Before you is the most famous story of all time - the adventure novel by Alexandre Dumas père "The Three Musketeers" about the era of the reign of Louis XIII. This immortal work was so loved by readers all over the world that it was filmed more than a hundred times! The young ardent Gascon d'Artagnan and his faithful Musketeer friends Athos, Porthos and Aramis became a symbol of courage, loyalty and friendship, and their motto "One for all, and all for one" became catch phrase. Before you is an absolutely unique edition containing one of the first translations of the novel, made before the revolution. The book contains an abridged version of the work - Part I of the adventures of four friends. Thanks to this rare pre-revolutionary translation, the book quickly gained popularity among the Russian-speaking reader. The author of the translation is unknown, but the artistic merits of his text are indisputable: the style of the author, the humor and brevity inherent in the pen of A. Dumas, are excellently conveyed by the translator.

PART ONE

I. Three gifts from d'Artagnan's father

On the first Monday of April, 1625, Myeong was in such turmoil as Rochelle was under siege by the Huguenots. Many citizens, at the sight of women running towards the Grand Street, and children shouting at the thresholds of the doors, hurried to put on armor and, armed with guns and reeds, headed for the Franck-Meunier hotel, in front of which a noisy and curious crowd, growing every minute, crowded.

In those days, such panic attacks were frequent, and a rare day passed without one or another city not entering into its archive some incident of this kind: the nobles fought among themselves, the king waged war with the cardinal, the Spaniards waged war with the king . In addition to these wars, carried out secretly or openly, thieves, beggars, Huguenots, wolves and lackeys waged war on everyone. Citizens always armed themselves against thieves, wolves, lackeys, often against nobles and Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the Spaniards.

In this state of affairs, it is natural that on the aforementioned Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, hearing a noise and not seeing either the red or yellow banner or the livery of the Duke of Richelieu, rushed in the direction where the Franck-Meunier hotel was located.

Arriving there, everyone could find out the reason for this excitement.

A quarter of an hour before, through the outpost of Beaugency, a young man rode into Myong on a buckskin horse. Let's describe the appearance of his horse. Imagine Don Quixote, 18 years old, unarmed, without chain mail and without armor, in a woolen camisole, whom Blue colour took on an indefinite shade of greenish blue. The face is long and swarthy, with prominent cheekbones, a sign of deceit; the jaw muscles, extremely developed, are an undoubted sign of a Gascon even without a beret, and our young man wore a beret adorned with a feather; eyes are large and intelligent; the nose is crooked, but thin and beautiful; growth is too big for a young man and too small for an adult; the unaccustomed eye would have mistaken him for a traveling son of a Farmer, if not for a long sword, hung on a leather sling, which struck its owner on the calves when he walked, and on the bristly hair of his horse when he rode.

This young man's horse was so remarkable that it attracted everyone's attention: it was a Béarn horse, 12 or 14 years old, yellow wool, without a tail and with gray legs; on the move, she lowered her head below her knees, which is why the use of an abdominal belt turned out to be useless; but she still did eight miles a day.

Unfortunately, the strange color of her coat and her ugly gait so concealed her good qualities that in those days when everyone was experts in horses, her appearance in Myong made an unpleasant impression, which was reflected in the rider.

This impression was all the more painful for d'Artagnan (that was the name of the new Don Quixote) because he himself understood this, although he was a good rider; but such a horse made him laughable, about which he sighed deeply as he accepted this gift from his father. He knew that such an animal was worth at least 20 livres; moreover, the words that accompanied the gift were invaluable: “My son,” said the Gascon nobleman, in that pure, common Béarn dialect, from which Henry IV could never wean, “my son, this horse was born in your father’s house, thirteen years ago and has been in it all this time—that alone should make you love her. Never sell her, let her die in peace in her old age; and if you will be with her on a campaign, then take care of her like an old servant. At court, Father d'Artagnan continued, if you ever deserve to be there, an honor to which, however, your ancient nobility entitles you, maintain with dignity your noble name, since it was supported by our ancestors for more than five hundred years. Don't take anything from anyone but the cardinal and the king. Remember that at the present time a nobleman makes his way only by courage. A cowardly person often loses the chance that represents happiness to him. You are young and you must be brave for two reasons: firstly, because you are a Gascon, and secondly, because you are my son. Do not be afraid of dangers and look for adventures. I taught you how to use a sword; your leg is strong as iron, your hand is like steel, fight at every opportunity; fight all the more, because duels are forbidden, which means that you need twice the courage to fight. I can give you, my son, only 15 crowns, my horse and the advice that you have listened to. Mother will add to this the recipe for a balm she received from a gypsy woman, which contains a wonderful property to heal any wound except those of the heart. Take advantage of everything and live happily ever after. It remains for me to add one more thing: to present to you as an example not me - because I have never been at the Court and participated only in the war for religion as a volunteer - but de Treville, who was once my neighbor: he, as a child, had the honor play with King Louis XIII, God bless him! Sometimes their games took the form of battles, and in these battles the king did not always prevail. The defeats that he suffered awakened in him respect and friendship for de Treville. Subsequently, de Treville fought with others during his first journey to Paris five times, from the death of the deceased king to the age of the young king, not counting wars and sieges, seven times, and from that age until now, perhaps a hundred times, despite decrees, orders and arrests, he, the captain of the musketeers, that is, the head of the legion of Caesars, whom the king cherishes very much and whom the cardinal fears, and as you know, there are not many things that he is afraid of. In addition, de Treville receives ten thousand crowns a year; therefore lives like a nobleman. He started just like you; come to him with this letter and imitate him in everything in order to achieve what he has achieved.”

Whereupon d'Artagnan the father put his own sword on his son, kissed him tenderly on both cheeks, and gave him his blessing.

Leaving his father's room, the young man went to his mother, who was waiting for him with a famous recipe, which, judging by the advice received from his father, was to be used quite often. Here the farewells were longer and more tender than with his father, not because d'Artagnan did not love his son, his only descendant, but d'Artagnan was a man and considered it unworthy of a man to indulge in the movement of the heart, while Madame d'Artagnan was a woman and besides mother.

She wept profusely, and let us say, in praise of d'Artagnan's son, that with all his efforts to remain firm, as a future musketeer should have done, nature prevailed - he could not refrain from tears.

On the same day the young man set off, armed with three gifts from his father, which, as we have already said, consisted of fifteen crowns, a horse, and a letter to de Treville; Of course, the advice was not given at the expense.

With such parting words, d'Artagnan became a morally and physically correct photograph of the hero Cervantes, with whom we so successfully compared him when, as a historian, we had to draw his portrait. Don Quixote mistook windmills for giants, and rams for armies; d'Artagnan took every smile for an insult and every glance for a challenge. From this it happened that his fists were constantly clenched from Tarbes to Möng, and that in both places he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword ten times a day; however, neither the fist nor the sword was ever used in action. Not because the sight of the unfortunate yellow horse did not arouse smiles on the faces of those passing by; but as a long sword jingled over a horse, and above this sword a pair of fierce eyes flashed, those passing by restrained their gaiety, or, if gaiety took precedence over prudence, they tried to laugh at least with only one side of the face, like ancient masks. So d'Artagnan remained majestic, and his irritability was not hurt until the unfortunate city of Myung.

But there, when he was dismounting at the gates of Franck-Meunier, and no one came out to receive his horse, d'Artagnan noticed at the half-open window of the ground floor a nobleman, large in stature and arrogant in appearance, although with a slightly frowning face, talking to two persons, who seemed to listen to him with respect. D'Artagnan, out of habit, assumed that he was the subject of the conversation, and began to listen. This time he was only half wrong: it was not about him, but about his horse. It seemed that the nobleman figured out to his listeners all her qualities and, like a storyteller, inspired respect in his listeners; they laughed every minute. But a half-smile was enough to arouse the irritability of the young man; It is clear what impression this noisy gaiety made on him.

D'Artagnan, with a proud look, began to examine the appearance of the insolent mocker. He was a man of 40 or 45, with black, piercing eyes, pale, with a sharply outlined nose and a beautifully trimmed black mustache; he was wearing a doublet and violet trousers, which, although new, seemed wrinkled, as if they had been in a suitcase for a long time.

D'Artagnan made all these remarks with the speed of the sharpest observer, and probably with an instinctive foreboding that this stranger would have a great influence on his future.

But just as at the very time when d'Artagnan was examining the nobleman in the purple doublet, this latter made one of the most learned and thoughtful remarks about the dignity of his Béarn horse, both his listeners burst into laughter, and even he himself, contrary to his wont, smiled a little. . At the same time, d'Artagnan no longer doubted that he had been offended. Convinced of being offended, he pulled his beret over his eyes and, imitating the courtly manners that he had noticed in Gascony with traveling nobles, approached, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other on his thigh. Unfortunately, as he approached, his anger blinded him more and more, and instead of the dignified and haughty speech he had prepared for the challenge, he spoke only a rough personality, accompanying it with a frantic movement.

- Hey, why are you hiding behind the shutter, he exclaimed. "Tell me what you're laughing at, and we'll laugh together."

The nobleman slowly turned his eyes from the horse to the rider, as if he did not immediately understand that these strange reproaches referred to him; when there was no doubt about it, his eyebrows frowned slightly, and, after a rather long silence, he answered d'Artagnan with indescribable irony and insolence.

“I am not talking to you, sir.

“But I am talking to you,” exclaimed the young man, irritated to the extreme by this mixture of insolence and good manners, decency and contempt.

The stranger glanced at him once more with a slight smile, moved away from the window, walked slowly out of the inn, and stood two paces from d'Artagnan, opposite his horse.

His calm posture and mocking look doubled the gaiety of his interlocutors who remained at the window. D'Artagnan, seeing him beside him, drew his sword a foot from its scabbard.

- This horse is brown, or, rather, it was so in its youth, continued the stranger, turning to his listeners who were at the window, and apparently not noticing d'Artagnan's irritation, - this color is known in botany, but before still rarely seen between horses.

“He who does not dare to laugh at a rider laughs at a horse,” said de Treville's imitator furiously.

“I don’t laugh often,” objected the stranger, “you can judge by the expression on my face; but I wish to keep to myself the right to laugh whenever I please.

“But I,” said d’Artagnan, “don’t want to be laughed at when I don’t like it.”

- Indeed? continued the stranger very calmly. - That's completely fair. And turning on his heels, he intended to return to the inn, through the great gate, at which d'Artagnan had seen a saddled horse.

But d'Artagnan's character was not such that he could let go of a man who had insolently ridiculed him. He completely unsheathed his sword and set off after him, shouting:

“Come back, come back, mister mocker, otherwise I will kill you from behind.”

- Kill me! said the stranger, turning on his heels and looking at the young man with astonishment and contempt. "What's the matter with you, my dear, you're out of your mind!"

He had hardly finished speaking when d'Artagnan sent such a blow at him with the point of his sword that his joke would probably have been the last if he had not had time to jump back quickly. The stranger, seeing then that things were in earnest, drew his sword, bowed to his adversary, and pompously took a defensive position. But at the same time, two of his servants, accompanied by the innkeeper, attacked d'Artagnan with sticks, spades and tongs. This produced a swift and complete revolution in the struggle.

While d'Artagnan turned back to parry the hail of blows, his adversary calmly put in his sword and, with his usual dispassion, turned from a protagonist into a spectator, grumbling to himself.

“Damn the Gascons! Put him on his orange horse and let him get away!

“But first I will kill you, coward!” shouted d'Artagnan, deflecting as much as he could the blows that fell upon him, and not retreating a single step from his three enemies.

- Still bragging! muttered the nobleman. “These Gascons are incorrigible. Continue, if he absolutely wants to. When he gets tired, he will say - that's enough.

But the stranger did not know what kind of stubborn man he was dealing with: d'Artagnan was not the kind of person to beg for mercy. The fight went on for a few more seconds; at last d'Artagnan, exhausted, let go of his sword, which had been broken in two by the stroke of the stick. At the same time, another blow to the forehead knocked him down, bloody and almost unconscious.

At that very moment, people from all sides flocked to the place of the spectacle. The owner, fearing trouble, carried the wounded man, with the help of his attendants, to the kitchen, where help was given to him.

As for the gentleman, he returned to his former place at the window and looked impatiently at the crowd, whose presence seemed to displease him.

- Well, what is the health of this madman? he said, turning around at the sound of the door opening, and addressing the host, who had come to inquire about his health.

“Your Excellency are not injured?” asked the owner.

“No, quite unharmed, kind host. I ask you, what is the condition of the young man?

“He is better,” answered the owner, “he is in a swoon.

- Indeed? said the nobleman.

- But before fainting, he, having gathered the last of his strength, called you and challenged you to battle.

“This entertainer must be the devil himself,” said the stranger.

“Oh no, your excellency, he doesn’t look like a devil,” said the host with a contemptuous grimace: “during a faint, we searched him; he has only one shirt in the bundle, and only 12 ecu in the purse, and despite the fact that he fainted, he said that if this happened in Paris, you would have to repent immediately, while you repent here, but only later.

“In that case, it must be some blood prince in disguise,” the stranger said coolly.

“I tell you this, sir, so that you will be careful,” said the owner.

“He did not call anyone by name in his anger?”

“Oh, yes, he hit his pocket and said: we’ll see what my offended patron de Treville has to say about this.”

- De Treville? said the stranger, becoming more attentive. “Did he hit his pocket talking about de Treville?” Listen, master, while this young man was in a swoon, you must have examined his pocket as well. What was in it?

“A letter addressed to de Treville, captain of the Musketeers.

- Indeed?

“Exactly so, Your Excellency.

The host, who was not gifted with great insight, did not notice what expression his words gave to the face of the stranger, who moved away from the window and frowned with concern.

“Damn it,” he muttered through his teeth, “did Treville send me this Gascon?” He is very young. But a blow from a sword, from whomever it may be, is still a blow, and a child is less feared than anyone else; sometimes the slightest obstacle is enough to prevent an important undertaking.

And the stranger went deep into thought for a few minutes.

“Listen, master, save me from this madman: in conscience, I cannot kill him, but meanwhile,” he added with an expression of cold menace, “he interferes with me.” Where is he?

In my wife's room, on the first floor, he is being bandaged.

- His clothes and a bag with him? Did he take off his camisole?

“On the contrary, all these things are in the kitchen. But since this madman is bothering you...

- Without a doubt. He makes a scandal in your hotel, and this cannot please decent people. Go upstairs, settle my account and warn my man.

- How! sir is leaving already?

- Of course, when I already ordered to saddle my horse. Was my command not carried out?

“Oh, yes, Your Excellency, perhaps you have seen your horse at the big gate prepared for departure.

- Okay, so do what I told you.

- "Hm ... the owner thought, is he really afraid of this boy."

But the imperious look of the stranger stopped him. He bowed low and left.

- It is not necessary for this amusing person to see my lady, the stranger continued: - she should arrive soon, and then she was already late. It's better to go to meet her. If only I could know the contents of this letter to de Treville!

And the stranger, muttering to himself, went to the kitchen. Meanwhile, the host, not doubting that the presence of the young man prevented the stranger from staying in the hotel, returned to his wife's room and found d'Artagnan already recovered.

Trying to convince him that he could get him into trouble for a quarrel with a nobleman - in the opinion of the owner, the stranger was certainly a nobleman - he persuaded him, despite his weakness, to get up and continue on his way. D'Artagnan, who had hardly regained his senses, without his camisole, with his head bandaged, got up and, urged by his master, began to descend. But when he entered the kitchen, the first thing he saw was his adversary, calmly talking at the foot of a heavy carriage drawn by two large Norman horses.

His companion, whose head was visible through the frame of the carriage doors, was a woman of about twenty or twenty-two.

We have already spoken about d'Artagnan's ability to quickly grasp the appearance: he noticed at a glance that the woman was young and beautiful. Her beauty struck him all the more as it was a beauty of a kind unknown in the southern countries where d'Artagnan had hitherto lived. This woman was pale blonde, with long curly hair falling to her shoulders, with large blue, languid eyes, pink lips, and hands as white as marble. She had a very lively conversation with a stranger.

- Therefore, the cardinal orders me ... said the lady.

“Return immediately to England and warn him if the duke leaves London.

- What are the other assignments? asked the beautiful traveler.

“They are contained in this box, which you will not open until on the other side of the English Channel.

- Very well. And what will you do?

- I'm going back to Paris.

“And leave this impudent boy unpunished?” asked the lady.

The stranger was about to answer, but the moment he opened his mouth, d'Artagnan, who had overheard their conversation, appeared at the door.

“That insolent boy punishes others,” he cried, “and this time I hope that the one he should punish will not escape him.”

- Won't slip away? objected the stranger, furrowing his brows.

“No, I don't think you dare run in the presence of a woman.

- Think, said my lady, seeing that the nobleman put his hand on the sword, - think that the slightest delay can ruin everything.

- You are right, said the nobleman: - go, and I'm going.

And bowing to the lady, he jumped on his horse; while the driver of the carriage whipped the horses with all his might. Both interlocutors went at a gallop, in opposite directions.

- And money? shouted the owner, whose respect for the traveler turned into deep contempt when he saw that he was leaving without paying.

- Pay, the traveler shouted at a gallop to his lackey, who, throwing two or three silver coins at the feet of the owner, rode after the master.

