Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (early readers .TXT) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (early readers .TXT) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
D’Artagnan, on his part, entered boldly at the principal gate.
Although he felt himself ably supported, the young man was not without a little uneasiness as he ascended the great staircase, step by step. His conduct toward Milady bore a strong resemblance to treachery, and he was very suspicious of the political relations which existed between that woman and the cardinal. Still further, de Wardes, whom he had treated so ill, was one of the tools of his Eminence; and d’Artagnan knew that while his Eminence was terrible to his enemies, he was strongly attached to his friends.
“If de Wardes has related all our affair to the cardinal, which is not to be doubted, and if he has recognized me, as is probable, I may consider myself almost as a condemned man,” said d’Artagnan, shaking his head. “But why has he waited till now? That’s all plain enough. Milady has laid her complaints against me with that hypocritical grief which renders her so interesting, and this last offense has made the cup overflow.”
“Fortunately,” added he, “my good friends are down yonder, and they will not allow me to be carried away without a struggle. Nevertheless, Monsieur de Tréville’s company of Musketeers alone cannot maintain a war against the cardinal, who disposes of the forces of all France, and before whom the queen is without power and the king without will. D’Artagnan, my friend, you are brave, you are prudent, you have excellent qualities; but the women will ruin you!”
He came to this melancholy conclusion as he entered the antechamber. He placed his letter in the hands of the usher on duty, who led him into the waiting room and passed on into the interior of the palace.
In this waiting room were five or six of the cardinals Guards, who recognized d’Artagnan, and knowing that it was he who had wounded Jussac, they looked upon him with a smile of singular meaning.
This smile appeared to d’Artagnan to be of bad augury. Only, as our Gascon was not easily intimidated—or rather, thanks to a great pride natural to the men of his country, he did not allow one easily to see what was passing in his mind when that which was passing at all resembled fear—he placed himself haughtily in front of Messieurs the Guards, and waited with his hand on his hip, in an attitude by no means deficient in majesty.
The usher returned and made a sign to d’Artagnan to follow him. It appeared to the young man that the Guards, on seeing him depart, chuckled among themselves.
He traversed a corridor, crossed a grand saloon, entered a library, and found himself in the presence of a man seated at a desk and writing.
The usher introduced him, and retired without speaking a word. D’Artagnan remained standing and examined this man.
D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge examining his papers; but he perceived that the man at the desk wrote, or rather corrected, lines of unequal length, scanning the words on his fingers. He saw then that he was with a poet. At the end of an instant the poet closed his manuscript, upon the cover of which was written “Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts,” and raised his head.
D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.
A TERRIBLE VISION
The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek upon his hand, and looked intently at the young man for a moment. No one had a more searching eye than the Cardinal de Richelieu, and d’Artagnan felt this glance run through his veins like a fever.
He however kept a good countenance, holding his hat in his hand and awaiting the good pleasure of his Eminence, without too much assurance, but also without too much humility.
“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “are you a d’Artagnan from Béarn?”
“Yes, monseigneur,” replied the young man.
“There are several branches of the d’Artagnans at Tarbes and in its environs,” said the cardinal; “to which do you belong?”
“I am the son of him who served in the Religious Wars under the great King Henry, the father of his gracious Majesty.”
“That is well. It is you who set out seven or eight months ago from your country to seek your fortune in the capital?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“You came through Meung, where something befell you. I don’t very well know what, but still something.”
“Monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan, “this was what happened to me—”
“Never mind, never mind!” resumed the cardinal, with a smile which indicated that he knew the story as well as he who wished to relate it. “You were recommended to Monsieur de Tréville, were you not?”
“Yes, monseigneur; but in that unfortunate affair at Meung—”
“The letter was lost,” replied his Eminence; “yes, I know that. But Monsieur de Tréville is a skilled physiognomist, who knows men at first sight; and he placed you in the company of his brother-in-law, Monsieur Dessessart, leaving you to hope that one day or other you should enter the Musketeers.”
“Monseigneur is correctly informed,” said d’Artagnan.
“Since that time many things have happened to you. You were walking one day behind the Chartreux, when it would have been better if you had been elsewhere. Then you took with your friends a journey to the waters of Forges; they stopped on the road, but you continued yours. That is all very simple: you had business in England.”
“Monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan, quite confused, “I went—”
“Hunting at Windsor, or elsewhere—that concerns nobody. I know, because it is my office to know everything. On your return you were received by an august personage, and I perceive with pleasure that you preserve the souvenir she gave you.”
D’Artagnan placed his hand upon the queen’s diamond, which he wore, and quickly turned the stone inward; but it was too late.
“The day after that, you received a visit from Cavois,” resumed the cardinal. “He went to desire you to come to the palace. You have not returned that visit, and you were wrong.”
“Monseigneur, I feared I had incurred disgrace with your Eminence.”
“How could that be, monsieur? Could you incur my displeasure by having followed the orders of your superiors with more intelligence and courage than another would have done? It is the people who do not obey that I punish, and not those who, like you, obey—but too well. As a proof, remember the date of the day on which I had you bidden to come to me, and seek in your memory for what happened to you that very night.”
