Читать книгу The Three Musketeers - Александр Дюма, Alexandre Dumas - Страница 9

D’ARTAGNAN WAS FRIEND LESS in Paris. He therefore went to meet Athos without being provided with a second, having made up his mind to be satisfied with those which accompanied his adversary. Besides, he fully intended to offer the brave musketeer all suitable apologies, but, at the same time, to betray nothing having the slightest appearance of timidity or weakness. He also feared such a result from this duel as may be naturally anticipated in an affair of the kind, where a young and vigorous man fights with an opponent who is wounded and enfeebled; and in which, should the former be vanquished, the triumph of his opponent is doubled; whilst, should the former prove the conqueror, he is not only accused of being brave at small risk, but even his courage is regarded as extremely doubtful. Moreover, unless we have been unsuccessful in our attempt to portray the true character of our adventurer, the reader must have already remarked, that d’Artagnan was no common type. Therefore, although he could not divest himself of the idea that his death was inevitable, he had by no means resolved quietly to resign himself to his fate with that patience which another less courageous than himself might perhaps have displayed in such a case. He pondered upon the different characters of those with whom he was about to engage, and at length began to obtain a clearer view of his situation. By means of the sincere apology which he contemplated, he hoped to conciliate Athos, whose aristocratic air and austere manner quite delighted him. Then he flattered himself that he might intimidate Porthos by the adventure of the belt, whose story, if he were not instantaneously killed, he might relate to every one, so as to overwhelm him with ridicule. Lastly, as regarded the quiet Aramis, he entertained very slight apprehensions; for, supposing that he should survive to fight him, he entertained no doubt of his ability to make short work of him, or, at all events, by wounding him in the face (as Cæsar recommended his men to do with Pompey’s soldiers), to spoil for ever that beauty of which he was so vain. In fine, d’Artagnan now brought into action those principles of unconquerable and steady resolve which the counsels of his father had implanted in his heart—counsels which, as we know, had instructed him to submit to nothing like indignity unless it proceeded from the king, the cardinal, or M. de Treville.

Full of these ideas, he sped as if on wings towards the convent des Carmes Deschaux—a building without windows, adjoining a chapel of ease of the Pré-aux-Clercs, and surrounded by dry meadows, which generally served as a rendezvous for those combatants who had no time to lose. As d’Artagnan came in sight of the small open space in front of the convent, it struck the hour of noon, and Athos had already been about five minutes on the ground. He was therefore as punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist in the laws of duelling could have found nothing to censure.

Athos, who continued to suffer severely from his wound, although it had again been dressed by M. de Treville’s surgeon, had seated himself on a large stone, where he awaited his adversary with that air of calmness and dignity which never forsook him. As d’Artagnan approached, he arose, and politely advanced some steps to meet him; whilst d’Artagnan, on his part, went towards his antagonist bowing until his plume touched the ground.

“Sir,” said Athos, “I expected two of my friends who are to act as my seconds, but they are not yet arrived. I am surprised that they should be so late, as they are generally punctual!”

“I have no second, sir,” said d’Artagnan; “I only arrived in Paris yesterday; consequently I am unknown to any one here except M. de Treville, to whom I was introduced by my father, who has the honour to claim his friendship.”

Athos mused for an instant, and then said: “So M. de Treville is your only acquaintance?”

“Yes, sir, I know no one but him.”

“Oh, then,” continued Athos sotto voce, “if I should kill you, I shall acquire the reputation of a child-eater.”

“Not entirely so, sir,” answered d’Artagnan, with a bow which was not devoid of dignity, “not quite so; since you do me the honour to draw your sword against me whilst suffering from a wound which must occasion you great inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience! Upon my honour I assure you that you hurt me confoundedly. But I will use my left hand, as I usually do under such circumstances. Yet do not imagine that by this means I do you a favour, as I fight equally well with either hand. Indeed, it will rather be a disadvantage to you, a left-handed man being a very trying opponent to one who is not used to it. I regret, therefore, that I did not apprise you sooner of this circumstance.”

“Really, sir,” said d’Artagnan, again bowing, “you are so very courteous that I cannot be sufficiently grateful.”

“You overwhelm me,” replied Athos, with the air of a well-bred man; “if it be not disagreeable to you, pray let us converse upon some other subject. Ah! how you did hurt me! how my shoulder still burns!”

“Would you permit me———?” said d’Artagnan, somewhat timidly.

“To do what, sir?” inquired Athos.

“I have a salve which is quite a panacea for wounds—a salve which my mother gave me, and which I have tried upon myself with success.”

“And what of it?” continued Athos.