- Coward! scoundrel! false gentleman! shouted d'Artagnan, rushing after the footman.

But the wounded man was still too weak to bear such a shock. He had scarcely taken ten steps when he felt a ringing in his ears; his eyes darkened, and he fell in the middle of the street, still shouting:

- Coward! coward! coward!

“He really is a coward,” muttered the host, going up to d’Artagnan and trying by this flattery to make peace with the poor boy.

“Yes, a big coward,” said d’Artagnan. “But she is so beautiful!

- Who is she? asked the owner.

“Milady,” whispered d’Artagnan, and for the second time fainted.

- All the same, said the owner: - I lose two, but I still have this one, which I will probably be able to delay, at least for a few days. Still, I will win eleven crowns.

We already know that the amount that was in d'Artagnan's purse consisted of exactly eleven ecu.

The owner counted on eleven days of illness, one crown a day; but he calculated, not knowing his traveller. The next day, d'Artagnan got up at five o'clock in the morning, went down to the kitchen himself, asked, besides some other drugs, the list of which has not reached us; wine, oil, rosemary, and according to his mother's prescription he made a balm, smeared his numerous wounds with it, renewed the bandages himself and did not want any doctor.

Thanks, no doubt, to the strength of the gypsy balm, and perhaps to the doctor's exclusion, d'Artagnan was on his feet in the evening, and the next day was almost well.

But when he wanted to pay for rosemary, oil and wine - his only expense, because he kept the most strict diet - and for the food of his yellow horse, which, on the contrary, according to the innkeeper, ate three times more than could be expected from her height, d'Artagnan found in his pocket only a crumpled velvet purse with 11 ecu in it, but the letter to de Treville disappeared.

The young man very patiently began to look for letters, turning his pockets inside out twenty times, rummaging through his bag and purse; when he was convinced that there was no letter, he fell into a fit of rage for the third time, which almost forced him to resort again to the use of aromatic oil and wine, because when he began to get excited and threatened to break everything in the institution if they did not find him letters, the owner armed himself with a hunting knife, his wife with a broom, and the servants with the same sticks that served the day before.

Unfortunately, one circumstance prevented the fulfillment of the young man's threats, precisely the fact that his sword was broken in two during the first fight, which he completely forgot. Therefore, when d'Artagnan wanted to draw his sword, it turned out that he was armed with one fragment of it, eight or ten inches long, which was carefully sheathed by the owner of the inn. The rest of the blade he skillfully folded to make a larding needle out of it.

This would probably not have deterred the impetuous young man, had the host not judged that the traveler's demand was perfectly just.

“Really,” he said, lowering the knife, “where is that letter?”

Yes, where is the letter? Shouted d'Artagnan. “I warn you that this is a letter to de Treville, it must be found; if it is not found, he will force it to be found.

This threat finally frightened the owner. After the king and the cardinal, the name of de Treville was the most repeated by the military and even by citizens. True, there was also a friend of the cardinal, Father Joseph, but the horror inspired by the gray-haired monk, as they called him, was so great that they never spoke of him aloud. Therefore, throwing down the knife, the owner ordered to put the weapon to his wife and with fright, and began to look for the lost letter.

Was there anything precious in this letter? asked the owner after a fruitless search.

- Of course, said the Gascon, who hoped to pave his way to the court with this letter: - my happiness consisted in it.

– Spanish funds? the owner asked anxiously.

“The funds of His Majesty’s own treasury,” replied d’Artagnan.

- Hell! said the master in despair.

“But all the same,” continued d’Artagnan with national self-confidence: “money means nothing, this letter was everything to me. I would rather lose a thousand pistoles than this letter.

He would have risked no more if he had said twenty thousand; but some youthful modesty held him back.

A ray of light suddenly lit up the mind of the owner, who sent himself to hell, not finding anything.

“The letter is not lost,” he said.

- BUT! said d'Artagnan.

No, they took it from you.

They took him, but who?

- Yesterday's nobleman. He went to the kitchen, where your jacket lay, and was there alone. I bet he stole the letter.

- You think so? answered d'Artagnan, not quite believing it; he knew that the letter was important only to him personally, and could not find a reason that could induce him to steal it, none of the servants and travelers present would gain anything by acquiring it.

"So you say," said d'Artagnan, "that you suspect this insolent gentleman?"

- I'm sure of it, continued the owner: - when I told him that de Treville patronizes you, and that you even have a letter to this famous nobleman, it seemed to disturb him very much; he asked me where this letter was, and immediately went down to the kitchen, where your coat was.

“In that case, he is a thief,” answered d’Artagnan: “I will complain to de Treville, and de Treville to the king.” Then he solemnly took out three crowns from his pocket, gave them to the owner, who accompanied him with a hat in his hand to the gate, mounted his yellow horse, and, without any incidents, rode to the gates of St. Anthony in Paris, where he sold the horse for three crowns. This price was still quite considerable, judging by the way d'Artagnan rigged his horse on the last march. The horse-dealer, who bought it for the aforementioned nine livres, told the young man that it was only the original color of the horse that prompted him to give this exorbitant price.

So d'Artagnan entered Paris on foot, with a bundle under his arm, and walked until he found a room commensurate in price with his meager means. This room was in the attic, in Grave Diggers Street, not far from Luxembourg.

D'Artagnan immediately gave a deposit and settled in his new apartment; the rest of the day he used for trimming his camisole and pantaloons with a braid ripped off by his mother from the almost new camisole of d'Artagnan's father and given to him secretly. Then he went to the iron row to order a blade for a sword; from there he went to the Louvre, where he asked the first musketeer he met where de Treville's hotel was located and, learning that he was in the neighborhood of the room he rented, in the street of the Old Dovecote, considered this circumstance a good omen.

After all this, satisfied with his behavior in Myong, without reproaches of conscience in the past, trusting in the present and with hope for the future, he lay down and fell into a heroic sleep.

He slept with the quiet sleep of a provincial until nine o'clock, got up and went to the famous de Treville, the third person in the kingdom, according to his father.

II. Anterior de Treville

De Troynille, as he was still called in Gascony, or de Treville, as he called himself in Paris, really began like d'Artagnan, that is, without a penny of cash, but with a reserve of courage, intelligence and sense, and it is such a capital that, having inherited it, the poorest Gascon nobleman has in hopes more than the richest nobleman of other provinces actually receives from his father.

His courage and happiness, in those days when duels were in such a course, raised him to that height, which is called the favor of the court, and which he reached extremely quickly.

He was a friend of the king, who, as you know, greatly respected the memory of his father, Henry IV. De Treville's father faithfully served Henry during the wars against the League, but, as Béarnets, who had suffered a shortage of money all his life, rewarded this lack with intelligence, which he was generously endowed with, after the surrender of Paris, he allowed de Treville to take the coat of arms of the golden lion, with the inscription fidelis et fortis on its mouth. This meant a lot for honor, but little for well-being. Therefore, when the famous comrade of the great Henry died, the only legacy left to his son consisted of a sword and a motto. Thanks to such an inheritance and an unsullied name, de Treville was admitted to the court of the young prince, where he served his sword so well and was so true to his motto that Louis XIII, who was an excellent swordsman, used to say that if he had a friend, who would take it into his head to fight, he would advise him to take as seconds first himself, and after de Treville, and perhaps de Treville before.

Louis XIII had a real attachment to de Treville, a royal, selfish attachment; nevertheless, it was still an attachment, because in these unfortunate times everyone tried to surround themselves with people like de Treville.

Many could choose for themselves the motto of the name "strong", which was the second part of the inscription on his coat of arms, but few had the right to demand the epithet "faithful", which was the first part of that inscription. De Treville belonged to the latter: he was gifted with a rare organization, the obedience of a dog, blind courage, speed in thought and execution; the eyes served him only to see if the king was displeased with anyone, and the hand to strike the one he did not like. De Treville only lacked the opportunity, but he lay in wait for him and intended to firmly grasp him when he presented himself. Louis XIII made de Treville the captain of the musketeers, who were to him, in loyalty, or, rather, in fanaticism, the same as they were - an ordinary guard for Henry III and a Scottish guard for Louis XI.

The cardinal, whose power was not inferior to that of the king, for his part, did not remain in this respect indebted to the king. When he saw with what a terrible and select army Louis XIII surrounded himself, he also wanted to have his own guards. He instituted his own musketeers, and these two contending authorities recruited into their service the most famous in the art of wielding a sword, not only from all the provinces of France, but also from foreign countries. And therefore, Richelieu and Louis XIII often, in the evenings, playing chess, argued about the dignity of their servants. Each extolled the outward appearance and courage of their own, and, aloud rebelling against duels and fights, they secretly incited their musketeers to them and felt true sadness or immoderate joy at the defeat or victory of their own. So, at least, it is said in the notes of one contemporary who was at some of these defeats and victories.

De Treville understood the weak side of his master, and to this skill he was indebted for the continued and constant favor of the king, who was not famous for great loyalty to his friends.

He slyly paraded his musketeers in front of the cardinal, whose gray mustache bristled with anger. De Treville perfectly understood the nature of the war of that time, when, while it was impossible to live at the expense of the enemy, the troops lived about their compatriots; his soldiers were a legion of devils who obeyed no one but him.

Disheveled, half-drunk, with battle signs on their faces, the royal musketeers, or, rather, the musketeers of de Treville, wandered around the taverns, festivities and at public games, shouting and twisting their mustaches, jingling their swords, pushing at the meeting of the cardinal's guards; sometimes at the same time they drew their swords in the middle of the street, with the certainty that if they were killed, they would be mourned and avenged, but if they killed, they would not grow moldy in prison, because de Treville always helped them out. Therefore, de Treville was extolled by these people who adored him, and despite the fact that in relation to others they were thieves and robbers, they trembled before him, like schoolchildren before a teacher, obedient to his slightest word and ready to go to death, to wash away the slightest reproach.

De Treville used this powerful lever, first of all, for the king and his friends, then for himself and his own friends. However, in no notes of that time, which left so many notes on its own, it is not clear that this worthy nobleman was accused even by his enemies of taking payment for the assistance of his soldiers. Possessing a rare ability for intrigue, which put him along with the strongest intriguers, he was at the same time an honest man. Besides, in spite of tedious sword-fights and difficult exercises, he was one of the most graceful admirers of the fair sex, one of the finest dandies of his time; they spoke of de Treville's successes as they spoke of Bassompierre twenty years ago; and that didn't mean much. The captain of the Musketeers was admired, feared and loved, therefore, he was at the apogee of human happiness.

Louis XIV with the rays of his glory he eclipsed all the small stars of his court, but his father, the sun pluribus impar, did not interfere with the personal radiance of each of his favorites, the dignity of each of his courtiers. In addition to the king and the cardinal, there were then up to two hundred persons in Paris, to whom they gathered during their morning toilet. Between them, de Treville's toilette was one of the most fashionable. The yard of his house, located in the street of the Old Dovecote, in the summer, from 6 o'clock in the morning, in the winter from 8, looked like a camp. From 50 to 60 armed musketeers constantly walked around there, who took turns, watching that their number was always enough in case of any need. On one of the large stairs, on the space of which a whole house would be built in our time, Parisian petitioners, looking for some kind of mercy, rose and descended - provincial nobles, eagerly striving to enlist in the soldiers, and lackeys, and galloons of all colors, with various assignments. from their masters to De Treville. In the anteroom, on long semicircular benches, the elect, that is, those who were invited, sat. The conversation continued here from morning until evening, while de Treville, in the office adjacent to the hall, received visits, listened to complaints, gave orders and could from his window, like a king from the Louvre balcony, do when he pleases, look at his people .

The company assembled on the day of d'Artagnan's performance might have commanded respect to anyone, especially to a provincial; but d'Artagnan was a Gascon, and at that time, especially his countrymen, were famous for being not timid. Indeed, entering through heavy gates with iron bolts, everyone had to pass through a crowd of people armed with swords, who fenced in the yard, challenging each other, arguing and playing among themselves. Only officers, nobles and pretty women could pass freely among this violent crowd.

The young man's heart beat violently as he made his way through this noisy and disorderly crowd, holding a long sword to his thin legs and holding his hand to his hat with a half-smile of an embarrassed provincial who wants to behave decently. As he passed through the crowd, he breathed more freely; but he felt that he was being looked at, and, for the first time in his life, d'Artagnan, who had a fairly good opinion of himself, found himself ridiculous. A new difficulty was encountered at the entrance to the stairs; on the first steps, the four musketeers amused themselves with the following exercise: one of them, standing on the top step, with a drawn sword, interfered or tried to prevent the other three from ascending. These three fenced very nimbly with swords. D'Artagnan at first mistook swords for fencing rapiers; he thought they were blunt, but soon, by some scratches, he became convinced that each of them had been released and sharpened, and, meanwhile, at each scratch, not only the spectators, but also the characters laughed like crazy.

Occupying the top step at that moment, repulsed his opponents with amazing dexterity. They were surrounded by a crowd of comrades waiting for their turn to take their places. The condition was such that with each blow the wounded man lost his turn in favor of the striker. In five minutes, three were scratched - one in the arm, the other in the chin, the third in the ear, which protected the upper step, which remained untouched, which, according to the condition, gave him three extra bursts.

This pastime surprised the young man, no matter how hard he tried not to be surprised at anything; in his province, where people so easily get excited, he saw many duels, but the boasting of these four players surpassed everything he had heard hitherto, even in Gascony. He imagined himself in that glorious country of giants, where Gulliver was in such fear; but he had not yet reached the end: there remained a vestibule and an antechamber.

They didn't fight in the hallway, but told stories about women, and in the front they told stories from court life. In the passage d'Artagnan blushed, and in the hall he trembled. His vivid imagination, which made him dangerous in Gascony to young maids, and sometimes even to their young mistresses, never even dreamed of so many love miracles, brave deeds, courtesy, adorned with the most famous names and indiscreet details. But as much as his morality suffered in the entrance hall, his respect for the cardinal was offended in the same way in the hall. There, to his great surprise, d'Artagnan heard a loud denunciation of the politics that made Europe tremble, and the domestic life of the cardinal, into which the highest and most powerful nobles did not dare to penetrate with impunity; this great person, respected by the father of d'Artagnan, served as a laughingstock for the musketeers of de Treville, who mocked his crooked legs and hunched back; some sang songs composed for Madame d'Eguillon, his mistress, and Madame Cambal, his niece, while others composed parties against the pages and guards of the Cardinal Duke; all this seemed to d'Artagnan monstrous and impossible.

Meanwhile, when, unexpectedly, among these stupid jokes at the expense of the cardinal, the name of the king was uttered, then all mocking mouths closed, everyone looked around with distrust, fearing the close proximity of de Treville's office; but soon the conversation turned back to the cardinal, the mockery resumed, and none of his actions remained without criticism.

“Probably all these people will be in the Bastille and on the gallows,” thought d’Artagnan with horror, and I, without any doubt, with them, because since I listened to their speeches, I will be taken for their accomplice. What would my father say, who ordered me to respect the cardinal, if he knew that I was in the company of such freethinkers.

It is useless to say that d'Artagnan did not dare to interfere in the conversation; he only looked with all his eyes, listened with both ears, straining all his senses so as not to miss anything, and, despite his faith in his father's instructions, he, according to his own taste and instinct, felt more disposed to praise than to blame everything that happened around him.

Meanwhile, since he was completely unknown to the crowd of the courtiers of de Treville, who saw him for the first time, he was asked what he wanted. At this question, d'Artagnan, respectfully said his name, placing special emphasis on the name of his compatriot, and asked the valet to grant him an audience de Trevel; the valet in a patronizing tone promised to convey his request in due time.

D'Artagnan, recovering a little from his first astonishment, began, having nothing to do, to study the costumes and physiognomies.

In the middle of the liveliest group was a musketeer, large in stature, with a haughty face and in a strange costume that drew everyone's attention to him. He was not wearing a uniform Cossack, which, however, in this era of personal freedom was not a mandatory costume. He wore a caftan, sky-blue, a little faded and wrinkled, and on top of this caftan, a splendidly embroidered sword baldric in gold, shining like scales in the sunlight. A long robe of crimson velvet fell gracefully over the shoulders, revealing only in front a shining baldric from which hung a gigantic rapier.

This musketeer only laughed from the guard, complained of a cold and, at times, pretended to cough. Therefore, he wrapped himself in a robe and spoke down, twirling his mustache, while everyone admired his embroidered baldric, and d'Artagnan most of all.

- What to do, said the musketeer: - it's in fashion; I know it's silly, but it's in vogue. However, it is necessary to use your inheritance for something.

“Hey, Porthos,” said one of those present, “do not assure us that this baldric came to you from your father; it was given to you by that veiled lady with whom I met you on Sunday, at the gates of Saint-Honore.

- No, I swear on the honor of a nobleman that I bought it myself and with my own money, answered the one who was called Porthos.

“Yes,” said another musketeer, “just like I bought this new purse with the money that my mistress put in the old one.

“I assure you,” said Porthos, “and in proof I will tell you that I paid 12 pistoles for him.

Surprise grew, although still continued to doubt.

"Isn't that right, Aramis?" said Porthos, addressing another Musketeer.