That was the very evening when the abduction of Mme. Bonacieux took place. D’Artagnan trembled; and he likewise recollected that during the past half hour the poor woman had passed close to him, without doubt carried away by the same power that had caused her disappearance.
“In short,” continued the cardinal, “as I have heard nothing of you for some time past, I wished to know what you were doing. Besides, you owe me some thanks. You must yourself have remarked how much you have been considered in all the circumstances.”
D’Artagnan bowed with respect.
“That,” continued the cardinal, “arose not only from a feeling of natural equity, but likewise from a plan I have marked out with respect to you.”
D’Artagnan became more and more astonished.
“I wished to explain this plan to you on the day you received my first invitation; but you did not come. Fortunately, nothing is lost by this delay, and you are now about to hear it. Sit down there, before me, d’Artagnan; you are gentleman enough not to listen standing.” And the cardinal pointed with his finger to a chair for the young man, who was so astonished at what was passing that he awaited a second sign from his interlocutor before he obeyed.
“You are brave, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” continued his Eminence; “you are prudent, which is still better. I like men of head and heart. Don’t be afraid,” said he, smiling. “By men of heart I mean men of courage. But young as you are, and scarcely entering into the world, you have powerful enemies; if you do not take great heed, they will destroy you.”
“Alas, monseigneur!” replied the young man, “very easily, no doubt, for they are strong and well supported, while I am alone.”
“Yes, that’s true; but alone as you are, you have done much already, and will do still more, I don’t doubt. Yet you have need, I believe, to be guided in the adventurous career you have undertaken; for, if I mistake not, you came to Paris with the ambitious idea of making your fortune.”
“I am at the age of extravagant hopes, monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan.
“There are no extravagant hopes but for fools, monsieur, and you are a man of understanding. Now, what would you say to an ensign’s commission in my Guards, and a company after the campaign?”
“Ah, monseigneur.”
“You accept it, do you not?”
“Monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan, with an embarrassed air.
“How? You refuse?” cried the cardinal, with astonishment.
“I am in his Majesty’s Guards, monseigneur, and I have no reason to be dissatisfied.”
“But it appears to me that my Guards—mine—are also his Majesty’s Guards; and whoever serves in a French corps serves the king.”
“Monseigneur, your Eminence has ill understood my words.”
“You want a pretext, do you not? I comprehend. Well, you have this excuse: advancement, the opening campaign, the opportunity which I offer you—so much for the world. As regards yourself, the need of protection; for it is fit you should know, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I have received heavy and serious complaints against you. You do not consecrate your days and nights wholly to the king’s service.”
D’Artagnan colored.
“In fact,” said the cardinal, placing his hand upon a bundle of papers, “I have here a whole pile which concerns you. I know you to be a man of resolution; and your services, well directed, instead of leading you to ill, might be very advantageous to you. Come; reflect, and decide.”
“Your goodness confounds me, monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan, “and I am conscious of a greatness of soul in your Eminence that makes me mean as an earthworm; but since Monseigneur permits me to speak freely—”
D’Artagnan paused.
“Yes; speak.”
“Then, I will presume to say that all my friends are in the king’s Musketeers and Guards, and that by an inconceivable fatality my enemies are in the service of your Eminence; I should, therefore, be ill received here and ill regarded there if I accepted what Monseigneur offers me.”
“Do you happen to entertain the haughty idea that I have not yet made you an offer equal to your value?” asked the cardinal, with a smile of disdain.
“Monseigneur, your Eminence is a hundred times too kind to me; and on the contrary, I think I have not proved myself worthy of your goodness. The siege of La Rochelle is about to be resumed, monseigneur. I shall serve under the eye of your Eminence, and if I have the good fortune to conduct myself at the siege in such a manner as merits your attention, then I shall at least leave behind me some brilliant action to justify the protection with which you honor me. Everything is best in its time, monseigneur. Hereafter, perhaps, I shall have the right of giving myself; at present I shall appear to sell myself.”
“That is to say, you refuse to serve me, monsieur,” said the cardinal, with a tone of vexation, through which, however, might be seen a sort of esteem; “remain free, then, and guard your hatreds and your sympathies.”
“Monseigneur—”
“Well, well,” said the cardinal, “I don’t wish you any ill; but you must be aware that it is quite trouble enough to defend and recompense our friends. We owe nothing to our enemies; and let me give you a piece of advice; take care of yourself, Monsieur d’Artagnan, for from the moment I withdraw my hand from behind you, I would not give an obolus for your life.”
“I will try to do so, monseigneur,” replied the Gascon, with a noble confidence.
“Remember at a later period and at a certain moment, if any mischance should happen to you,” said Richelieu, significantly, “that it was I who came to seek you, and that I did all in my power to prevent this misfortune befalling you.”
“I shall entertain, whatever may happen,” said d’Artagnan, placing his hand upon his breast and bowing, “an eternal gratitude toward your Eminence for that which you now do for me.”
“Well, let it be, then, as you have said, Monsieur d’Artagnan; we shall see each other again after the campaign. I will have my eye upon you, for I shall be there,” replied the cardinal, pointing with his finger to a magnificent suit of armor he was to wear, “and on our return, well—we will settle our account!”
“Young
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