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
“My faith,” said Athos, “I have nothing to say against a retreat. We bet upon one hour, and we have stayed an hour and a half. Nothing can be said; let us be off, gentlemen, let us be off!”
Grimaud was already ahead, with the basket and the dessert. The four friends followed, ten paces behind him.
“What the devil shall we do now, gentlemen?” cried Athos.
“Have you forgotten anything?” said Aramis.
“The white flag, morbleu! We must not leave a flag in the hands of the enemy, even if that flag be but a napkin.”
And Athos ran back to the bastion, mounted the platform, and bore off the flag; but as the Rochellais had arrived within musket range, they opened a terrible fire upon this man, who appeared to expose himself for pleasure’s sake.
But Athos might be said to bear a charmed life. The balls passed and whistled all around him; not one struck him.
Athos waved his flag, turning his back on the guards of the city, and saluting those of the camp. On both sides loud cries arose—on the one side cries of anger, on the other cries of enthusiasm.
A second discharge followed the first, and three balls, by passing through it, made the napkin really a flag. Cries were heard from the camp, “Come down! come down!”
Athos came down; his friends, who anxiously awaited him, saw him returned with joy.
“Come along, Athos, come along!” cried d’Artagnan; “now we have found everything except money, it would be stupid to be killed.”
But Athos continued to march majestically, whatever remarks his companions made; and they, finding their remarks useless, regulated their pace by his.
Grimaud and his basket were far in advance, out of the range of the balls.
At the end of an instant they heard a furious fusillade.
“What’s that?” asked Porthos, “what are they firing at now? I hear no balls whistle, and I see nobody!”
“They are firing at the corpses,” replied Athos.
“But the dead cannot return their fire.”
“Certainly not! They will then fancy it is an ambuscade, they will deliberate; and by the time they have found out the pleasantry, we shall be out of the range of their balls. That renders it useless to get a pleurisy by too much haste.”
“Oh, I comprehend now,” said the astonished Porthos.
“That’s lucky,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
On their part, the French, on seeing the four friends return at such a step, uttered cries of enthusiasm.
At length a fresh discharge was heard, and this time the balls came rattling among the stones around the four friends, and whistling sharply in their ears. The Rochellais had at last taken possession of the bastion.
“These Rochellais are bungling fellows,” said Athos; “how many have we killed of them—a dozen?”
“Or fifteen.”
“How many did we crush under the wall?”
“Eight or ten.”
“And in exchange for all that not even a scratch! Ah, but what is the matter with your hand, d’Artagnan? It bleeds, seemingly.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said d’Artagnan.
“A spent ball?”
“Not even that.”
“What is it, then?”
We have said that Athos loved d’Artagnan like a child, and this somber and inflexible personage felt the anxiety of a parent for the young man.
“Only grazed a little,” replied d’Artagnan; “my fingers were caught between two stones—that of the wall and that of my ring—and the skin was broken.”
“That comes of wearing diamonds, my master,” said Athos, disdainfully.
“Ah, to be sure,” cried Porthos, “there is a diamond. Why the devil, then, do we plague ourselves about money, when there is a diamond?”
“Stop a bit!” said Aramis.
“Well thought of, Porthos; this time you have an idea.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Porthos, drawing himself up at Athos’s compliment; “as there is a diamond, let us sell it.”
“But,” said d’Artagnan, “it is the queen’s diamond.”
“The stronger reason why it should be sold,” replied Athos. “The queen saving Monsieur de Buckingham, her lover; nothing more just. The queen saving us, her friends; nothing more moral. Let us sell the diamond. What says Monsieur the Abbé? I don’t ask Porthos; his opinion has been given.”
“Why, I think,” said Aramis, blushing as usual, “that his ring not coming from a mistress, and consequently not being a love token, d’Artagnan may sell it.”
“My dear Aramis, you speak like theology personified. Your advice, then, is—”
“To sell the diamond,” replied Aramis.
“Well, then,” said d’Artagnan, gaily, “let us sell the diamond, and say no more about it.”
The fusillade continued; but the four friends were out of reach, and the Rochellais only fired to appease their consciences.
“My faith, it was time that idea came into Porthos’s head. Here we are at the camp; therefore, gentlemen, not a word more of this affair. We are observed; they are coming to meet us. We shall be carried in triumph.”
In fact, as we have said, the whole camp was in motion. More than two thousand persons had assisted, as at a spectacle, in this fortunate but wild undertaking of the four friends—an undertaking of which they were far from suspecting the real motive. Nothing was heard but cries of “Live the Musketeers! Live the Guards!” M. de Busigny was the first to come and shake Athos by the hand, and acknowledge that the wager was lost. The dragoon and the Swiss followed him, and all their comrades followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but felicitations, pressures of the hand, and embraces; there was no end to the inextinguishable laughter at the Rochellais. The tumult at length became so great that the cardinal fancied there must be some riot, and sent La Houdiniere, his captain of the Guards, to inquire what was going on.
The affair was described to the messenger with all the effervescence of enthusiasm.
“Well?” asked the cardinal, on seeing La Houdiniere return.
“Well, monseigneur,” replied the latter, “three Musketeers and a Guardsman laid a wager with Monsieur de Busigny that they would go and breakfast in the bastion St. Gervais; and while breakfasting they held it for two hours against the enemy, and have killed I don’t know how many Rochellais.”
“Did you inquire the names of those three Musketeers?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“What are their names?”
“Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
“Still my three brave fellows!” murmured the cardinal. “And the Guardsman?”
“D’Artagnan.”
“Still my young scapegrace. Positively, these four men must be on my side.”