This musketeer was in sharp contrast to the one who asked him: he was a young man, no more than 22 or 23 years old, with a simple and pleasant face, with black eyes, pink and fluffy cheeks like an autumn peach; his thin mustache traced the most regular line above his upper lip; he seemed to be afraid to lower his hands lest their veins bleed, and from time to time he pinched his ears to maintain their delicate and transparent scarlet color.

As a rule, he spoke little and slowly, often bowed, laughed softly, showing fine teeth, about which he, apparently, took great care, as well as about his whole person. He answered his friend's question with an affirmative sign of his head. This sign seemed to destroy all doubts about the baldric; continued to admire her, but said nothing more, and the conversation suddenly turned to other subjects.

- What do you think about the story of the stableman Chalet? asked another musketeer, addressing no one in particular, but all together.

– What does he say? asked Porthos.

- He says that he saw in Brussels Rochefort, the cardinal's spy, dressed in a capuchin dress; that accursed Rochefort, by means of disguise, feigned M. Legh as a mere fool.

“Like a complete fool,” said Porthos.

– But is it true?

“Aramis told me,” answered the musketeer.

- Indeed?

- You know this, Porthos, said Aramis: - I told you this yesterday, let's not talk about it anymore.

“Do you think we shouldn’t talk about this anymore?” Porthos said. - Don't talk about it! How soon did you decide? How! the cardinal surrounds the nobleman with spies, steals his correspondence through a traitor, a robber, a swindler and, with the help of this spy, and as a result of this correspondence cuts off Chalet's head, under the stupid pretext that he wanted to kill the king and marry his brother to the queen. No one could solve this riddle, you, to the delight of everyone, told us about it yesterday, and while we are still amazed at this news, you say today: let's not talk about it anymore!

"Let's talk, if you want it," said Aramis patiently.

“That Rochefort,” said Porthos, “would have an unpleasant moment with me if I were Chalet's groom.

“And you would not have spent a very pleasant quarter of an hour with the red duke,” said Aramis.

- BUT! red duke! Bravo! Bravo! the red duke, replied Porthos, clapping his hands and making approving gestures with his head, "that's excellent!" I will use this word, my dear, you can be sure. What a pity that you could not follow your calling, my friend, you would have been a most agreeable abbot.

“Oh, this is only a temporary delay,” said Aramis, “someday I will be an abbot; you know, Porthos, that I continue to study theology for this.

“Sooner or later he will,” said Porthos.

– Soon? said Aramis.

“He is waiting for only one circumstance in order to completely decide and put on the cassock that he has under his uniform,” said one musketeer.

What is he waiting for? asked another.

“He is waiting for the queen to give France an heir to the throne.

- Do not joke with this, gentlemen, said Porthos: - thanks to God, the queen is still of such years that this can happen.

“Mr. Buckingham is said to be in France,” said Aramis, with a sly smile that gave an offensive meaning to this apparently simple phrase.

- My friend, Aramis, you are mistaken, said Porthos: - your mind always carries you too far; it would be bad if de Treville heard you.

“You want to teach me, Porthos,” said Aramis, and lightning flashed in his meek glance.

“My dear friend, be a musketeer or an abbot, but not both,” said Porthos. “Remember, Athos told you the other day that you bend in all directions. Ah, don't be angry, please, it's useless; you know the condition between you, Athos and me. You visit Madame d'Eguillon and look after her; you visit Madame de Boa-Tracy, cousin Madame Chevreuse and they say that you are in great favor with this lady. My God! do not confess your happiness, they do not torture you for your secret, knowing your modesty. But if you possess this virtue, why do you not observe it in relation to her majesty. Let them say what they want about the king and the cardinal, but the person of the queen is sacred, and if we talk about her, then only good things should be said.

“You, Porthos, are as pretentious as Narcissus.

“I warn you,” answered Aramis: “you know that I hate instructions, except those that Athos speaks. As for you, my dear, your baldric is too magnificent to be believed in your strict morality. I will be an abbot if I please; as long as I am a musketeer, and therefore I say what comes to my mind, and at the present moment I will say that you are making me out of patience.

- Aramis!

- Porthos!

- Hey, gentlemen, gentlemen! shouted the people around.

- De Treville is waiting for M. d'Artagnan, interrupted the servant, opening the door of the study.

At this announcement, during which the cabinet door remained open, everyone fell silent, and in the midst of general silence, the young Gascon walked along the anteroom to the office of the captain of the musketeers, rejoicing from the bottom of his heart that he had escaped the consequences of this strange quarrel in time.

III. Audience

De Treville was in the worst of moods; in spite of this, he politely met the young man, who bowed low to him. The greeting of the young man, which reminded him of his youth and homeland with his Béarn accent, brought a smile to his lips; the recollection of these two objects is pleasant to a person at any age. But going at once to the anteroom, and making a sign to d'Artagnan with his hand, as if asking permission to do away with the others first, he cried out, gradually raising his voice:

- Athos! Porthos! Aramis!

The two musketeers already known to us, Porthos and Aramis, immediately separated from the group and entered the office, the door of which was immediately closed behind them.

The expression on their faces, although not entirely calm, but full of dignity and humility, surprised d'Artagnan, who saw in these people demigods, and in their leader Jupiter Olympus, armed with all his thunderbolts.

When the two musketeers entered, the door closed behind them, and the conversation in the hall, to which this circumstance gave new food, began again; M. de Treville walked about the study three or four times in silence, and knitting his brows, he suddenly stopped in front of the musketeers, surveying them from head to toe with an irritated glance, and said:

“Do you know what the king said to me last night? do you know gentlemen?

“No,” both musketeers answered after a moment of silence, “no, we don’t know.

“But I hope you will do us the honor of telling us,” added Aramis in the most polite tone, bowing politely.

“He told me that he would go ahead to recruit his musketeers from the cardinal's guards.

- From the cardinal's guards! Why is that? asked Porthos with liveliness.

“Because bad wine needs to be mixed with good wine in order to be corrected.

Both Musketeers blushed to their ears. D'Artagnan didn't know what to do, and would rather sink into the ground.

- Yes, yes, continued de Treville, getting more and more excited: - and his majesty is right, because indeed the musketeers play a miserable role at court. The cardinal told yesterday, during a game with the king, with an air of condolence which I did not like very much, that on the third day of the day these damned musketeers, these devils - and he made a mocking emphasis on these words, which I did not like even more - these cutthroats , he added, looking at me with his cat's eyes, "we were late in Ferou Street, in a tavern, and that the patrol of his guard - and at the same time I thought he would burst out laughing - was forced to detain these violators of order. Damn it, you should know about it! Stop the Musketeers! You were both among them; do not defend yourself, you were recognized and the cardinal called you by name. Of course, it's my fault, because I choose my own people. Listen, you, Aramis, why did you want a uniform when a cassock would suit you like that? And you, Porthos, on your beautiful golden sash, are you wearing a straw sword? Athos! I don't see Athos! Where is he?

- Captain, answered Aramis sadly, - he is very ill.

“Sick, very sick, you say? What disease?

“It is suspected that it is smallpox,” replied Porthos, who wanted to intervene in the conversation, “which would be a great pity, because it would ruin his face.”

- Smallpox! What a glorious story you tell, Porthos! Sick of smallpox in his summer! Can't be! He must have been wounded, perhaps killed! Ah, if I knew?... Gentlemen Musketeers, I do not want you to visit bad places, so that you quarrel in the streets and fight at the crossroads. Finally, I don’t want you to serve as a laughingstock for the cardinal’s guards, whose people are brave, dexterous, do not bring themselves to the point of being detained; however, I am sure that they would not have allowed themselves to be arrested. They would rather let themselves be killed than take a step back. To escape, to leave, to run - this is characteristic only of the royal musketeers.

Porthos and Aramis were trembling with rage. They would have gladly strangled de Treville if they did not know that only love for them made him speak in such a way. They stamped their feet on the carpet, bit their lips until they bled, and gripped the hilts of their swords with all their might. In the hall they heard that de Treville called Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and from the voice of de Treville they knew that he was in great anger. Ten curious heads pressed their ears to the door and turned pale with rage, because they did not miss a single word of what de Treville said and repeated the insulting words of the captain to everyone in the front.

In one minute the whole hotel was in a commotion from the door of the study to the gate to the street.

- BUT! the royal musketeers allow themselves to be detained by the guards of the cardinal, continued de Treville, inwardly furious no less than his soldiers, pronouncing the words abruptly, as if plunging them one by one, like dagger blows into the chest of listeners. - BUT! six of the cardinal's guards will arrest his majesty's six musketeers? Hell! I've already made up my mind! I immediately go to the Louvre, resign from the captains of the royal musketeers and ask to be lieutenant of the guards of the cardinal; if he refuses me, damn it, I will become an abbot.

At these words the outward whisper turned into an explosion; curses and curses were heard from all sides.

D'Artagnan was looking for places where he could hide and felt an irresistible desire to crawl under the table.

“It’s true, captain,” said Porthos, excited, “that we were six against six, but we were attacked treacherously, and before we drew our swords, two of us had already been killed, and Athos, dangerously wounded, could not do anything. You know Athos, captain, he tried to get up twice and fell down twice. Despite this, we did not give up, no, we were dragged away by force. Dear, we were saved. As for Athos, they considered him dead and calmly left him on the battlefield, believing that it was not worth taking him away. Here is our whole story. Damn it, captain! You can't be the winner in every battle. The great Pompey was defeated at Pharsalus, and King Francis I, who is said to have cost Pompey, lost the battle of Pavia.

“And I have the honor to assure you that I killed one of them with his own sword,” said Aramis, “because mine broke in the first skirmish.” Killed or stabbed, as you wish.

“I didn’t know that,” said de Treville, softening a little: “the cardinal, apparently, exaggerated.

“But do me a favor, captain,” continued Aramis, who dared to make a request, seeing that de Treville calmed down, “do me a favor, do not say that Athos is wounded: he would be in despair if the king knew this; and since the wound is one of the most dangerous, because it went through the shoulder through the chest, then you can be afraid ...

At that very moment the drapery at the door lifted, and out of it appeared a beautiful, noble, but exceedingly pale face.

- Athos! exclaimed both Musketeers.

- Athos! repeated de Treville himself.

- You demanded me, captain, Athos said to de Treville, in a weak but completely calm voice: - my comrades said that you demanded me and I hastened to come for your orders; what do you want?

And with these words, the musketeer in impeccable uniform, with a sword, as usual, entered the office with a firm step. Moved to the depths of his soul by this proof of courage, de Treville hastened to meet him.

“I just wanted to tell these gentlemen,” he added, “that I forbid my musketeers from needlessly endangering their lives, because brave people are dear to the king, and the king knows that his musketeers are the bravest people in the world. Give me your hand, Athos.

And, not expecting a response to such an expression of favor, de Treville took his right hand and shook it with all his strength, not noticing that Athos, with all the strength of his will, detected a painful movement and turned even more pale, which seemed already impossible.

The door remained open; the appearance of Athos, whose wound was known to all, despite the desire to keep it a secret, made a strong impression. The captain's last words were received with a cry of pleasure, and two or three heads, carried away by delight, appeared from behind the drapery. Without a doubt, de Treville would have stopped this violation of the rules of etiquette with harsh words, but he suddenly felt that Athos's hand was convulsively clenched in his hand and noticed that he was losing consciousness. At that very moment, Athos, having gathered all his strength to overcome the pain, finally defeated by it, fell as if dead on the parquet.

- Surgeon! shouted de Treville - my, royal, best surgeon - or my brave Athos will die.

At the cry of de Treville, everyone rushed to his office and began to fuss about the wounded man. But all their efforts would have been useless if the doctor had not happened in the house itself; he passed through the crowd, approached the insensible Athos and, since the noise and movement interfered with him, he asked, first of all, that the musketeer be immediately transferred to the next room. De Treville opened the door and showed the way to Porthos and Aramis, who carried their comrade away in their arms. This group was followed by a surgeon; the door closed behind him.

Then de Treville's study, a place usually highly respected, became like a front hall. Everyone reasoned aloud, spoke loudly, cursed, sent the cardinal and his guards to hell.

A minute later Porthos and Aramis returned; only the surgeon and de Treville remained beside the wounded man.

Finally de Treville also returned. The wounded came to his senses; the surgeon announced that the condition of the Musketeer should not disturb his friends and that his weakness was due simply to loss of blood.

Then de Treville made a sign with his hand, and they all left, except for d'Artagnan, who did not forget his audience and, with the stubbornness of a Gascon, stood in the same place.

When everyone had left and the door was closed, de Treville was left alone with the young man.

During this turmoil, he completely forgot about d'Artagnan, and when asked what the stubborn petitioner wanted, d'Artagnan called himself by name. Then de Treville, remembering what was the matter, told him with a smile.

“Excuse me, dear fellow countryman, I completely forgot about you. What to do! The captain is nothing but the father of a family, burdened with more responsibility than the father of an ordinary family. Soldiers are grown children; but how I wish that the orders of the king, and especially of the cardinal, be carried out ...

D'Artagnan could not help smiling. From this smile, de Treville realized that he was not dealing with a fool, and, getting down to business, changed the conversation.

“I loved your father very much,” he said. What can I do for his son? Speak quickly, time is precious to me.

“Captain,” said d’Artagnan, “leaving Tarbes, I intended to ask you, in memory of the friendship you have not forgotten, to bring me the uniform of a musketeer; but judging by everything that I have seen for two hours, I understand that such mercy would be too great and I am afraid that I do not deserve it.

“It really is a favor, young man,” answered de Treville: “but perhaps it does not exceed your strength as much as you think. In any case, I must regret to announce to you that, according to the decree of his majesty, musketeers are accepted only after a preliminary test in several battles, after several brilliant deeds, or after two years of service in another, less patronized regiment.

D'Artagnan bowed silently. He felt even more eager to put on the uniform of a musketeer since he learned how difficult it is to achieve.

“But,” de Treville continued, fixing such a penetrating glance on his fellow countryman, as if he wanted to penetrate him to the very depths of his soul, “but, in memory of your father, my old comrade, as I already told you, I want to do something for you young man. Our young Béarnians are generally not wealthy, and I doubt that things have changed much since my departure from the provinces; you probably did not bring much money with you for living.

D'Artagnan drew himself up proudly, showing by this that he would not beg anyone for alms.

“That's good, young man, that's good,” continued de Treville: “I know that pride; I myself came to Paris with 4 crowns in my pocket, but I was ready to fight anyone who would say that I was not in a position to buy the Louvre.

D'Artagnan drew himself still more; having sold a horse, at the beginning of his career he had 4 crowns more than de Treville.

“So, probably, as I told you, you need to save the amount that you have, whatever it may be; but you must also improve in the exercises befitting a gentleman. I will write today to the Director of the Royal Academy, and tomorrow he will receive you without any payment. Don't miss out on this little favor. Our most distinguished and wealthy nobles sometimes ask for it and cannot receive it. You will learn horseback riding, fencing and dancing; make a good circle of acquaintances there and, from time to time, you will come to me to tell how your studies will go; then we'll see what I can do for you.

Although d'Artagnan was still little acquainted with court treatment, he understood the coldness of this reception.

“Alas, captain,” he said, “now I see how much I have lost with the loss of my father’s letter of recommendation to you!”

“Indeed,” answered de Treville, “I am surprised that you undertook such a long journey without this only allowance for us Bearnes.

“I had it,” said d’Artagnan, “but it was treacherously stolen from me.

And he recounted the scene that took place in Myong, described with the smallest detail the appearance of a stranger, and in his story there was so much enthusiasm and truth that it delighted de Treville.

"That's strange," he said thinking it over, "did you really talk about me out loud?"

“Yes, Captain, I was so imprudent. What to do! a name like yours has served me as a shield during the journey; Judge for yourself how often I hid behind them.

Flattery was then in great use, and de Treville loved praise as much as a king or a cardinal. He couldn't help smiling in pleasure, but that smile soon faded, and returning to the Myunge adventure, he continued:

“Tell me, did this nobleman have a slight scratch on his cheek?”

Yes, like a bullet.

Is this man handsome?

- Tall?

- The complexion is pale, the hair is black!

– Yes, yes, it is. How do you know this person? Oh, if only I could ever find him! And I will find him, I swear to you, at least in hell ...

Was he expecting one woman? continued de Treville.

“At least he left after a minute's conversation with the one he expected.

"You don't know what they were talking about?"

He gave her the box and told her that it contained errands and that she should not open it until she was in London.

Was this woman English?

He called her milady.

- It's him! whispered de Treville, "it's him, I thought he was still in Brussels."

“Oh, captain, if you know,” said d’Artagnan, “tell me who this man is and where he comes from, then I’m even ready to return your promise to place me in the musketeers, because first of all I want to take revenge.

“Beware, young man,” said de Treville, “on the contrary, if you see him on one side of the street, go to the other!” Do not hit this rock, it will shatter you like glass.

“It won’t hurt, however,” said d’Artagnan, “that if I ever meet him—”

“In the meantime,” said de Treville, do not look for him, I will give you advice.

De Treville stopped; he suddenly seemed suspicious of this hatred expressed loudly by the young traveler to a man accused by him very improbably of having stolen his father's letter from him. "Was it not a hoax?" he thought, “has not this young man been sent to him by a cardinal? isn't he cunning? was not this supposed d'Artagnan a spy whom the cardinal wished to bring into his house in order to take possession of his power of attorney and eventually ruin him; such cases were not uncommon. He looked at d'Artagnan even more intently than the first time. But at the sight of this face, which expressed a subtle mind and unconstrained humility, he somewhat calmed down.

