admonitions, he felt himself carried by his tastes and led by his
instincts to praise rather than to blame the unheard-of things
which were taking place.

Although he was a perfect stranger in the court of M. de
Treville's courtiers, and this his first appearance in that
place, he was at length noticed, and somebody came and asked him
what he wanted. At this demand d'Artagnan gave his name very
modestly, emphasized the title of compatriot, and begged the
servant who had put the question to him to request a moment's
audience of M. de Treville--a request which the other, with an
air of protection, promised to transmit in due season.

D'Artagnan, a little recovered from his first surprise, had now
leisure to study costumes and physiognomy.

The center of the most animated group was a Musketeer of great
height and haughty countenance, dressed in a costume so peculiar
as to attract general attention. He did not wear the uniform
cloak--which was not obligatory at that epoch of less liberty but
more independence--but a cerulean-blue doublet, a little faded and
worn, and over this a magnificent baldric, worked in gold, which
shone like water ripples in the sun. A long cloak of crimson
velvet fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, disclosing in
front the splendid baldric, from which was suspended a gigantic
rapier. This Musketeer had just come off guard, complained of
having a cold, and coughed from time to time affectedly. It was
for this reason, as he said to those around him, that he had put
on his cloak; and while he spoke with a lofty air and twisted his
mustache disdainfully, all admired his embroidered baldric, and
d'Artagnan more than anyone.


"What would you have?" said the Musketeer. "This fashion is
coming in. It is a folly, I admit, but still it is the fashion.
Besides, one must lay out one's inheritance somehow."

"Ah, Porthos!" cried one of his companions, "don't try to make us
believe you obtained that baldric by paternal generosity. It was
given to you by that veiled lady I met you with the other Sunday,
near the gate St. Honor."

"No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentleman, I bought it with
the contents of my own purse," answered he whom they designated
by the name Porthos.

"Yes; about in the same manner," said another Musketeer, "that I
bought this new purse with what my mistress put into the old
one."

"It's true, though," said Porthos; "and the proof is that I paid
twelve pistoles for it."

The wonder was increased, though the doubt continued to exist.

"Is it not true, Aramis?" said Porthos, turning toward another
Musketeer.

This other Musketeer formed a perfect contrast to his
interrogator, who had just designated him by the name of Aramis.
He was a stout man, of about two- or three-and-twenty, with an
open, ingenuous countenance, a black, mild eye, and cheeks rosy
and downy as an autumn peach. His delicate mustache marked a
perfectly straight line upon his upper lip; he appeared to dread
to lower his hands lest their veins should swell, and he pinched
the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their delicate
pink transparency. Habitually he spoke little and slowly, bowed
frequently, laughed without noise, showing his teeth, which were
fine and of which, as the rest of his person, he appeared to take
great care. He answered the appeal of his friend by an
affirmative nod of the head.

This affirmation appeared to dispel all doubts with regard to the
baldric. They continued to admire it, but said no more about it;
and with a rapid change of thought, the conversation passed
suddenly to another subject.

"What do you think of the story Chalais's esquire relates?" asked
another Musketeer, without addressing anyone in particular, but
on the contrary speaking to everybody.

"And what does he say?" asked Porthos, in a self-sufficient tone.

"He relates that he met at Brussels Rochefort, the AME DAMNEE of
the cardinal disguised as a Capuchin, and that this cursed
Rochefort, thanks to his disguise, had tricked Monsieur de
Laigues, like a ninny as he is."

"A ninny, indeed!" said Porthos; "but is the matter certain?"

"I had it from Aramis," replied the Musketeer.

"Indeed?"

"Why, you knew it, Porthos," said Aramis. "I told you of it
yesterday. Let us say no more about it."

"Say no more about it? That's YOUR opinion!" replied Porthos.

"Say no more about it! PESTE! You come to your conclusions
quickly. What! The cardinal sets a spy upon a gentleman, has
his letters stolen from him by means of a traitor, a brigand, a
rascal-has, with the help of this spy and thanks to this
correspondence, Chalais's throat cut, under the stupid pretext
that he wanted to kill the king and marry Monsieur to the queen!
Nobody knew a word of this enigma. You unraveled it yesterday to
the great satisfaction of all; and while we are still gaping with
wonder at the news, you come and tell us today, "Let us say no
more about it.'"

"Well, then, let us talk about it, since you desire it," replied
Aramis, patiently.

"This Rochefort," cried Porthos, "if I were the esquire of poor
Chalais, should pass a minute or two very uncomfortably with me."

"And you--you would pass rather a sad quarter-hour with the Red
Duke," replied Aramis.

"Oh, the Red Duke! Bravo! Bravo! The Red Duke!" cried Porthos,
clapping his hands and nodding his head. "The Red Duke is
capital. I'll circulate that saying, be assured, my dear fellow.
Who says this Aramis is not a wit? What a misfortune it is you
did not follow your first vocation; what a delicious abbe you
would have made!"

"Oh, it's only a temporary postponement," replied Aramis; "I
shall be one someday. You very well know, Porthos, that I
continue to study theology for that purpose."

"He will be one, as he says," cried Porthos; "he will be one,
sooner or later."

"Sooner." said Aramis.

"He only waits for one thing to determine him to resume his
cassock, which hangs behind his uniform," said another Musketeer.

"What is he waiting for?" asked another.

"Only till the queen has given an heir to the crown of France."

"No jesting upon that subject, gentlemen," said Porthos; "thank
God the queen is still of an age to give one!"

"They say that Monsieur de Buckingham is in France," replied
Aramis, with a significant smile which gave to this sentence,
apparently so simple, a tolerably scandalous meaning.

"Aramis, my good friend, this time you are wrong," interrupted
Porthos. "Your wit is always leading you beyond bounds; if
Monsieur de Treville heard you, you would repent of speaking
thus."

"Are you going to give me a lesson, Porthos?" cried Aramis, from
whose usually mild eye a flash passed like lightning.

"My dear fellow, be a Musketeer or an abbe. Be one or the other,
but not both," replied Porthos. "You know what Athos told you
the other day; you eat at everybody's mess. Ah, don't be angry,
I beg of you, that would be useless; you know what is agreed upon
between you, Athos and me. You go to Madame d'Aguillon's, and
you pay your court to her; you go to Madame de Bois-Tracy's, the
cousin of Madame de Chevreuse, and you pass for being far
advanced in the good graces of that lady. Oh, good Lord! Don't
trouble yourself to reveal your good luck; no one asks for your
secret-all the world knows your discretion. But since you possess
that virtue, why the devil don't you make use of it with respect
to her Majesty? Let whoever likes talk of the king and the
cardinal, and how he likes; but the queen is sacred, and if
anyone speaks of her, let it be respectfully."

"Porthos, you are as vain as Narcissus; I plainly tell you so,"
replied Aramis. "You know I hate moralizing, except when it is
done by Athos. As to you, good sir, you wear too magnificent a
baldric to be strong on that head. I will be an abbe if it suits
me. In the meanwhile I am a Musketeer; in that quality I say
what I please, and at this moment it pleases me to say that you
weary me."

"Aramis!"

"Porthos!"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" cried the surrounding group.

"Monsieur de Treville awaits Monsieur d'Artagnan," cried a
servant, throwing open the door of the cabinet.

At this announcement, during which the door remained open,
everyone became mute, and amid the general silence the young man
crossed part of the length of the antechamber, and entered the
apartment of the captain of the Musketeers, congratulating
himself with all his heart at having so narrowly escaped the end
of this strange quarrel.





The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
Category:
General Fiction

Romance Literatures
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