“Why, sir, I am certain that in less than three days this salve would cure you; and at the end of that time, when your cure is completed, it would be a great honour for me to cross swords with you.”

D’Artagnan uttered these words with a simplicity which did honour to his courtesy, without in the slightest degree detracting from his courage.

“By my faith!” exclaimed Athos, “this is a proposition which much pleases me; not that I should think of accepting it; but it savours of the perfect knight, and it was thus that, in the days of Charlemagne, those brave men, whom every man of honour should make his model, spoke. Unfortunately, however, we do not live in the times of the great emperor, but in those of the cardinal; and three days hence, however well we might preserve our secret, it would be known that we were going to fight, and we should be prevented. But,” he added, with some impatience, “these seconds are laggards.”

“If you are in haste, sir,” said d’Artagnan, with the same simplicity that had the moment before characterised his proposition to put off the duel for three days—“if you are in haste, and should wish to dispose of me at once, dispense with the seconds, I beseech you.”

“This speech of yours pleases me still more,” said Athos, gracefully bowing to d’Artagnan, “it does not seem that of a man who lacks either head or heart. I admire men of your stamp, and, if we are spared, I shall hereafter have sincere pleasure in your acquaintance. Meantime, let us wait for these gentlemen, I pray you. I have plenty of time, and it will be more according to rule. Ah! see, here comes one of them.”

And as he spoke, the gigantic form of Porthos was seen at the end of the Rue de Vaugirard.

“What!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “is M. Porthos one of your seconds!”

“Yes, have you any objection to him?”

“Oh, certainly not!”

“And here is the other.”

D’Artagnan looked in the direction indicated by Athos, and beheld Aramis.

“What!” cried he, in a tone of yet greater astonishment, “is M. Aramis the other of your seconds?”

“Certainly; are you not aware that one is rarely seen without the other, and that amongst the musketeers and guards, at court and in the town, we are known as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the three inseparables? But as you come from Dax or Pau———”

“From Tarbes,” said d’Artagnan.

“You may very naturally be ignorant of all this.”

“Really, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “you are well named; and should my adventure become known, it will at least prove that like draws to like.”

In the meantime Porthos approached, shook hands with Athos, and turning towards d’Artagnan, seemed lost in astonishment. We may mention, in passing, that he had changed his belt, and laid aside his cloak.

“It is with this gentleman that I am about to fight,” said Athos, pointing towards d’Artagnan, and at the same time saluting him.

“And I also am going to fight him,” replied Porthos.

“But not till one o’clock,” interrupted d’Artagnan.

“And I also—it is with him that I am to fight,” said Aramis, who had arrived on the ground, just after Porthos.

“Our appointment, however, is for two o’clock,” replied d’Artagnan, with the same coolness.

“But what are you going to fight about, Athos?” demanded Aramis.

“Upon my faith, I do not well know, except that he hurt my shoulder.”

“And you, Porthos?”

“I fight because I fight,” replied Porthos colouring. Athos, whom nothing escaped, perceived a slight smile curling the lips of the Gascon.

“We had a dispute about dress,” said d’Artagnan.

“And you, Aramis?” demanded Athos.

“Me? I fight on account of a theological dispute,” answered Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan that he wished him to conceal the true cause of their duel.

“Really!” said Athos, who observed d’Artagnan smile again.

“Yes, a point of St. Augustine, on which we could not agree,” said the Gascon.

“Decidedly he is a man of spirit,” murmured Athos.

“And now that you are all arrived, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to offer my apologies.”

A frown passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile glided over the lips of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.

“You do not rightly understand me, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, elevating his head, on which a sunbeam played, gilding its fine and manly lines. “I wish to apologise because it is improbable that I shall be able to pay my debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first, which greatly decreases the value of your bill, M. Porthos, whilst it renders yours, M. Aramis, of scarcely the slightest value. Therefore, gentlemen, on that account alone, I again repeat my offer of apology. And now upon your guard!”

And with the most gallant and fearless mien he drew his sword.

His blood was fairly roused, and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the kingdom with as little hesitation as he then did against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

It was a quarter past twelve, the sun was at its meridian, and the situation chosen for the encounter was exposed to its fierce heat.

“It is very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword, “and yet I cannot take off my doublet, for just now I perceived that my wound bled, and I fear to distress this gentleman by showing him blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”

“True, sir,” replied d’Artagnan, “but I assure you that, whether drawn by myself or by any other person, I shall always see with regret the blood of so brave a gentleman; I will therefore follow your example, and fight in my doublet.”

“Come,” said Porthos, “a truce to these compliments. Remember that we also await our turn.”