"I know he's a Gascon," he thought; “but he may be as much a Gascon for me as for a cardinal. Let's test it."

“My friend,” he said slowly, “I believe the story of the lost letter, and in order to make up for the coldness of my reception, which you noticed at the beginning, I want to reveal to you, as the son of my old friend, the secrets of our politics. The king and the cardinal are great friends; their visible feuds serve only to deceive fools. I do not want my fellow countryman, a brave young man who should make a career, to believe all these pretense and how foolishly he got into the net in the footsteps of others who perished in them. Do not forget that I am devoted to these two almighty persons and that all my actions are aimed only at the service of the king and the cardinal, one of the most glorious geniuses of France. Now, young man, consider this, and if you, like many of the nobles, have a hostile feeling towards the cardinal, due to whether family relations, connections, or just by instinct, then we will say goodbye and part forever. I will help you in many ways, but I will not leave you with me. In any case, I hope that by frankness I have acquired your friendship, because you are the first young man with whom I speak in this way.

At the same time, de Treville thought: “If the cardinal sent this young fox to me, then, knowing to what extent I hate him, he correctly taught his spy to say as much bad things about him as possible in order to please me; and therefore, in spite of my praise of the cardinal, the cunning countryman will surely answer me that he hates him.

Against de Treville's expectation, d'Artagnan answered very simply:

“Captain, I came to Paris with the same intentions. Father ordered me not to endure anything from anyone except the king, the cardinal and you, whom he considers the first persons of France. D'Artagnan added de Treville's name to the others, but he thought it would not spoil matters. “So I have great respect for the cardinal,” he continued, and his actions. So much the better for me, captain, if you speak frankly with me, because then you will appreciate the similarity of our opinions; but if you do not trust me, which, by the way, is very natural, then I feel that I have injured myself; but so much the worse if I lose your respect, which I cherish more than anything else.

De Treville was surprised in the highest degree. Such insight and frankness startled him, but did not quite destroy his suspicion; the higher this young man was, the more dangerous he was if he was mistaken in him. Even though he shook hands with d'Artagnan and said;

“You are an honest young man, but now I can only do for you what I offered you. My house is always open for you. Later, since you can come to me at any time and, therefore, take advantage of every opportunity, you will probably get what you want.

“That is to say,” said d’Artagnan, “you will expect me to earn this honour.” So be calm, he added with the familiarity of a Gascon, you won't have to wait long. And he bowed to leave, as if everything else depended on him alone.

“Wait a minute,” de Treville said, stopping him, “I promised to give you a letter to the director of the academy. Are you too proud to accept it, young man?

“No, Captain,” said d’Artagnan, “I assure you that this letter will not do what happened to the first. I will take care of it, so that it will reach the address, I swear to you, and woe to anyone who would take it into his head to steal it from me!

De Treville smiled at this boast and left his countryman in the slit of the window where they were talking; he sat down at the table and began to write the promised letter of introduction. At this time, d'Artagnan, having nothing to do, began to drum on the glass, looking at the musketeers leaving one after another, following them with his eyes to the turn of the street.

De Treville finished the letter, sealed it, and went up to the young man to give it to him; but at that very moment, when d'Artagnan stretched out his hand to take it, suddenly, to the great surprise of de Treville, he recoiled, blushed with anger, and rushed out of the study, shouting:

- BUT! this time will not leave me!

- Who? asked de Treville.

“He is my thief,” replied d’Artagnan. - BUT! robber!

And he disappeared.

- Crazy! muttered de Treville. Perhaps, he added, this is a clever means of getting away, seeing that the trick has failed.

IV. Shoulder of Athos, Band of Porthos and Kerchief of Aramis

The frantic d'Artagnan jumped out in three leaps through the anteroom onto the stairs, along which he began to descend after four steps, and suddenly, while running, hit his head on the shoulder of a musketeer, who was leaving from de Treville through a secret door. The Musketeer cried out, or rather groaned.

“Excuse me,” said d’Artagnan, and wanted to continue his flight, “excuse me, I’m in a hurry.”

As soon as he went down one step, an iron hand grabbed him by the belt and stopped him.

- You are in a hurry, said the musketeer, pale as a shroud: - under this pretext you push me, saying sorry, and think that this is enough? Not really, young man. Do you think that if you heard that de Treville spoke to us a little harshly today, then you can treat us the same way? Rest assured, comrade, you are not de Treville.

“I assure you,” said d’Artagnan, recognizing Athos, who, after examining the wound by the doctor, was returning to his room, “really, I did it without intention and therefore said: excuse me; that seems to be enough; but I repeat to you that I am in a hurry, very much in a hurry. Let me go, please, let me go about my business.

- Dear sir, said Athos, letting him go, - you are impolite. It is clear that you have come from far away.

D'Artagnan had already gone three or four steps, but at the remark of Athos he stopped.

- Hell! Wherever I come from, it is not for you to teach me good tricks.

“Perhaps,” said Athos.

“Ah, if I didn’t have to be in such a hurry,” said d’Artagnan, “if I didn’t run after someone.”

“You are in a hurry, but you will not need to run to find me; you will find me, do you hear?

- Where, tell me?

- Near the Carmelite monastery.

- At what time?

“About twelve.

– About twelve; ok, I will.

“Try not to keep yourself waiting, because a quarter of an hour later I will cut off your ears on the run.

"All right," cried d'Artagnan, "I'll be there at ten minutes to twelve."

And he ran like crazy, hoping to still find his stranger, who could not go far with his calm step.

But at the gate Porthos was talking to a guard. Between the speakers there was exactly as much distance as it takes for one person to walk.

D'Artagnan thought that this space would be enough for him and rushed between them like an arrow. But he did not count on a gust of wind. Just as he was about to pass, the wind blew the long cloak of Porthos, and d'Artagnan fell right under the cloak. Of course, Porthos had his own reasons for holding back this essential part of the garment, and instead of lowering the hem he was holding, he pulled it towards him, so that d'Artagnan wrapped himself in the velvet around him.

D'Artagnan, hearing the musketeer's curses, wanted to get out from under the cloak that entangled him. He was especially afraid of soiling the magnificent baldric, but, opening his eyes, he found himself with his nose between the shoulders of Porthos, that is, right in front of the baldric.

Alas! just as most things in the world are beautiful only from the outside, so the baldric was gold only in front, and behind it was made of simple buffalo skin.

The boastful Porthos, not being able to have a whole golden baldric, had at least half of it, which explains his cold and extreme need for a cloak.

“Damn it,” said Porthos, making every effort to free himself from d’Artagnan, who was moving behind him, “you rush at people like mad.

“Excuse me,” said d’Artagnan, showing himself under the giant’s shoulder, “I am in a hurry, I have to catch up with one gentleman and ...

Are you running with your eyes closed? asked Porthos.

“No,” replied the offended d’Artagnan, “and thanks to my eyes, I see even what others do not see.”

It is not known whether Porthos understood what he wanted to say by this, but he got angry and answered:

“I warn you that if you treat the Musketeers in this way, you will be beaten.

- I will be beaten! said d'Artagnan, "that word is a little harsh."

- This word decent to a man accustomed to looking enemies straight in the eye.

- O! I know you don't turn your back on them.

And the young man, pleased with his joke, went away, laughing at the top of his lungs.

Porthos became furious and made a move to throw himself at d'Artagnan.

“Later, later,” cried d’Artagnan, “when you take off your cloak.”

- Well, at one o'clock, beyond Luxembourg.

“Very well, at one o’clock,” answered d’Artagnan, turning the corner.

But neither in the street that he ran, nor in the one into which he now turned, was there the one he was looking for. No matter how quietly the stranger walked, he was already out of sight; maybe he went into a house. D'Artagnan asked about him everyone he met, went down to the ferry, walked along the Seine and the Red Cross, but did not find anyone.

Meanwhile, this walking served his advantage in the sense that, as the sweat poured on his forehead, his heart got cold. Then he began to reflect on recent events; there were many of them and they were all unfortunate: it was only 11 o'clock in the morning, and he had already managed to fall out of favor with de Treville, to whom d'Artagnan's act of leaving him could not seem polite.

In addition, he accepted two challenges to a duel with people capable of killing three d'Artagnans each, and with two musketeers, that is, with people whom he respected so much and considered above all other people.

The future was sad. Confident that he would be killed by Athos, the young man had little concern for Porthos. However, just as hope never leaves a man, he also began to hope that he would survive these two duels, of course with terrible wounds, and in case he survived, he gave himself the following lesson:

- How stupid I am! Brave, unfortunate Athos is wounded in the very shoulder on which I hit my head like a ram. It's amazing that he didn't kill me on the spot; he had a right to, because I probably caused him severe pain.

And, against his will, the young man began to laugh, looking around, however, so that with this laughter, for no apparent reason to others, one of the passers-by would not be offended.

- As for Porthos, it's funny, nevertheless I'm an unfortunate anemone. Do they rush at people like that without shouting beware? no. And do they look under their cloaks to look for something that is not there? He would certainly forgive me; yes, he would have forgiven if I had not told him about this accursed bandage; although I didn't say it directly, but only hinted at it. Damned Gascon habit! I think I would joke on the gallows.

“Listen, my friend d’Artagnan,” he continued, talking to himself, with all the courtesy to which he considered himself obliged in relation to himself, “if you remain intact, which is incredible, then in the future you should be polite. You need to be surprised, put you as an example to others. Being helpful and polite does not mean being a coward. Look at Aramis. Aramis is the personification of modesty and grace. Would anyone dare to say that he is a coward? No doubt not, and from now on I want to follow his example in everything. And here he is.

D'Artagnan, walking and talking to himself, reached the house of d'Eguillon, in front of which he saw Aramis, merrily talking with three nobles from the royal guard. Aramis also noticed d'Artagnan. But as he did not forget that de Treville was excited in the morning in the presence of this young man and, as a witness to the reprimand given to the musketeers, was not pleasant to him, he pretended not to notice him. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, wishing to carry out his plan of conciliation and courtesy, went up to the four young men and bowed to them with the most agreeable smile. Aramis tilted his head slightly, but did not smile. All four of them immediately stopped talking.

D'Artagnan was not so stupid as not to realize that he was superfluous; but he has not yet become so accustomed to the methods of great society as to be able to deftly manage to get out of the false position of a person who has intervened in a conversation that does not concern him, and with people he barely knows.

Thinking over a means of getting away as quickly as possible, he noticed that Aramis had dropped his handkerchief. And, no doubt, inadvertently, stepped on him; it seemed to him a good opportunity to correct his indecent act: he bent down and, with the most amiable air, pulling the handkerchief from under the leg of the musketeer, who was making every possible effort to keep it, handing it, said:

“I think, sir, that it would be a shame for you to lose this handkerchief.

The scarf was really richly embroidered, with a crown and coat of arms on one of the corners. Aramis blushed to the extreme and pulled rather than took the handkerchief from the hands of the Gascon.

“Ah, the secretive Aramis,” said one of the guardsmen: “will you still say that you are on bad terms with Madame de Boa-Tracy when this lovely lady lends you her handkerchiefs?”

Aramis gave d'Artagnan a look that made him plainly aware that he had acquired a mortal enemy; then, assuming again a meek air, he said:

- You are mistaken, gentlemen, this is not my handkerchief, and I do not know why this gentleman took it into his head to give it to me, and not to one of you; and as proof I will show you that my handkerchief is in my pocket.

With these words, he took out his own handkerchief, also very elegant, made of thin batiste, although batiste was expensive at that time, but without embroidery, without a coat of arms, and decorated only with the monogram of its owner.

This time d'Artagnan did not say a word; he realized his imprudence. But Aramis's friends were not convinced by his denial, and one of them said, addressing the young musketeer with feigned gravity:

“If you speak the truth, then I should, my dear Aramis, take it from you, because, as you know, I am one of the sincere friends of de Boa-Tracy and do not want to brag about his wife’s things.

- You do not ask so, answered Aramis, - and, realizing the justice of your demand, I could not fulfill it, because it is not so expressed as it should be.

“The point is,” d’Artagnan ventured, “that I didn’t see that the handkerchief fell out of M. Aramis’s pocket.” He stepped on it, which is why I thought the handkerchief was his.

“And you are mistaken, my dear,” said Aramis coolly, insensitive to d’Artagnan’s desire to correct his mistake. Then, turning to the guardsman, who declared himself a friend of de Boa-Tracy, he continued. “However, I think, dear friend Boa-Tracy, that I am no less than your tender friend; so the handkerchief might have fallen out of your pocket as well as mine.

No, I swear on my honor! said his majesty's guard.

You will swear on honor, and I will swear on my word of honor and it is obvious that one of us will lie. Listen, Mongarand, let's do it better, take each half.

- A scarf?

- Perfect! said the other two guards, “the court of King Solomon! Aramis is decidedly a sage!

The young people laughed and the matter, of course, had no other consequences. A minute later, the conversation stopped; three guards and a musketeer, shaking hands, set off - the guards in one direction, Aramis in the other.

“Now is the moment to make peace with this amiable young man,” said d’Artagnan to himself, who had been standing a little aside during their last conversation; and with this intention he approached Aramis, who was moving away, paying no attention to him:

“Dear sir,” he said, “I hope you will excuse me.

“Ah,” said Aramis, let me tell you that you did not act in this case as a man of the world should have done.

"As you suppose," said d'Artagnan.

“I believe that you are not stupid, and that although you come from Gascony, you know that you don’t step on a handkerchief without a reason. Damn it, Paris isn't paved with cambric!

“You want to insult me ​​in vain,” said d’Artagnan, whose quarrelsome nature prevailed over a peaceful disposition: “it is true that I am from Gascony, and the Gascons, as you know, are impatient, so if a Gascon once apologized, even in stupidity, then he is already convinced that he did twice as much as he should have done.

- I did not tell you this in order to want to quarrel with you, answered Aramis: - thanks to God, I am not a bully and, being a musketeer only for a while, I fight only under duress and always very reluctantly; but this time it's important because you've compromised the lady.

“So we compromised her,” said d’Artagnan.

“Why were you so embarrassed that you gave me this handkerchief?”

- Why did you drop it?

“I repeat to you that the handkerchief did not fall out of my pocket.

“So you lied twice because I saw you drop it.

- BUT! you begin to speak in a different tone, Mr. Gascon, so I will teach you hostel.

“And I will send you to your monastery, Mr. Abbot.” Would you like to draw your sword at once?

– No, please, my friend, not here at least. Don't you see that we are standing against the house of d'Eguillon, filled with cardinal creatures. Who can assure me that the cardinal did not instruct you to deliver my head to him? And I value my head, because it seems to me that it suits my shoulders very well. Calm down, I want to kill you, but without publicity, in a closed place where you could not boast of your death to anyone.

- I agree, but don't rely on it; take your handkerchief, whether it belongs to you or not, you may need it.

Are you a Gascon? asked Aramis.

“Yes, Gascon, and I do not postpone duels out of caution.

“Caution is a virtue, useless for musketeers, but necessary for spiritual ones, and since I am a musketeer only for a while, I want to be careful. At two o'clock I shall have the honor of expecting you at de Treville's house; there I will assign you a place.

The young people bowed, then Aramis went along the street leading to Luxembourg, meanwhile d'Artagnan, seeing that the time was approaching, went along the road to the Carmelite monastery, reasoning: - I definitely will not return from there; but if I am killed, at least I will be killed by a musketeer.

V. The King's Musketeers and the Cardinal's Guards

D'Artagnan did not know anyone in Paris, and therefore he went on a date with Athos without a second, deciding to be content with those whom his opponent would choose. However, he resolutely intended to apologize decently, but without weakness, to the brave musketeer, fearing that this duel would have unpleasant consequences for him, which happen when a young and strong man fights with an enemy weakened from wounds: if he is defeated, then this doubles the triumph of his rival, but if he remains victorious, he will be accused of crime and inappropriate courage.

However, if we have correctly described the character of our adventurer, then the reader should have already noticed that d'Artagnan was not an ordinary person. Repeating to himself that his death was inevitable, he decided not to die quietly, as another, less brave and moderate, would have done in his place.

He talked about different characters those persons with whom he was to fight, and began to understand his position more clearly. He hoped, by means of prepared apologies, to win the friendship of Athos, whose solemn and austere air he greatly admired.

He flattered himself to frighten Porthos with the adventure of the baldric, which, if he was not killed, he might tell everyone; and this story, set in motion by the way, would have made Porthos look ridiculous; finally, as for the sullen Aramis, he was not too afraid of him; thinking that if it comes to him, then he will send him to the next world beautiful as he is, or at least hit him in the face, as Caesar ordered to do with the soldiers of Pompey, forever damage the beauty that he so cherished.

Moreover, d'Artagnan possessed an inexhaustible reserve of determination, laid in his heart by the advice of his father, the essence of which was as follows:

"To endure nothing from anyone but the king, the cardinal and de Treville," and therefore he flew rather than went to the Carmelite monastery; it was a building without windows, surrounded by empty fields, and usually served as a meeting place for people who did not like to waste time.

When d'Artagnan reached a small empty place near this monastery, Athos was already waiting for him, but not more than five minutes, and at that very time it was striking twelve hours. Consequently, he was careful, and the strictest guardian of duels could not reproach him.