The same evening the cardinal spoke to M. de Tréville of the exploit of the morning, which was the talk of the whole camp. M. de Tréville, who had received the account of the adventure from the mouths of the heroes of it, related it in all its details to his Eminence, not forgetting the episode of the napkin.
“That’s well, Monsieur de Tréville,” said the cardinal; “pray let that napkin be sent to me. I will have three fleur-de-lis embroidered on it in gold, and will give it to your company as a standard.”
“Monseigneur,” said M. de Tréville, “that will be unjust to the Guardsmen. Monsieur d’Artagnan is not with me; he serves under Monsieur Dessessart.”
“Well, then, take him,” said the cardinal; “when four men are so much attached to one another, it is only fair that they should serve in the same company.”
That same evening M. de Tréville announced this good news to the three Musketeers and d’Artagnan, inviting all four to breakfast with him next morning.
D’Artagnan was beside himself with joy. We know that the dream of his life had been to become a Musketeer. The three friends were likewise greatly delighted.
“My faith,” said d’Artagnan to Athos, “you had a triumphant idea! As you said, we have acquired glory, and were enabled to carry on a conversation of the highest importance.”
“Which we can resume now without anybody suspecting us, for, with the help of God, we shall henceforth pass for cardinalists.”
That evening d’Artagnan went to present his respects to M. Dessessart, and inform him of his promotion.
M. Dessessart, who esteemed d’Artagnan, made him offers of help, as this change would entail expenses for equipment.
D’Artagnan refused; but thinking the opportunity a good one, he begged him to have the diamond he put into his hand valued, as he wished to turn it into money.
The next day, M. Dessessart’s valet came to d’Artagnan’s lodging, and gave him a bag containing seven thousand livres.
This was the price of the queen’s diamond.
A FAMILY AFFAIR
Athos had invented the phrase, family affair. A family affair was not subject to the investigation of the cardinal; a family affair concerned nobody. People might employ themselves in a family affair before all the world. Therefore Athos had invented the phrase, family affair.
Aramis had discovered the idea, the lackeys.
Porthos had discovered the means, the diamond.
D’Artagnan alone had discovered nothing—he, ordinarily the most inventive of the four; but it must be also said that the very name of Milady paralyzed him.
Ah! no, we were mistaken; he had discovered a purchaser for his diamond.
The breakfast at M. de Tréville’s was as gay and cheerful as possible. D’Artagnan already wore his uniform—for being nearly of the same size as Aramis, and as Aramis was so liberally paid by the publisher who purchased his poem as to allow him to buy everything double, he sold his friend a complete outfit.
D’Artagnan would have been at the height of his wishes if he had not constantly seen Milady like a dark cloud hovering in the horizon.
After breakfast, it was agreed that they should meet again in the evening at Athos’s lodging, and there finish their plans.
D’Artagnan passed the day in exhibiting his Musketeer’s uniform in every street of the camp.
In the evening, at the appointed hour, the four friends met. There only remained three things to decide—what they should write to Milady’s brother; what they should write to the clever person at Tours; and which should be the lackeys to carry the letters.
Everyone offered his own. Athos talked of the discretion of Grimaud, who never spoke a word but when his master unlocked his mouth. Porthos boasted of the strength of Mousqueton, who was big enough to thrash four men of ordinary size. Aramis, confiding in the address of Bazin, made a pompous eulogium on his candidate. Finally, d’Artagnan had entire faith in the bravery of Planchet, and reminded them of the manner in which he had conducted himself in the ticklish affair of Boulogne.
These four virtues disputed the prize for a length of time, and gave birth to magnificent speeches which we do not repeat here for fear they should be deemed too long.
“Unfortunately,” said Athos, “he whom we send must possess in himself alone the four qualities united.”
“But where is such a lackey to be found?”
“Not to be found!” cried Athos. “I know it well, so take Grimaud.”
“Take Mousqueton.”
“Take Bazin.”
“Take Planchet. Planchet is brave and shrewd; they are two qualities out of the four.”
“Gentlemen,” said Aramis, “the principal question is not to know which of our four lackeys is the most discreet, the most strong, the most clever, or the most brave; the principal thing is to know which loves money the best.”
“What Aramis says is very sensible,” replied Athos; “we must speculate upon the faults of people, and not upon their virtues. Monsieur Abbé, you are a great moralist.”
“Doubtless,” said Aramis, “for we not only require to be well served in order to succeed, but moreover, not to fail; for in case of failure, heads are in question, not for our lackeys—”
“Speak lower, Aramis,” said Athos.
“That’s wise—not for the lackeys,” resumed Aramis, “but for the master—for the masters, we may say. Are our lackeys sufficiently devoted to us to risk their lives for us? No.”
“My faith,” said d’Artagnan. “I would almost answer for Planchet.”
“Well, my dear friend, add to his natural devotedness a good sum of money, and then, instead of answering for him once, answer for him twice.”
“Why, good God! you will be deceived just the same,” said Athos, who was an optimist when things were concerned, and a pessimist when men were in question. “They will promise everything for the sake of the money, and on the road fear will prevent them from acting. Once taken, they will be pressed; when pressed, they will confess everything. What the devil! we are not children. To reach England”—Athos lowered his voice—“all France, covered with spies and creatures of the cardinal, must be crossed. A passport for embarkation must be obtained; and the party must be acquainted with English in order to ask the way to London. Really, I think the thing very difficult.”
“Not at all,” cried d’Artagnan, who was anxious the matter should be accomplished; “on the contrary, I think it very easy. It would be, no doubt, parbleu, if we write to Lord de Winter about affairs of vast importance, of the horrors of the cardinal—”
“Speak lower!” said Athos.
“—of intrigues and secrets of state,” continued d’Artagnan, complying with the recommendation.
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