“Speak for yourself only, Porthos, when you choose to be so rude,” interposed Aramis. “As for me, I consider the courtesies which have passed between these gentlemen as worthy of men of the highest honour.”

“When you please, sir,” said Athos, placing himself on his guard.

“I was at your service,” said d’Artagnan, crossing his sword.

But the two rapiers had scarcely met, when a party of the cardinal’s guards, commanded by M. de Jussac, appeared at the corner of the convent.

“The cardinal’s guards!” exclaimed Porthos and Aramis at the same moment. “Sheathe swords—gentlemen—sheathe swords!”

But it was too late. The combatants had been seen in a position which left no doubt of their intentions.

“Hollo!” cried Jussac, advancing towards them, and giving a signal to his men to do the same. “Hollo, musketeers! What, fighting here? And the edicts—are they forgotten, eh?”

“You are extremely generous, gentlemen of the guards,” said Athos, in a tone of the most bitter animosity, for Jussac had been one of the aggressors on the night before last. “If we saw you fighting, I promise you that we should not prevent it; therefore let us alone, and you will enjoy the spectacle without any of the pain.”

“Gentlemen,” answered Jussac, “it is with regret I declare that what you request is impossible. Duty must take precedence of everything else. Sheathe, therefore, if you please, and follow us.”

“Sir,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac’s manner, “if it depended upon ourselves, we should accept your polite invitation with the utmost pleasure; but unfortunately the thing is impossible. M. de Treville has forbidden it. Move on, therefore; it is the best thing you can do.”

This mockery exasperated Jussac. “We will charge you,” said he, “if you disobey.”

“They are five,” said Athos in a low voice, “and we are only three; we shall be beaten again, and we must die here; for I positively swear that I will not again appear before the captain a vanquished man.”

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis closed up to each other, whilst Jussac drew up his men. This moment of delay sufficed for d’Artagnan to form his resolution. It was one of those moments weighed with a man’s whole destiny; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal, and this choice, once made, must be adhered to. To fight was to disobey the law, to risk his head, and, by one blow, to make an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself. All this the young man plainly perceived, and we must do him the justice to declare that he did not hesitate a single instant.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “you must allow me to correct one thing which you have said. You affirmed that you were but three; but it appears to me that there are four of us.”

“You are not one of us,” said Porthos.

“True,” replied d’Artagnan, “I have not the dress, but I have the heart and soul of a musketeer; I feel it, sir, and it impels me along, as it were, by force.”

“Hark ye, young man!” cried Jussac, who doubtless, from d’Artagnan’s gestures and the expression of his countenance, had divined his intentions; “you may retire; we permit you; save your skin, and that quickly.”

But d’Artagnan moved not a step.

“You are unquestionably a man of spirit,” said Athos, pressing the young man’s hand.

“Come, come; decide, decide!” exclaimed Jussac.

“We must make up our minds,” said Porthos and Aramis.

“You are truly generous,” said Athos to d’Artagnan.

But all three thought of d’Artagnan’s youth, and feared his inexperience.

“We are but three, and one of us wounded, exclusive of this boy,” remarked Athos; “and yet it will be said that we were four men.”

“Ay, but to retreat!” said Porthos.

“It is difficult,” said Athos.

“Quite impossible!” said Aramis.

D’Artagnan comprehended the cause of their irresolution. “Gentlemen,” said he, “only try me, and I pledge you my honour that I will not leave this spot except as a conqueror.”

“What is your name, my fine fellow?” said Athos.

“D’Artagnan, sir.”

“Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, forward!” exclaimed Athos.

“So, you have made up your minds, gentlemen?” cried Jussac for the third time.

“Quite so,” replied Athos.

“And what is your resolve?” demanded Jussac.

“We are about to have the honour of charging you,” replied Aramis, raising his hat with one hand, and drawing his sword with the other.

“Ah! you resist!” cried Jussac.

“Mortdieu! Does that surprise you?”

And the nine combatants rushed upon each other with a fury which did not, however, exclude a kind of method. Athos took Cahusac, one of the cardinal’s favourites; Porthos selected Biscarrat; and Aramis found himself opposed to two adversaries. As for d’Artagnan, he sprang towards Jussac himself.