Athos, still severely suffering from the wound, though again bandaged by de Treville's surgeon, sat on the boundary and waited for his adversary with an air of calm dignity that never left him. At the sight of d'Artagnan, he got up and politely took a few steps towards him. He, for his part, approached the enemy with a hat in his hand, the feather of which touched the ground.

“Dear sir,” said Athos, “I asked two of my friends to be my seconds, but they have not yet come. I am surprised that they are late, it is not in their habits.

“I have no seconds,” said d’Artagnan, “I just arrived in Paris yesterday and I don’t know anyone except de Treville, who was introduced by my father, who had the honor of being one of his friends.

Athos thought for a moment.

"You don't know anyone but de Treville?" he asked.

Yes, I don't know anyone but him.

“But,” continued Athos, speaking partly to himself, partly to d’Artagnan, “but if I kill you, they will call me a baby-eater.”

“Not quite,” replied d’Artagnan, with a bow not devoid of dignity, “not quite, because you do me the honor of fighting me in spite of the wound, which must be very disturbing to you.”

“Very disturbing, honestly, and you've been the cause of hellish pain, I must admit; but in such cases I usually act with my left hand. Do not think that I want to show you mercy by this, I fight equally with both hands; it will even be unprofitable for you; dealing with left-handers is very inconvenient for those who are not warned about it. I regret that I did not inform you of this circumstance earlier.

“You are very kind,” said d'Artagnan; bowing again - and I am very grateful to you.

- You embarrass me, answered Athos; - We will, please, talk about something else, if it is not disgusting to you. Oh, damn it, what pain you have caused me! My shoulder is on fire.

"If you would allow it..." said d'Artagnan hesitantly.

“I have a wonderful balm for wounds, a balm I received from my mother, the effect of which I have experienced for myself.

- Well, so what?

“I am sure that with this balm your wound would have healed in less than three days, and after three days, when you had recovered, I would consider it an honor to be at your service.

D'Artagnan said these words with a simplicity that did honor to his courtesy and did not harm his courage.

“Really,” said Athos, “I like your proposal, not because I wanted to accept it, but because it sounds like a nobleman.” Thus spoke and acted the brave men of Charlemagne's time, whose example every noble man should follow. Unfortunately, we do not live in the time of the great emperor. We now have the time of the cardinal, and no matter how they keep the secret, in three days they will find out that we must fight and interfere with us. But why don't these revelers go?

“If you are in a hurry,” said d’Artagnan to Athos, with the same simplicity as in a minute he proposed to postpone the duel for three days, “if you are in a hurry, and you want to get down to business immediately, then please do not hesitate.

“That also pleases me,” said Athos, making a courteous sign with his head to d’Artagnan: “Only a man of mind and heart can say that.” I love people like you, and I see that if we do not kill each other, then I will always find real pleasure in your conversation. Please wait for these gentlemen, I am free and, moreover, things will be more correct.

– Ah! looks like one of them!

Indeed, at the end of the Rue Vaugirard, the gigantic Porthos appeared.

- How! said d'Artagnan, "your first second, Mr. Porthos?"

Yes, don't you like it?

- No, not at all.

- And here's another one.

D'Artagnan looked in the direction Athos had indicated and recognized Aramis.

- How, he said with even more surprise than the first time, - your second second, Mr. Aramis?

- Without a doubt: don't you know that we are always together, and that we are called between the musketeers and the guards, in the city and at the court: Athos, Porthos and Aramis, or three inseparable. However, since you come from Dax or Pau...

“From Tarbes,” said d’Artagnan.

“You are forgiven for not knowing these details,” said Athos.

“You are justly called that, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “and if they recognize my adventure, it will serve as proof that your alliance is not based on contrasts.

At this time, Porthos, approaching, greeted Athos; then he turned to d'Artagnan and stopped in surprise.

Let's say, by the way, that he changed his baldric and took off his cloak.

- BUT! he said, "what does that mean?"

“I am fighting this gentleman,” said Athos, pointing to d’Artagnan, and saluting him with his hand.

“I fight him too,” said Porthos.

“But not before one o’clock,” replied d’Artagnan.

“And I, too, am fighting this gentleman,” said Aramis, advancing in his turn.

"But not before two o'clock," said d'Artagnan, also calmly.

“What are you fighting for, Athos?” asked Aramis.

- I really don’t know, he touched my sore shoulder; and what are you, Porthos?

Athos saw a slight smile flicker on the lips of the Gascon.

“We argued about the toilet,” said the young man.

“And you, Aramis?” asked Athos.

“I fight for theology,” answered Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan not to speak about the reason for the duel.

Athos noticed for the second time the smile on D'Artagnan's lips.

- Indeed? said Athos.

– Yes, we do not agree in the sense of one Phrase from St. Augustine, said the Gascon.

“He is a decidedly intelligent man,” whispered Athos.

“Now that you have gathered, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to apologize to you.

At the word "apologise," Athos frowned, a contemptuous smile flickered on Porthos's lips, and a negative sign with his head was Aramis' answer.

“You don’t understand me, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, raising his head ... At that time, the rays of the sun, falling on his head, illuminated the delicate and bold features of his face: “I beg your pardon if I don’t have time to get even with all of you because Mr. Athos has the right to kill me first, which greatly reduces the price of my debt to you, Mr. Porthos, and to you, Mr. Aramis, is almost destroyed. Now I repeat my apology, but only in this - and to the point.

At these words, with the greatest dexterity, d'Artagnan drew his sword. Blood rushed to D'Artagnan's head, and at that moment he was ready to draw his sword against all the musketeers of the kingdom, as he now drew it against Athos, Porthos and Aramis.

It was a quarter past one. The sun was at its zenith, and the place chosen for the scene of the duel was completely open to the action of its rays.

“Very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword in his turn; - but I still can’t take off my doublet, because now I felt that blood was pouring from my wound, and I don’t want to disturb Monsieur d’Artagnan with the sight of blood that he didn’t let me.

“It is true,” said d’Artagnan, “whoever bled your blood, I assure you that I would always regret seeing the blood of such a brave nobleman; I will also fight in a doublet like you.

'Enough,' said Porthos, 'enough niceties, think we're waiting in line.'

“Speak for yourself alone, Porthos, when you take it into your head to say such obscenities,” said Aramis, “as far as I am concerned, I find that everything these gentlemen say is very good and quite worthy of a nobleman.

- Do you want to start? said Athos, standing up.

"I await your orders," said d'Artagnan, crossing his swords.

But as soon as the sound of rapiers was heard, a detachment of the cardinal's guard, led by Jussac, appeared at the corner of the monastery.

"The Cardinal's Guards!" Porthos and Aramis suddenly cried out. - Swords in the scabbard, gentlemen, swords in the scabbard!

But it was already too late. The combatants were seen in a position that left no doubt about their intentions.

- Her! shouted Jussac, approaching them and calling his soldiers, - Musketeers, you are fighting! And what are the orders!

“You are very generous, gentlemen of the guard,” Athos said angrily, because Jussac was one of the attackers of the third day. - If we saw that you were fighting, I assure you that we would not interfere with you. Give us freedom, and you will have pleasure without any labor.

“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “I declare to you with great regret that this is impossible. Duty first. Put in your swords and follow us.

“My dear sir,” said Aramis, mocking Jussac, “we would accept your kind invitation with the greatest pleasure, if it depended on us; but unfortunately this is not possible; de Treville forbade us. Go on your way, that will be the best.

This mockery annoyed Jussac to the extreme.

“If you disobey,” he said, “we will attack you.”

Athos, Porthos and Aramis approached each other while Jussac ordered his soldiers.

This moment was enough for d'Artagnan to make up his mind: it was one of those events that decide the fate of a person; he had to make a choice between the king and the cardinal, and, having made a choice, he had to stick to it forever. To fight meant to disobey the law, to risk one's head, to become an enemy of a minister who was more powerful than the king himself; All this was foreseen by the young man, and, let's say in his praise, he did not hesitate for a minute. Addressing Athos and his friends, he said:

“Gentlemen, let me point out that you are mistaken. You said there were only three of you, but I think there are four of us.

“But you are not one of us,” said Porthos.

“It is true,” replied d’Artagnan, “I am not yours in dress, but yours in soul.” I have a musketeer heart and it captivates me.

“Step back, young man,” said Jussac, who no doubt guessed his intention from the movements and expression of d’Artagnan’s face: “you can retire, we agree to that.” Save yourself soon.

D'Artagnan did not move.

“You are decidedly a fine boy,” said Athos, shaking the young man’s hand.

“Well, well, make up your mind,” said Jussac.

"Yes," said Porthos and Aramis, "let's decide on something."

“This gentleman is very generous,” said Athos.

But all three thought of d'Artagnan's youth and feared for his inexperience.

- There will be only three of us, including one wounded, and even a child, said Athos, - but still they will say that there were four of us.

- Yes, but is it really possible to retreat? Porthos said.

“It is difficult,” answered Athos.

D'Artagnan understood their indecision.

“Gentlemen, still try me,” he said: “I swear on your honor that I will not leave here if we are defeated.

- What is your name, my friend? asked Athos.

— D'Artagnan.

- So, Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan, forward! shouted Athos.

“Well, gentlemen, have you decided on anything?” Jussac asked for the third time.

“It is decided, gentlemen,” said Athos.

- What did you decide? asked Jussac.

“We will have the honor to attack you,” replied Aramis, taking off his hat with one hand and drawing his sword with the other.

“Ah, you resist!” Jussac said.

– Does that surprise you?

And the nine combatants rushed at each other, with a fury that did not interfere with the observance of certain rules.

Athos chose for himself Kaguzak, the favorite of the cardinal; Porthos - Bikara, and Aramis found himself against two opponents.

As for d'Artagnan, he threw himself on Jussac himself.

The heart of the young Gascon was beating strongly, not from fear, thanks to God, there was not even a shadow of fear in it, but from strong feeling; he fought like a mad tiger, circling around his opponent ten times, changing position and place twenty times. Jussac was, as they said then, lacquered to the blade and practiced a lot; despite this, it was very difficult for him to defend himself against a dexterous and jumping enemy, who every minute retreated from the accepted rules, suddenly attacked from all sides and repelled blows, like a person who has full respect for his skin.

Finally, this struggle began to bring Jussac out of patience. Enraged by his failure against an enemy he looked upon as a child, he became heated and began to make mistakes. D'Artagnan, who, although he had little practice, had thoroughly studied the theory, began to act even more quickly. Jussac, wanting to finish at once, dealt a strong blow to the enemy, bending to the ground, but he repelled the blow immediately, and while Jussac was rising, he, slipping like a snake, under his sword, pierced him through and through.

Jussac fell like a corpse.

D'Artagnan then quickly examined the place of the battle.

Aramis had already killed one of his opponents; but the other pressed him hard. However, Aramis was still in a good position and could still defend himself.

Bikara and Porthos both wounded each other. Porthos was hit in the arm, Bikara in the thigh. But no matter how dangerous any of the wounds were, they continued to fight with even greater ferocity.

Athos, wounded again by Kagyuzak, apparently turned pale, but did not retreat a single step; he only took the sword in his other hand and now fought with his left.

D'Artagnan, according to the laws of the duel of that time, had the right to help someone, while he looked out for which of his comrades needed his help, he met the gaze of Athos. This look was eminently eloquent. Athos would rather die than call for help, but he could look and ask for support with his eyes. D'Artagnan guessed his thought, making a terrible leap and attacking Kaguzak from the side, shouted:

- To me, mister guardsman, or I will kill you!

Kaguzak turned around; it was on time. Athos, supported only by extreme courage, fell to one knee.

“Listen,” he shouted to d’Artagnan, “don’t kill him, young man, I beg you, I have an old business to finish with him when I recover.” Disarm him only, take away his sword.

- Yes, yes, good!

This exclamation escaped Athos at the sight of Kagyuzak's sword, flying off in twenty paces. D'Artagnan and Caguzak rushed suddenly, one to seize the sword again, the other to master it; but d'Artagnan was more dexterous, he managed to get ahead of her and stepped on her foot.

Kaguzak ran to that of the guards whom Aramis had killed, took his sword and wanted to return to d'Artagnan; but on the way he met Athos, who, during the momentary rest brought to him by d'Artagnan, took a breath, and fearing that d'Artagnan would not kill his opponent, he wanted to start a fight.

D'Artagnan understood that to interfere with Athos was to offend him. Indeed, after a few seconds, Kagyuzak fell, hit by a sword in the throat.

At the same moment, Aramis, resting his sword on the chest of the overturned enemy, forced him to beg for mercy.

There remained Porthos and Bikara. Porthos made various boastful antics, asking Bicar what time it was, and congratulating him on the company his brother had received in the Navarre regiment; but by mocking he gained nothing. Bikara was one of those iron men who only fall dead.

Meanwhile, it was time to finish: the guard could come and take away all those who fought, wounded and not wounded, royal or cardinal. Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan surrounded Bicar and urged him to surrender. Alone against all, and wounded in the thigh, Bikara did not back down; but Jussac, raising himself on his elbow, shouted at him to surrender. Bicara was a Gascon, as was d'Artagnan; he pretended not to hear, and went on laughing; then, seizing the time to point out a place on the ground with the end of his sword, he said:

“Bikara will die here.

“But there are four of them against you; stop, I'm ordering you.

- BUT! if you give orders, that is another matter, said Bikara, “since you are my brigadier, I must obey.”

And, making a leap back, he broke his sword on his knee, so as not to give it away, threw the fragments over the wall of the monastery and, crossing his arms, began to whistle the cardinal's song.

Courage is always respected, even in the enemy. The musketeers saluted Bikar with their swords and sheathed them. D'Artagnan did the same, then, with the help of Bicar, who alone remained on his feet, carried Jussac, Kaguzak, and that of Aramis' opponents, who was only wounded, to the porch of the monastery. The fourth, as we have already said, was killed. Then they rang the bell and, carrying 4 of the five swords, went, intoxicated with joy, to the house of de Treville.

They walked, hand in hand, across the entire width of the street, taking all the musketeers they met, so that at last it turned into a solemn procession.

D'Artagnan was delighted; he walked between Athos and Porthos, tenderly embracing them.

“If I am not yet a musketeer,” he said to his new friends as he entered the gates of the de Treville house, “at least I have already been accepted as an apprentice, have I not?”

VI. King Louis XIII

This incident made a lot of noise: de Treville loudly scolded his musketeers, and quietly congratulated them, but since it was necessary to warn the king without wasting time, de Treville hurried to the Louvre. But it was already too late. The cardinal was with the king, and de Treville was told that the king was busy and could not receive him at that moment. In the evening, de Treville came to the king during the game. The king was winning and was in a good mood, because his majesty was very stingy, so as soon as he saw de Treville, he said.

- Come here, Mr. Captain, come, I will scold you; do you know that the cardinal complained to me about your musketeers, and with such excitement that he fell ill for this evening. But your musketeers are devils, they must be hanged.

“No, sire,” answered de Treville, who noticed at first glance what turn the matter had taken: “no, on the contrary, they kind people, quiet as lambs, I vouch that they have only one desire, that their swords be taken out of their scabbards only for the service of your majesty. But what to do, the cardinal's guards are constantly looking for quarrels with them and, for the honor of their regiment, the poor things are forced to defend themselves.

“Listen, de Treville,” said the king, “listen, you might think that he is talking about some monks. Indeed, my dear captain, I would like to take away your office and give it to Madame de Chemraud, to whom I promised the abbey. But don't expect me to take your word for it. They call me Louis the just, and I will prove it now.

“Quite trusting in your justice, my lord, I will patiently and calmly await your Majesty’s orders.

“I won't keep you waiting long,” said the king.

Indeed, happiness changed, the king began to lose, and therefore he really wanted to find an excuse to leave the game.

A few minutes later the king got up and, putting into his pocket the money lying before him, of which he had won most of it, said:

- La Vieville, take my place, I need to talk to de Treville about an important matter. Yes, since I had 80 louis in front of me, then you put this amount too so that the losers cannot complain. Justice first.

Then he went with de Treville to the embrasure of the window.

“So,” he continued, “you say that the cardinal’s guards themselves were looking for quarrels with the musketeers.

Yes, sir, as usual.

“And tell me how it happened, because you know, captain, that the judge must listen to both sides.

- Very simple and natural: three of my best soldiers, whose names are known to Your Majesty, and whose devotion has been appreciated by you more than once, because they put the service of their king above everything in the world, I can say this in the affirmative; so three of my soldiers, I say, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, with a young Gascon whom I recommended to them, agreed that very morning to go for a walk, I think to Saint Germain. They gathered, as agreed, at the Carmelite monastery, but Messrs. Jussac, Kaguzak, Bikara and two other guardsmen, having come there with such a large company, probably not without bad intention, contrary to the decrees, upset everyone.

- BUT! I guess, said the king, “they probably came there to fight themselves.”

“I do not blame them, sir, but I leave it to Your Majesty to judge why five armed men could go to such a secluded place as the neighborhood of the Carmelite monastery.

“Yes, you are right, de Treville, you are right.

“But when they saw my musketeers, they changed their mind; the common enmity of the two regiments made them forget their personal quarrels, because your majesty knows that the king's musketeers, loyal to one king, are the natural enemies of the guards who serve the cardinal.

“Yes, de Treville, yes,” the king said sadly, I assure you that it is a pity to see two parties in France, two heads in the kingdom; but there will be an end to all this, de Treville, there will certainly be. So you say that the guards were looking for quarrels with the musketeers.

“I say that this was probably the case, but I cannot vouch for it, sir. You know how difficult it is sometimes to find out the truth, and one must have that amazing instinct for which Louis XIII was given the title of just.

- Yes, you are right, de Treville, but your musketeers were not alone, there was a young man with them.

“Yes, sir, and one wounded, so that the three royal musketeers, of whom one was wounded, and another boy, not only did not yield to five of the cardinal’s most terrible guards, but also put four of them on the spot.

But this is a victory! said the king joyfully, “this is a complete victory!

- Yes, sir, as full as at the Xie bridge.

- Four, including one wounded, another boy, you say?

“He can hardly be called a young man; meanwhile, he behaved so admirably on this occasion that I dare to recommend him to Your Majesty.

- What's his name?

— D'Artagnan. This is the son of an old friend of mine; the son of a man who participated in a guerrilla war with the late king, your parent.

“Are you saying this young man was well-behaved?” Tell me that, de Treville, you know that I love stories of wars and battles.

And the king proudly twirled his mustache.

“Sir,” said de Treville, “d’Artagnan, as I have already said, is almost a boy, and since he does not have the honor of being a musketeer, he was in the civil dress of the guards of Mr. Cardinal, seeing his youth and knowing that he does not belong to the number of musketeers, they suggested that he retire before they attack.

“From this it is clear, de Treville,” said the king, “that they were the first to attack.

“Quite rightly, my lord; there is no doubt about it. So they suggested that he retire; but he replied that he was a musketeer at heart and devoted to Your Majesty, and therefore would remain with the musketeers.

“A brave young man,” said the king.

“Indeed, he stayed with them, and Your Majesty acquired in him a rare fighter, because the terrible blow inflicted by Jussac and which angered the cardinal so much was his work.

“So he hurt Jussac?” said the king, - he, the child! It's impossible, de Treville.

“That is exactly what happened, as I had the honor to convey to Your Majesty.

- Jussac, one of the first fighters of the kingdom?

So, sir, he has found a worthy opponent.

“I want to see this young man, de Treville, I want to see him, and if there is anything we can do for him, let's get to it.

“When will Your Majesty want to receive him?”

- Tomorrow, at 12 o'clock, de Treville.

“Would you like me to bring him alone?”

No, bring all four. I want to thank all of them; loyal people are rare, de Treville, and loyalty must be rewarded.

- At 12 o'clock, sir, we will be at the Louvre.

“Ah yes, the little stairs, de Treville the little ones. You don't need the cardinal to know.

- I'm listening, sir.

“You understand, de Treville, a decree is still a decree; because fighting is forbidden.

“But this meeting, sir, does not at all fit the usual conditions of a duel, it was just a fight, because there were five guards of the cardinal against my three musketeers and d’Artagnan.

“That is fair,” said the king, “but all the same, de Treville, come up the little stairs.”

Treville smiled. But it was already enough for him that he had set this child king against his leader. He bowed respectfully to the king and bade him farewell with his usual courtesy.

The same evening, the three Musketeers were notified of the honor awaiting them. They had known the king for a long time, and therefore this news did not delight them, but d'Artagnan, with his Gascon imagination, already saw his future happiness in that and spent the night in golden dreams. At 8 o'clock in the morning he was already at Athos.

D'Artagnan found the musketeer fully dressed to leave the courtyard.

Since the meeting with the king was at 12 o'clock, they agreed with Porthos and Aramis to go play ball in a gambling house, located not far from the stables of Luxembourg. Athos invited d'Artagnan with him, who, despite the fact that he did not know this game and had never played it, accepted the offer, not knowing what to do from ten to twelve hours.

The other two Musketeers were already there, playing together. Athos, very dexterous in all bodily exercises, stood with d'Artagnan on the other side; and the game started. But at the first movement, Athos, despite the fact that he played with his left hand, felt that his wound was still too fresh to allow him such an exercise. So d'Artagnan was left alone, and when he announced that, due to his awkwardness, he could not lead the game correctly, they continued only to throw the ball, not counting the win. But once a ball thrown by the Herculean hand of Porthos flew so close to d'Artagnan's face that he thought that if the ball had hit him, then his audience would probably be lost, because in all probability it would be impossible for him to introduce himself to the king . And since he imagined that his whole future depended on this performance, he politely bowed to Porthos and Aramis, declaring that he would accept the game when he learned to play no worse than them, and, stepping aside, sat down in the gallery.

To the misfortune of d'Artagnan, among the spectators was one of the cardinal's guards, who, inflamed by the defeat of his comrades that had happened the day before, had promised himself to avenge them on the first occasion. He found that this opportunity presented itself and, turning to a neighbor, said:

- It is not surprising that this young man was afraid of the ball; probably a student of the Musketeers.

D'Artagnan looked round as if he had been bitten by a snake, and gazed intently at the guardsman who had made this impudent suggestion.

- Yes, he said, twisting his mustache, - look at me, my child, as much as you like, I said what I think.

“And since what you have said is too clear and does not require explanation, then I will ask you to follow me,” said d’Artagnan quietly.

- When? asked the guardsman in the same mocking tone.

"Wouldn't you like it now?"

"You no doubt know who I am?"

“I don’t know you at all, and I don’t worry about it at all.

- And in vain: if you knew my name, maybe you would not be in such a hurry.

- What is your name?

“Bernajou, at your service.

“Well then, Monsieur Bernajou,” said d’Artagnan calmly, “I will be waiting for you at the gate.”

- Go, I'll come after you.

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry so that they don’t notice that we are leaving together; You understand that we do not need a lot of people for our lesson.

“Very well,” answered the guardsman, surprised that his name did not impress the young man.

Indeed, the name of Bernage was known to everyone, except perhaps one d'Artagnan, because he most often took part in daily fights, which no decrees of the king and cardinal could stop.

Porthos and Aramis were so busy playing, and Athos looked at them with such attention that they did not notice when their young comrade left.

As agreed, d'Artagnan stopped at the gate, where, a minute later, the guardsman also came.

Since d'Artagnan had no time to waste, because the presentation to the king was scheduled for 12 o'clock, he looked around and, seeing that there was no one in the street, said to his opponent:

“Although your name is Bernage, you are nevertheless happy that you are dealing only with an apprentice musketeer; however, rest easy, I will use every possible diligence. For business!

“But,” said the guardsman, “it seems to me that this place is inconvenient, it would be much better behind the Abbey of Saint-Germain or in Pré-au-Clerck.”

- That's fair, replied d'Artagnan, - but unfortunately I don't have time, I have to be on a date at exactly 12 o'clock. To the cause, sir, to the cause!

Bernagejou was not the kind of person to force himself to repeat such an invitation twice. At the same moment the sword gleamed in his hand and he rushed at the enemy, whom he hoped to frighten, counting on his youth.

But d'Artagnan had learned a good lesson the day before, and, encouraged by his recent victory, and proud of the grace that was to come, he decided not to retreat a single step; both swords were in action right up to the hilt, but as d'Artagnan held firmly in place, his opponent had to retreat. D'Artagnan, taking advantage of this movement of Bernageu, rushed at him and wounded him in the shoulder, then retreated in his turn and raised his sword, but Bernageu shouted to him that it meant nothing and, advancing on him blindly, stumbled directly on his sword . However, since he did not fall and admit defeat, but only retreated to the house of Tremul, where one of his relatives served, then d'Artagnan, not knowing how severe the last wound of his opponent was, advanced on him with agility and probably would have finished with him with a third blow, but at that time the noise in the street became heard in the gambling house and two friends of the guardsman, who noticed how he exchanged words with d'Artagnan, and then went out, rushed with swords in their hands and attacked the winner.

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis went out in turn and freed their young comrade from the two guards who were pressing him.

At that moment Bernageu fell, and as the guards were only two to four, they began to shout: "Tremules here!" At this cry, all those who were in the house ran out, rushed to the four comrades, who also began to shout: “here, musketeers!”.

To this cry the crowd always ran willingly; everyone knew that the musketeers were enemies of the cardinal and loved them for hating him. Therefore, the guards of other companies than those belonging to the Red Duke, as Aramis called him, usually took the side of the royal musketeers in quarrels of this kind. Of the three guardsmen of Desessard's company who passed by, two immediately gave assistance to four comrades, while the third ran to the de Treville's hotel, shouting: "Here, musketeers, here!"

There were, as usual, many musketeers in the hotel de Treville, who ran to the aid of their comrades; there was a terrible confusion, but the advantage was on the side of the musketeers; the guards of the cardinal and the people of Tremul's house retreated into the house and locked the gate at the very time when their enemies were ready to invade there after them. As for the wounded man, he was immediately transferred to the hotel, in a very bad position.

The irritation of the musketeers and their accomplices reached the highest degree, so that they were already beginning to discuss whether to set fire to the house in order to punish the people of Tremul for their daring sortie against the royal musketeers. This proposal was accepted with enthusiasm, but fortunately 11 o'clock struck. D'Artagnan and his companions remembered the presentation to the king, and not wanting such a fine undertaking to be carried out without them, they calmed the crowd, contented themselves with throwing a few stones at the gate, but they resisted; then everyone got tired; moreover, the main instigators of the enterprise had already separated from the crowd and went to the house of de Treville, who already knew about this incident and expected them.

“Hurry to the Louvre,” he said, “to the Louvre, without wasting a minute, and we will try to see the king before the cardinal has time to notify him of what has happened; we will tell him about it as a consequence of yesterday and both things will get away with it together.

De Treville, accompanied by four young men, went to the Louvre; but to the surprise of the captain of the musketeers, he was told that the king had gone hunting in the forest of Saint-Germain.

De Treville made him repeat this news to himself twice, and those who accompanied him saw how his face darkened with each time.

- His Majesty had yesterday the intention to go on this hunt? he asked.

“No, Your Excellency,” replied the valet, “this morning the Chief Jägermeister informed him that a deer had been purposely driven in for him that night. At first he answered that he would not go, but then he could not resist the pleasure of being on this hunt, and after dinner he set off.

“Have you seen the king and the cardinal?” asked de Treville.

“In all probability,” replied the valet, “because I saw the cardinal’s carriage this morning and was told that he was going to St. Germain.”

“We have been warned,” de Treville said. “Gentlemen, I will see the king tonight; as for you, I do not advise you to go to him.

The advice was very prudent, and moreover, it was given by a man who knew the king too well, and therefore the young people did not contradict him. De Treville suggested that they return to their homes and await his notice.

Returning to his hotel, de Treville thought that before complaining to the king, he should have a good idea of ​​what was the matter. He sent a servant to Tremulus with a letter, in which he asked him to send the wounded guardsman of the cardinal from him and reprimand his people for their daring sortie against the musketeers. But La Trémoul, informed of everything by his groom, a relative of Bernage, replied that neither de Treville nor his musketeers had anything to complain about, and that, on the contrary, he had the right to complain, because the musketeers attacked his people and intended to set fire to his house. But since this dispute could drag on and each of them would stubbornly hold on to his opinion, de Treville thought of a way to end it quickly: he decided to go himself to La Tremoul.

Having come to him, he ordered to report about himself.

The two nobles bowed politely to each other, because although there was no friendship between them, at least there was mutual respect. Both were honest and kind people, and as La Trémoul was a Protestant and, rarely seeing the king, did not belong to any party, in public relations he was without any prejudice. Despite the fact that this time his reception was polite, but colder than usual.

“My dear sir,” said de Treville, “each of us considers himself entitled to complain about the other, and I myself have come to explain this matter together.

Very willingly, La Trémoul replied, “but I warn you that I have detailed information, and that your musketeers are to blame for everything.

You are so fair and sensible, said de Treville, that you will surely accept the offer which I intend to make to you.

- Speak, I'm listening.

“What is the position of Bernajou, your groom’s relative?”

- Very bad, except for a wound in his arm, which is not dangerous, he is still wounded in the lung through and through, so the doctor does not promise anything good.

“But wounded in memory?”

- Absolutely.

- He says?

- Although with difficulty, but he speaks.

- Let's go to him and we will ask him in the name of God, before whom he, perhaps, will soon appear, to tell the whole truth; I choose him to judge in his own case, and I will believe what he says.

La Trémoul thought for a moment, but as it was impossible to make the proposal fairer than this, he accepted it.

They entered the room where the wounded man lay. At the sight of two nobles who came to visit him, the sick man tried to raise himself in bed, but was too weak, and, exhausted by this effort, fell almost unconscious.

La Trémoul went up to him and gave him a sniff of the alcohol, which brought him back to consciousness. Then de Treville, not wanting to be accused of influencing the answers of the big one, asked La Tremoulle to make the questions himself.

It happened just as de Treville foresaw. Bernage, being between life and death, did not think to hide the truth and told the two nobles exactly everything as it happened.

This was all that de Trevilleon wanted, wished Bernage a speedy recovery, said goodbye to La Tremoul, returned home and immediately sent to tell his four friends what awaits them for dinner.

A very good company gathered at de Treville, which, however, consisted all of the enemies of the cardinal. Therefore, it is understandable that the conversation during the entire dinner was about two defeats inflicted on the guards of the cardinal.

All congratulations went to d'Artagnan, former hero these two days; and Athos, Porthos, and Aramis fully acknowledged this honor for him, not only as good comrades, but also as people who often heard such congratulations.

At six o'clock de Treville announced that it was time to go to the Louvre; but as the hour of the performance, appointed by his majesty, had already passed, instead of going up the small stairs, he, with four young people, settled down in the hall. The king has not yet returned from hunting.

Young people waited, intervening in the crowd of courtiers; but half an hour had not passed, when suddenly the doors opened and announced the arrival of his majesty.

At this report, d'Artagnan felt a shudder all over his body.

The next minute was, in all likelihood, to decide his fate. His eyes, with tormenting anticipation, turned to the door through which the king was to enter.

Louis XIII entered ahead of all; he was in a hunting dress, covered in dust, in big boots and with a whip in his hand. At first glance, d'Artagnan noticed that the king was gloomy. Although this disposition of the spirit of his majesty was obvious to everyone, this did not prevent the courtiers from meeting him, standing on the aisle: in the royal halls it is better to be seen during a bad mood than to be completely unnoticed. So the three Musketeers stepped forward. d'Artagnan, on the contrary, remained behind them; although the king personally knew Athos, Porthos and Aramis, he passed by them without paying attention to them and without saying a word, as if he had never seen them. As he passed de Treville, he glanced at him; but de Treville held this look with such firmness that the king was the first to turn away. When his majesty went into his room, Athos said with a smile:

- It's a bad thing, today we probably won't get the order.

“Wait here ten minutes,” said de Treville, “and if I don’t come out in ten minutes, then go to my house, because it will be useless to wait longer.”

The young people waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes; and as de Treville did not return, they went away in great anxiety.

De Treville boldly entered the king's study: his majesty was in a very bad mood; he sat in an armchair and tapped his boot with the end of the whip, which did not prevent de Treville from asking him very calmly about his health.

“It’s bad, sir, it’s bad,” answered the king, “I miss you.”

It really was one of the worst illnesses of Louis XIII, in these cases he often called one of the courtiers and, bringing him to the window, said: "we will miss you together."

- How! your majesty miss you! said de Treville. “Did you spend your time hunting without pleasure?”

- Good fun. Today everything has been reborn, and I don’t know if the game has stopped flying, or the dogs have lost their senses. We chase a deer with ten hunting horns, run after him for six hours, and when he is almost caught, when Saint-Simon was already putting the horn in his mouth to sound victory, suddenly the whole pack changes direction and rushes at the one-year-old deer. You will see that I will have to give up hunting for animals, as I gave up hunting birds. Ah, I am an unfortunate king, de Treville, I had one gyrfalcon left and he died on the third day.

“Indeed, sir, I understand your despair, this is a great misfortune; but you still seem to have enough falcons and hawks left.

- And not a single person to teach them; there are no more falcons, and I alone know the art of hunting. After me, everything will be over, they will hunt with traps and traps. If only I had time to teach others! but, alas, the cardinal does not give me a moment's rest, he talks to me about Spain, Austria, England! Oh yes! speaking of the cardinal; I am not pleased with you, de Treville.

De Treville expected this attack. He knew the king well and understood that all these complaints served only as a preface in a kind of excitement to give courage, and that the last phrase was the purpose of all this.

“How did I have the misfortune to displease your Majesty?” said de Treville, pretending to be deeply surprised.

“Are you doing your duty properly, my dear sir?” continued the king, without directly answering de Treville's question; - what kind of captain of the musketeers are you when they kill a man, disturb the whole quarter and want to set fire to Paris, and you don’t say a word about it? However, the king continued, I probably hastened to accuse you, no doubt the rebels are already in prison and you have come to report to me that their trial is over.

- Sovereign, calmly answered de Treville, - on the contrary, I came to ask you for a trial.

- Against who? asked the king.

“Against the slanderers,” said de Treville.