The heart of the young Gascon throbbed violently, not with fear, but with eagerness. He fought with the fury of an enraged tiger, turning round his adversary, and every moment changing his guard and position. Jussac, as we have before said, was a most skilful and experienced swordsman; nevertheless, he found the utmost difficulty in defending himself against his adversary, who, active and nimble, perpetually deviated from all the received rules of fencing, attacking on all sides at once, and yet at the same time guarding himself like one who had the greatest respect in the world for his own person. At length the struggle was brought to a conclusion by Jussac’s rashness. Furious at being thus held at bay by one whom he regarded as a mere boy, he became less cautious, and committed various indiscretions; whilst d’Artagnan, who, although deficient in practice, had a profound knowledge of the theory of the art, redoubled his agility. Jussac, eager to dispatch him, made a tremendous lunge, at the same time breaking ground; but d’Artagnan parried the thrust, and whilst Jussac recovered himself, he glided like a serpent under his weapon, and passed his sword through his body; Jussac fell heavily on the ground.

D’Artagnan now cast a rapid and anxious glance over the field of battle. Aramis had already killed one of his adversaries, but the other pressed him sharply. He was, however, in very good trim, and could well defend himself. Biscarrat and Porthos had both received wounds, Porthos in the arm, and his adversary in the thigh; but as neither of these wounds was severe, they only fought the more fiercely. Athos, wounded afresh by Cahusac, looked more and more pale, but did not yield an inch; he had merely changed hands, and fought with his left. According to the laws of duelling at that period, d’Artagnan was at liberty to assist any one of his companions; and whilst he sought to ascertain which of them most required his aid, he caught a glance from Athos, which served instead of speech. Athos would have died sooner than call for assistance; but his look plainly denoted how much he required support. D’Artagnan at once comprehended his meaning, and with a single bound he fell on Cahusac’s flank, exclaiming, “Turn, sir guardsman, or I kill you!”

Cahusac did turn, just as Athos, whom his extreme courage had alone sustained, sunk upon one knee. “Hollo, young man!” exclaimed Athos, “do not kill him, I beseech you; I have an old affair to settle with him when I am cured. Disarm him only; deprive him of his sword—that’s it—good, very good!”

This exclamation escaped Athos on perceiving the sword of Cahusac flying from his hand a distance of twenty paces. D’Artagnan and Cahusac both rushed forward to secure the weapon; but d’Artagnan being the most active, reached it first, and placed his foot upon it. Cahusac then went to the guardsman killed by Aramis, seized his rapier, and was returning to d’Artagnan; but on his way he encountered Athos, who during this momentary pause had recovered his breath, and fearing that d’Artagnan might kill his opponent, wished to renew the contest. D’Artagnan perceived that he would offend Athos if he did not permit him to have his own way; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell pierced in the throat. At the same moment Aramis placed the point of his sword at the breast of his fallen adversary, and compelled him to sue for mercy.

Porthos and Biscarrat alone remained fighting. Porthos, whilst fighting, indulged himself in a thousand fantastic jests and humours, asking Biscarrat what time of day it was, and congratulating him on the company his brother had just obtained in the regiment of Navarre. This jesting, however, gained him no advantage; for Biscarrat was one of those indomitable spirits who die, but do not surrender. It was time, however, to stop the fight, as the guard might arrive, and arrest all the combatants, whether wounded or not, whether royalists or cardinalists. Athos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, therefore, surrounded Biscarrat, and summoned him to surrender. Although alone against all four, and with a wound which had passed through his thigh, Biscarrat refused to yield; but Jussac, raising himself on his elbow, requested him to desist. Biscarrat, however, like d’Artagnan, was a Gascon: he therefore only laughed, and pretended not to hear; and finding time, between the parries, to point with his sword to the ground at his feet—

“Here,” said he, “will Biscarrat die, the sole survivor of those that were with him.”

“But they are four—four against one!” cried Jussac; “yield, I command you!”

“Ah, if you command me, it is another thing,” said Biscarrat; “you are my commander, and I must obey.”

And suddenly springing backwards, he broke his sword across his knee, in order that he might not give it up, threw the pieces over the wall of the convent; and then, crossing his arms, he whistled a cardinalist air.

Bravery is always respected, even in an enemy. The musketeers saluted Biscarrat with their swords, and returned them to their scabbards. D’Artagnan did the same; and then, assisted by Biscarrat, the only one who remained on his legs, he carried Jussac, Cahusac, and that one of the adversaries of Aramis who was only wounded, under the porch of the convent. The fourth, as we have said, was dead. They then rang the bell, and confiscating four out of the five swords, they set off, intoxicated with joy, towards M. de Treville’s hotel. They proceeded arm in arm, occupying the whole breadth of the street; and as they detained every musketeer they met, the march soon became like a triumphal procession. D’Artagnan’s heart was in a delirium of exultation, as he marched between Athos and Porthos.

“If I am not yet a musketeer,” said he to his new friends, whilst passing the threshold of M. de Treville’s hotel, “I am at least next door to one. Is it not so?”