- BUT! here's the news! said the king. “Would you say that your accursed three Musketeers and your Béarn boy did not rush like mad at poor Bernage and beat him so that he might now be dying. Will you say that they did not later besiege the hotel of the Duke of La Trémoul and did not want to burn it, which, however, would not have been a great misfortune in war time, because it is a nest of Huguenots, but in peacetime it sets a bad example. Tell me, was it all or not?

- Who composed this beautiful story for you, sir? de Treville asked calmly.

Who wrote this story for me? who else but the one who is awake when I sleep, who works when I play, who conducts business inside and outside the kingdom, in France and in Europe!

“Your Majesty, without a doubt, speak of God,” said de Treville, “because only one God is so much higher than your Majesty.”

- No, sir, I'm talking about the support of the state, my only servant, my only friend, the cardinal.

“The cardinal is not a pope, my lord.

- What are you trying to say?

“That only the pope does not make mistakes, the cardinals can make mistakes.

“You mean to say that he is deceiving me, that he is cheating on me. So you blame him. Be honest, do you blame him?

- No, sir; but when I say that he himself is mistaken, I say that he was wrongly informed; that he hastened to accuse Your Majesty's musketeers, to whom he is unjust, and that he received information from bad sources.

“The accusation was from La Tremoulle, from the duke himself. What do you say to that?

- I could answer, sir, that this matter concerns him to such an extent that he cannot be an impartial witness; but on the contrary, my lord, I know the Duke as an honest gentleman, and I will believe him, with only one condition.

- With which?

“That your majesty would call him and ask him yourself, without witnesses, and that I would see your majesty immediately after the duke left.”

- Good! said the king, and will you agree with what la Tremul will say?

- Yes, my lord.

Do you accept his decision?

- Without a doubt.

“And you will submit to the satisfaction he demands?”

- Absolutely.

- La Chenet! shouted the king, la Chenet!

Louis XIII's trusted valet, who always stood at the door, entered.

“La Chesnay,” said the king, “send for La Tremul at once, I need to speak to him tonight.”

“Your Majesty, do you give me your word that you will not see anyone before me after La Trémoulle is gone?”

“Honestly, not with anyone.

"So see you tomorrow, sir."

- Till tomorrow.

“What time would your majesty please?”

- Whenever you want.

“But if I come too early, I'm afraid to wake your majesty.

- Wake me up! Am I sleeping? I sleep no more, my dear sir; I just doze off sometimes. Come whenever you like - at seven o'clock; but beware if your musketeers are guilty.

“If my musketeers are guilty, my lord, the guilty will be delivered into the hands of your majesty, and they will be dealt with according to your order. If Your Majesty wishes to order anything else, I am ready to serve you.

- No no; and be sure that it is not for nothing that they call me fair. Till tomorrow.

“May God preserve your majesty until then!”

Although the king slept little, de Treville still less; in the evening he warned the three musketeers and their comrade to be with him at half past seven in the morning. He led them along without saying anything positive to them, without promising anything, and without concealing from them that their fate, like his own, depended on chance.

When he reached a small staircase, he told them to wait. If the king was still vexed against them, they could leave without presenting themselves to him; if the king would agree to receive them, then it was only necessary to call them.

In the King's own anteroom, de Treville met Chenet, who told him that La Tremoulle had not been at home the evening before, that he had returned too late to go to the Louvre, and that he had just arrived and was still with the King.

This circumstance pleased de Treville very much; he was now sure that no extraneous suggestion could slip between the testimony of La Tremoul and his.

Indeed, ten minutes had not passed before the door of the royal study opened, the Duke of La Trémoul came out, and, turning to de Treville, said:

“Mr. de Treville, his majesty called me to inquire about yesterday's adventure near my house. And he told him the truth, i.e. that my people were to blame and that I am ready to apologize to you. Therefore, I ask you to accept my apologies and consider me always one of your friends.

“Duke,” said de Treville, “I was so sure of your justice that I did not want another protector before his majesty except you. I see that I was not mistaken and I thank you that there is still a person in France about whom one can say without mistake what I said about you.

“That's good,” said the king, who was listening to all these courtesies at the door. “Just tell him, de Treville, since he considers himself your friend, that I would also like to be his friend, but that he neglects me, that three years have already passed since I did not see him and see him only when I send for him. Tell him all this from me, because the king cannot say it himself.

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said the duke, “but believe me, your majesty, that it is not those who are most devoted to you, whom you see more often; I'm not talking about Mr. de Treville.

“Ah, duke, you heard what I said, so much the better,” said the king, going to the door. BUT! it is you Treville, where are your musketeers; I told you on the third day to bring them to me, why didn't you do it?

“They are downstairs, sir, and with your permission, Shenet will call them here.

“Yes, yes, let them come at once; it's almost eight o'clock, and at nine I'm expecting a visitor. Farewell, Duke, and most importantly, come. Come in, de Treville.

The Duke bowed and left. When he opened the door, the three Musketeers and d'Artagnan were going up the stairs.

“Come, my brave men,” said the king, I need to scold you.

The Musketeers approached and bowed; d'Artagnan followed them.

- How is it, continued the king, you four in two days destroyed the seven guards of the cardinal. This is too much, gentlemen. If this goes on, then the cardinal will be forced to renew his company every three weeks, and I will have to act to the fullest extent of the decrees. I do not say if by chance one, but seven in two days; I repeat to you, this is too much.

“Therefore, my lord, they are sad and repentant and have come to ask Your Majesty for forgiveness.

- Sad and remorseful! Hm! said the king, “I don’t really trust a hypocritical appearance, in particular there is one Gascon here. Come here.

D'Artagnan, realizing that this courtesy applied to him, approached in desperation.

Are you saying it's a young man? this is a child de Treville, just a child! And it was he who dealt such a cruel blow to Jussac?

“And two fine shots from Bernageu.

- Indeed?

“Besides, said Athos, if he had not freed me from Bikar, I probably would not have had the honor to appear today to your majesty.

“But this Béarnets is a real demon, de Treville!” he said. In his craft, camisoles are constantly torn and swords are broken. And the Gascons are always poor, aren't they?

“Sir, I must say that gold mines have not yet been found in their mountains, although nature should have done it for them, as a reward for the zeal with which they supported the claims of the king, your father.

- T.-e. you want to say that the Gascons made me king, don't you Treville? because I am my father's son. Yes I agree. La Chesnay, see if there are forty pistoles in my pockets; if you find them, bring them to me. In the meantime, young man, tell me everything as it was in good conscience.

D'Artagnan told in every detail everything that had happened the day before: how he could not sleep for joy that he would see his majesty and therefore came to his friends three hours before the audience; how they went together to the gambling house, how Bernajoux ridiculed him for being afraid that the ball would not hit him in the face, and how at last Bernajou almost paid for this mockery with his life, and la Tremoul with his house, although in nothing it wasn't his fault.

"That's good," said the king, and the duke told me the same thing. Poor cardinal! seven people in two days and from the most beloved; but that's enough, gentlemen, do you hear! enough, you have avenged Rue Ferou and too much, you should be content.

“If your majesty is pleased,” said de Treville, then so are we.

“Yes, I am pleased,” said the king, and taking a handful of gold from Chenet's hands, he put it in d'Artagnan's hand. Here is proof that I am satisfied, he said.

Then the pride of the present time was not yet in vogue. The nobleman took money from the hands of the king, not at all offended by this. So d'Artagnan put forty pistoles into his pocket without ceremony and thanked his majesty.

“Now it’s half past nine,” said the king, looking at his watch, go, I told you that I expect a visitor at nine o’clock. Thank you for your dedication. I can count on you, gentlemen, can't I?

“Fine, fine, but stay safe, that’s better, and you’ll be more useful to me.” De Treville, added the king in an undertone, while they were leaving, as there is no vacancy in your musketeer regiment, and since we decided that you must first be an apprentice in order to enter this regiment, then place this young man and Desessard's company of guards , your son-in-law. Oh! de Treville, I imagine what a grimace the cardinal will make: he will be furious, but I don't care, I'm right.

And the king made a sign with his hand to de Treville, who went out and overtook the musketeers, who shared forty pistoles with d'Artagnan.

And the cardinal, as his majesty said, was really furious, so furious that he did not appear for eight days to play with the king, which, however, did not prevent the king from asking him at a meeting with the most kind mien and gentle voice:

“Well, Cardinal, how are your poor Bernage and Jussac?”

VII. Musketeers home life

On leaving the Louvre, d'Artagnan consulted with his friends how he should use his share of forty pistoles; Athos advised him to order a good meal at Pommes-des-Pins, Porthos to hire a servant, and Aramis to find a decent mistress.

Dinner was ordered the same day and a servant served at the table. Dinner was ordered by Athos, the servant was found by Porthos. It was the Picardy whom the illustrious Musketeer had found for the occasion that same day, on the Pont de la Tournelle, while he was spitting into the water and admiring the circles that had been made therefrom. Porthos claimed that this occupation was evidence of a judicious and observant mind and took it without any other recommendation. The majestic appearance of Porthos seduced Planchet, that was the name of the Picardy who thought he was hired for this gentleman; he was a little disappointed when he learned that this place was already occupied by his brother, named Musketon, and when Porthos announced to him that his household, although large, did not allow him to have two servants, and that he would have to serve d'Artagnan. However, when he served at the dinner given by his master, and saw how he took out a handful of gold for retribution, he already believed that he would be happy, and thanked heaven for having come to such Croesus; he remained of this opinion until the end of the feast, the remnants of which he rewarded himself for his long abstinence. But Planchet's dreams were shattered in the evening, when he was making his master's bed. The apartment consisted only of a front room and a bedroom, which had one bed. Planchet lay down in the antechamber on a blanket taken from the bed of d'Artagnan, who had since gone without a blanket. Athos also had a servant named Grimaud, whom he trained to serve himself in a very special way. This worthy gentleman was very silent. Of course, we are talking about Athos. During five or six years of the most sincere friendship with him, Porthos and Aramis often saw him smile, but never heard him laugh out loud. His words were short and expressive, without any embellishment. His conversation contained only business, bei any episodes.

End of introductory segment.

In April 1625, an eighteen-year-old boy named d'Artagnan from the work of Alexandre Dumas "The Three Musketeers" arrived in the town of Meng on a red tailless gelding. Everyone laughed at him because of his appearance and behavior. But this young man, like a true noble, did not pay attention to the ridicule of the commoners. And when a rich man in black insulted him, the guy rushed at him with a sword. But the townspeople with clubs run up to the gentleman in black and help him. When d'Artagnan woke up, next to him he did not find either a gentleman in black, or a letter with recommendations from his father to his fighting friend de Treville, who was the captain of the king's musketeers. In this letter there was a request to take the guy to military service.

The Royal Musketeers are the elite of the guard, they are brave and courageous. Therefore, they are forgiven for all oversights. While d'Artagnan is waiting to meet de Treville, the captain scolds his favorite musketeers: Athos, Porthos and Aramis. De Treville arranged a scolding not for a fight between the musketeers and the guards of Cardinal Richelieu, but for the arrest of the whole trinity.

The captain received the boy kindly. And suddenly d'Artagnan saw that gentleman in black outside the window, he quarreled with him in Menge. The young man ran out into the street, hitting Athos, Porthos and Aramis in turn on the stairs, and they challenged him to a duel. And the gentleman in black is gone. The duel between d'Artagnan and the Musketeers did not take place, but all four had a fight with Richelieu's guards. Three friends decided that the Gascon was showing courage and was excellent with weapons, so they became friends with him.

The Cardinal informed His Majesty of the insolence of the Musketeers. But Louis thirteenth was more interested in the person of d'Artagnan than in the behavior of the musketeers. Captain de Treville introduced d'Artagnan to the king, and he enrolled the guy in the guards.

D'Artagnan settled in the house of the haberdasher Bonacier. And since the courage of the young man was talked about all over Paris, Bonacieux asks for help, because his wife Constance was kidnapped. She served as a maid to Queen Anne of Austria, and the kidnapper was a gentleman in black. Moreover, the reason for the abduction was the proximity of Constance to the queen. The Duke of Buckingham, the queen's lover, has arrived in Paris, and Madame Bonacieux could bring the cardinal to him. Her Majesty is in danger: the king has fallen out of love with her, she is pursued by Richelieu. He was so inflamed with passion for her, loyal people disappear, and she was also a Spaniard who fell in love with an Englishman (England and Spain were the main political enemies of France). Then Bonacieux himself was kidnapped, and in the haberdasher's house they ambushed Buckingham.

And at night, the Gascon heard rustling in the house and a woman's cry. It was Constance. The girl escaped from custody and was ambushed in her dwelling. D'Artagnan rescued her and hid her in the house of Athos.

The Gascon is watching Constance, and now he sees his beloved with a man in the clothes of a musketeer. It was Buckingham, whom the beauty is taking to the Louvre to meet Anne of Austria. Constance told the young man about the love of the duke and the queen. D'Artagnan promises to protect Her Majesty, Buckingham and Constance herself. This conversation became their declaration of love to each other.

The Duke left France with a gift from the Queen - pendants with twelve diamonds. The cardinal found out about this and advised His Majesty to arrange a ball, and that Anna of Austria put these pendants on him. Richelieu realized that this would disgrace the queen. And he also sends Milady Winter's agent to England to steal two pendants. Then the queen will not be able to justify herself. But D'Artagnan also went to England. Winter steals some of the pendants. But the Gascon returned to Paris before milady with ten real pendants and two pendants made by an English jeweler in just two days! Everything worked out well. Richelieu's plan failed. The queen was saved. D'Artagnan became a musketeer and was reciprocated by Madame Bonacieux. But the Cardinal has instructed Milady Winter to keep an eye on the Gascon.

This treacherous woman creates trouble for the Gascon and at the same time makes him burn with a strange passion for her. At the same time, she seduces the Comte de Ward, who, together with Winter, tried to prevent the young man from delivering the pendants to France. The young maidservant of Milady, whose name is Cathy, fell in love with the Gascon and informed him of the letters of her mistress to the count. D'Artagnan, under the guise of de Wardes, went on a date with Winter. She did not recognize him in the dark and gave him a diamond ring. The young man told his friends about all this. But Athos saw the ring and became gloomy, as he recognized in it the family jewel of his family. He gave this ring to his wife, not yet knowing about her criminal past (theft and murder) and the stigma on her shoulder. Soon the Gascon saw on the shoulder of Milady Winter the same brand-lily.

From that moment on, D'Artagnan became an enemy of Winter, because he learned her secret. He did not kill Lord Weather (brother of Milady's late husband and uncle of her little son) in a duel, but only left him unarmed and reconciled with him, although Milady wanted to take all the wealth of the Winter family for herself. Milady's plans failed with regard to D'Artagnan and de Wardes. The pride of this woman and the ambition of the cardinal suffered greatly. Richelieu offered the young man to go to the service of the guards, but he refused. The cardinal warned the Gascon that he was depriving him of his patronage, so his life would henceforth be in danger.

While on vacation, D'Artagnan and the three Musketeers arrived in the vicinity of the port city of Larochelle. They were the "gateway" to France for the British. Richelieu sought to thwart them, but he wanted victory in order to take revenge on the Duke of Buckingham. But the duke also needed this war for personal purposes. He wants to be in France a winner, not a messenger. English troops attack the fortress of Saint-Martin and Fort La Pre, while French troops attack Larochelle. And it's all because of Queen Anne.

Before the fight, D'Artagnan thinks about his life in Paris. He loves Constance and this is mutual, but he does not know where she is and whether she is alive. He serves in a musketeer regiment, but he has an enemy - a cardinal. Milady Winter hates him. And she, for sure, wants to take revenge on him. He is patronized by the Queen of France, but for this he can be persecuted. The only thing the young man has acquired is Milady's expensive ring, but this is bittersweet for Athos.

By chance, the three musketeers are in the retinue of Richelieu during his walk at night near Larochelle. He's come to meet Milady Winter. Athos overheard their conversation. The cardinal wants to send her to London to mediate during negotiations with the Duke of Beckinham. But these negotiations are not diplomatic, but ultimatums: the cardinal promises to publish documents that defame the name of Anne of Austria (not only because of her love relationship with the duke, but also as a conspirator against France) if Buckingham takes decisive military action. And if Buckingham does not agree, then my lady will have to persuade some fanatic to kill.

The Musketeers tell this to Buckingham and Lord Winter. Winter arrested her in London. And the protection was entrusted to a puritan, a young officer, Felton. Milady Winter appears to be his co-religionist, who was allegedly seduced by the duke, slandered and branded as a thief, and she suffers for her faith.

Felton helped Milady escape from custody. His familiar captain delivered the woman to Paris, and the officer himself killed Buckingham.

Milady is hiding in the convent of Bethune, and Maudame Bonacieux is also hiding there. Winter poisoned Constance and fled the convent. But the Musketeers caught her.

Milady Winter was judged in the woods at night. Because of her, Buckingham and Felton died, she killed Constance, tried to provoke the murder of de Vardes by d'Artagnan, her very first victim - a young priest who stole utensils from the church for her, committed suicide in hard labor, and his brother, the executioner from Lille, branded her, but Milady married the Comte de la Fère, deceiving him. Athos found out about the deception and hanged his wife from a tree. But the countess was saved, and she again began to do evil under the name of Lady Winter. She gave birth to a son, poisoned her husband and received a decent inheritance, but she also wanted to take possession of the share of the brother of the husband she had killed.

Having presented all these accusations to Milady, the Musketeers and Lord Winter give her to the executioner from Lille. Athos pays them with gold in his purse. But he threw him into the river, because he wanted to avenge his brother. Three days later the Musketeers arrived in Paris, and came to de Treville. He asked if the friends had a good time on vacation, and Athos answered for everyone: “Incomparably!”.

Great

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from neonila54 27.01.2020 20:50

Grade 1 out of 5 stars from levchenko-kylik 21.11.2018 23:01

I dare to assure you that there is no less tragedy than romance, and the latter is exactly as much as required.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Name off 27.11.2017 18:38

A book for all seasons, but less romance would be better

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Anonymous 02.11.2017 13:23

A book for real horsemen

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Man 04.10.2017 23:38

I didn’t understand some of the names of the word, but it’s okay

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from Arina 24.08.2017 08:57

Very interesting and captivating story!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Reader 16.08.2017 12:15

An absolute masterpiece! Adventure, intrigue and sparkling humor. Classics of the genre

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Nata Gradiva 07.08.2017 22:08

The BEST book I have ever read!
The movie is a masterpiece! And the book is a masterpiece!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 06.02.2017 15:33

And the eloquence of Athos!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 06.02.2017 15:31

I read a wonderful book 2 times a year ... And I start 3 times!, Most of all I was struck by the nobility of Athos and the dexterity of Dartagnan.

March_car 06.02.2017 15:28

I can assure you that the book is not only for teenagers, if you like, it is much more universal than one might imagine.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 06.08.2016 12:16

A wonderful book, just for adolescence, children need to talk about friendship, loyalty, honor, love, and that in life there is a place for betrayal, deceit, intrigue and so on.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Natalia 20.07.2016 20:40

It would be interesting to find out from comrade hamster "what kind of books would not be adjusted by the author (any) to suit the development of the plot convenient for him (the author) ??! Incorrect criticism of the work (s) of master Dumas. This is firstly ... Secondly , it is not felt that the author had a competent opinion about what the nature of time actually is, and therefore the characterization of Mr. hamster "and the plot of the book as" not burdened by the nature of time in the least" looks at least amateurish .. 👎 And in In conclusion, I would like to add that the concept of the Middle Ages does not include only knights in horned helmets ☝, but includes the history of Europe up to a) the emergence of a new type of industrial economic activity - capitalist relations (the Great English Bourgeois Revolution) and b) the formation of qualitatively new state relations, (creating diplomacy in the modern sense of the word, etc.), pushing the old (Catholic) world into the background (according to the results of the Thirty Years' War) ... What in total awn indicates the end of the Middle Ages around c. 1650 (narration time 1625-28). So then, guy.👏

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 17.05.2016 19:11

"once again I consider it necessary to remind" - in my (once again - personal opinion) Dumas' books do not create any "psychological and social atmosphere". They are superficial and adjusted to the development of an adventure plot convenient for the author, not burdened by the "character of that time" in the least. I also remind you that the times of the 3 Musketeers have nothing to do with the Middle Ages (so, just in case). And as an adventure novel - yes, it reads excellently - dynamics, eventfulness, everything is fully present.
Thanks for the discussion, in no way do I pretend to be the "ultimate truth", I just express my personal opinion. But this comment will be the last one - it’s already getting too much.

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from hamster 17.05.2016 16:49

I consider it necessary to remind once again that a work of art, even on a historical theme, does not necessarily have to tell this very story, the advantage of such works is the transfer of the nature of the time in question, not to mention the merits of the plot itself. This is a story presented for the sake of the plot, but conveying the real world of a medieval person, his relationships, etc., which no one has done in a similar topic yet. It is better to distort the real circumstances, but create rich characters through which to recreate the real psychosocial situation of that time, not afraid to seem boring, rather than trying to follow the letter of the story and create a schematic plot that is not filled with its own atmosphere. In a work of art, the main role is played by the sharpness and fullness of the plot, its complexity, dynamics (to be honest, in such indicators, the novel surpasses Crime and Punishment, Don Quixote, Gargantua and Pantagruel, and many others), psychological the alignment of the characters (unprecedented in the genre), the system of dialogues (by this indicator * The Musketeers * surpass many works of the so-called serious nature - Hugo, Dickens, Turgenev and many others), and not historical accuracy (often controversial and ambiguous). As you can see, it is too bold to call such a work light, and even more so to equate it with tabloid literature, even such giants as Scott, Boussenard, Mine Reed. It is not strange that the author is reproached for exactly what he should have been praised for - for creating an original interpretation of historical events filled with him their own atmosphere, living their own world, and where you will not find a single inconsistency, not a single contradiction in the plot created by the author.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 17.05.2016 15:19

Thanks for the substantiation - another point of view was always interesting. Although I still continue to consider Dumas a light "pulp" that has nothing to do with history, except for mentioning names and "pulling the ears" of some events. Dumas' novels have practically nothing to do with historical reality, the logic of the development of historical events is "turned inside out" in a way that is convenient for the plot, with complete disregard for the fact that the causes or consequences (in different ways) of certain events (not only in 3 musketeers, but also in other novels) actually (if you read historical sources, and not Dumas) occurred or developed with "exactly the opposite".
Again, this is a personal point of view. I fully admit that others really see something more real in Dumas' novels - why not.

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from hamster 17.05.2016 09:58

And yes, I consider the explanation made to the book by Mr. name off dated March 28 of this year to be fair, that's what it means to read carefully, and does not refer to this work of art as a reading of an uncomplicated nature. My low bow.🍻

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 16.05.2016 19:42

And no one claims that the work of Mr. Dumas is historical annals, this is a serious psychological work artistically designed on this historical topic. And it is serious because it combines the complex layout of the material (poly-plot lines, plot within the plot) with a fundamental study of the psychological portraits of the characters to the smallest detail, including secondary characters, which is not just a descriptive element of the characters (when the author simply puts the reader in front of a fact, giving certain abilities to their heroes by default), and on a specific plot material, confirming certain qualities of heroes (so to speak in action), including both well-thought-out dialogues and action. The author very accurately conveyed the atmosphere of the 17th century, the psychology of the heroes of this particular time, reflected in the manner of behavior, dialogues, etiquette, while the work remains purely adventure with a rapidly developing plot, unprecedented in 1844, and even in our time, given the number of events events for a fraction of the time. In addition, one should not forget that the book "The Three Musketeers" reflects the struggle of the old feudal immunity for the right to control one's own destiny of the individual with emerging new state relations (bureaucracy, the goal justifies the average, etc.), relations where the voice of an honest person (according to de Treville) ALREADY does not mean anything, his place was taken by a piece of paper signed by a high-ranking official, thus. the book reflects the struggle of the individual with state absolutism (that is, the system), which in turn echoed the time of the author, the time the book was written, the time when the Great French revolution when for French society, the revolutionary ideals of individual freedom and the fight against absolutism were topical.☝📖

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 16.05.2016 19:19

Well, Dumas's books cannot be called serious historical narratives, they can be considered as light entertaining "reading" because they sin with inaccuracies, and in fact they are adventure novels with a slight touch of "historicity". If the opinion is "no, this is serious" - the arguments "to the studio."

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from hamster 16.05.2016 13:27

Light entertaining reading can be modern bestsellers, or books like Boussenard, Mine Reed, etc. , but not the Three Musketeers.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from Guest 16.05.2016 13:08

A light entertaining read. I read it as a child, even re-read it.

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from martyn.anna 15.05.2016 20:17

The best film adaptation, in my opinion, is the original of 1921, unlike the others, this film more or less conveys the atmosphere of the 17th century, the duelists, for example, fight with swords without trying to kick each other, a thing unworthy for a nobleman of medieval France, well and of course the acting.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from name off 28.03.2016 17:06

In the chapter "The Mousetrap in the 17th century" in the 11th paragraph, the following is written "In the evening, the next day after the arrest of the unfortunate Bonacieux ...", although it would be more correct "In the evening, on the same day, after the arrest of the unfortunate Bonacieux ...", because in the first case, confusion is obtained in the further plot, for example. it is impossible to explain how the confrontation between Athos and the notorious Bonacieux took place in the Bastille the morning after the arrest of the grocer; Athos should not be arrested until the evening of the day on which the confrontation took place. And vice versa, everything converges if we assume the second case. In addition, this adjustment explains the sequence of actions after Madame Bonacieux's escape from Rochefort's arrest (about 5 pm), arrival home and second arrest (about 9 pm), followed by the intervention of D'Artagnan and the arrest of Athos within one day (more precisely one evening), while the expression "In the evening, the next day ...) does not explain where Mrs. Bonacieux was after the first arrest for such a long time, i.e. from the evening of the previous day (5 a.m.) to the evening of the next day (about 9 a.m.).
Such a gross mistake was made either by the author or, most likely, by the translators. became a textbook.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from name off 28.03.2016 16:49

The book in Russian translation has a number of errors in ь. h rough!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from name off 28.03.2016 16:07

The book in Russian translation has a number of errors, incl. rude!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from name off 28.03.2016 16:05

One of my favorite books! This book is a masterpiece!

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from kroleatina-999 28.02.2016 21:13

Boring...

Grade 3 out of 5 stars from rafaafar 31.01.2016 17:34

This book and movie are also age-appropriate.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from trikotagservis 25.01.2016 11:02

Well, I don’t know ..... but in general, how long can you read this book ....

Grade 4 out of 5 stars from lady gaga 23.01.2016 17:31

I love Musketeers.

Grade 5 out of 5 stars from modus_2005 06.01.2016 02:16

Part one

I. Three gifts of d'Artagnan the father

On the first Monday of April, 1625, Myeong was in such turmoil as Rochelle was under siege by the Huguenots. Many citizens, at the sight of women running towards the Grand Street, and children shouting at the thresholds of the doors, hurried to put on armor and, armed with guns and reeds, headed for the Franck-Meunier hotel, in front of which a noisy and curious crowd, growing every minute, crowded.

In those days, such panic attacks were frequent, and a rare day passed without one or another city not entering into its archive some incident of this kind: the nobles fought among themselves, the king waged war with the cardinal, the Spaniards waged war with the king . In addition to these wars, carried out secretly or openly, thieves, beggars, Huguenots, wolves and lackeys waged war on everyone. Citizens always armed themselves against thieves, wolves, lackeys, often against nobles and Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the Spaniards.

In this state of affairs, it is natural that on the aforementioned Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, hearing a noise and not seeing either the red or yellow banner or the livery of the Duke of Richelieu, rushed in the direction where the Franck-Meunier hotel was located.

Arriving there, everyone could find out the reason for this excitement.

A quarter of an hour before, through the outpost of Beaugency, a young man rode into Myong on a buckskin horse. Let's describe the appearance of his horse. Imagine Don Quixote, 18 years old, unarmed, without chain mail and without armor, in a woolen camisole, whose blue color has taken on an indefinite shade of greenish with blue. The face is long and swarthy, with prominent cheekbones, a sign of deceit; the jaw muscles, extremely developed, are an undoubted sign of a Gascon even without a beret, and our young man wore a beret adorned with a feather; eyes are large and intelligent; the nose is crooked, but thin and beautiful; growth is too big for a young man and too small for an adult; the unaccustomed eye would have mistaken him for a traveling son of a Farmer, if not for a long sword, hung on a leather sling, which struck its owner on the calves when he walked, and on the bristly hair of his horse when he rode.

This young man's horse was so remarkable that it attracted everyone's attention: it was a Béarn horse, 12 or 14 years old, yellow wool, without a tail and with gray legs; on the move, she lowered her head below her knees, which is why the use of an abdominal belt turned out to be useless; but she still did eight miles a day.

Unfortunately, the strange color of her coat and her ugly gait so concealed her good qualities that in those days when everyone was experts in horses, her appearance in Myong made an unpleasant impression, which was reflected in the rider.

This impression was all the more painful for d'Artagnan (that was the name of the new Don Quixote) because he himself understood this, although he was a good rider; but such a horse made him laughable, about which he sighed deeply as he accepted this gift from his father. He knew that such an animal was worth at least 20 livres; moreover, the words that accompanied the gift were invaluable: “My son,” said the Gascon nobleman, in that pure, common Béarn dialect, from which Henry IV could never wean, “my son, this horse was born in your father’s house, thirteen years ago and has been in it all this time—that alone should make you love her. Never sell her, let her die in peace in her old age; and if you will be with her on a campaign, then take care of her like an old servant. At court, Father d'Artagnan continued, if you ever deserve to be there - an honor to which, however, your ancient nobility entitles you - maintain with dignity your noble name, as it was supported by our ancestors in continued for over five hundred years. Don't take anything from anyone but the cardinal and the king. Remember that at the present time a nobleman makes his way only by courage. A cowardly person often loses the chance that represents happiness to him. You are young and you must be brave for two reasons: firstly, because you are a Gascon, and secondly, because you are my son. Do not be afraid of dangers and look for adventures. I taught you how to use a sword; your leg is strong as iron, your hand is like steel, fight at every opportunity; fight all the more, because duels are forbidden, which means that you need twice the courage to fight. I can give you, my son, only 15 crowns, my horse and the advice that you have listened to. Mother will add to this the recipe for a balm she received from a gypsy woman, which contains a wonderful property to heal any wound except those of the heart. Take advantage of everything and live happily ever after. It remains for me to add one more thing: to present to you as an example not me - because I have never been at the Court and participated only in the war for religion as a volunteer - but de Treville, who was once my neighbor: he, as a child, had the honor play with King Louis XIII, God bless him! Sometimes their games took the form of battles, and in these battles the king did not always prevail. The defeats that he suffered awakened in him respect and friendship for de Treville. Subsequently, de Treville fought with others during his first journey to Paris five times, from the death of the deceased king to the age of the young king, not counting wars and sieges, seven times, and from that age until now, perhaps a hundred times, despite decrees, orders and arrests, he, the captain of the musketeers, that is, the head of the legion of Caesars, whom the king cherishes very much and whom the cardinal fears, and as you know, there are not many things that he is afraid of. In addition, de Treville receives ten thousand crowns a year; therefore lives like a nobleman. He started just like you; come to him with this letter and imitate him in everything in order to achieve what he has achieved.

Whereupon d'Artagnan the father put his own sword on his son, kissed him tenderly on both cheeks, and gave him his blessing.

Leaving his father's room, the young man went to his mother, who was waiting for him with a famous recipe, which, judging by the advice received from his father, was to be used quite often. Here the farewells were longer and more tender than with his father, not because d'Artagnan did not love his son, his only descendant, but d'Artagnan was a man and considered it unworthy of a man to indulge in the movement of the heart, while Madame d'Artagnan was a woman and besides mother.

She wept profusely, and let us say, in praise of d'Artagnan's son, that with all his efforts to remain firm, as a future musketeer should have done, nature prevailed - he could not refrain from tears.

On the same day the young man set off, armed with three gifts from his father, which, as we have already said, consisted of fifteen crowns, a horse, and a letter to de Treville; Of course, the advice was not given at the expense.

With such parting words, d'Artagnan became a morally and physically correct photograph of the hero Cervantes, with whom we so successfully compared him when, as a historian, we had to draw his portrait. Don Quixote mistook windmills for giants, and rams for armies; d'Artagnan took every smile for an insult and every glance for a challenge. From this it happened that his fists were constantly clenched from Tarbes to Möng, and that in both places he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword ten times a day; however, neither the fist nor the sword was ever used in action. Not because the sight of the unfortunate yellow horse did not arouse smiles on the faces of those passing by; but as a long sword jingled over a horse, and above this sword a pair of fierce eyes flashed, those passing by restrained their gaiety, or, if gaiety took precedence over prudence, they tried to laugh at least with only one side of the face, like ancient masks. So d'Artagnan remained majestic, and his irritability was not hurt until the unfortunate city of Myung.

But there, when he was dismounting at the gates of Franck-Meunier, and no one came out to receive his horse, d'Artagnan noticed at the half-open window of the ground floor a nobleman, large in stature and arrogant in appearance, although with a slightly frowning face, talking to two persons, who seemed to listen to him with respect. D'Artagnan, out of habit, assumed that he was the subject of the conversation, and began to listen. This time he was only half wrong: it was not about him, but about his horse. It seemed that the nobleman figured out to his listeners all her qualities and, like a storyteller, inspired respect in his listeners; they laughed every minute. But a half-smile was enough to arouse the irritability of the young man; It is clear what impression this noisy gaiety made on him.

D'Artagnan, with a proud look, began to examine the appearance of the insolent mocker. He was a man of 40 or 45, with black, piercing eyes, pale, with a sharply outlined nose and a beautifully trimmed black mustache; he was wearing a doublet and violet trousers, which, although new, seemed wrinkled, as if they had been in a suitcase for a long time.

D'Artagnan made all these remarks with the speed of the sharpest observer, and probably with an instinctive foreboding that this stranger would have a great influence on his future.

But just as at the very time when d'Artagnan was examining the nobleman in the purple doublet, this latter made one of the most learned and thoughtful remarks about the dignity of his Béarn horse, both his listeners burst into laughter, and even he himself, contrary to his wont, smiled a little. . At the same time, d'Artagnan no longer doubted that he had been offended. Convinced of being offended, he pulled his beret over his eyes and, imitating the courtly manners that he had noticed in Gascony with traveling nobles, approached, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other on his thigh. Unfortunately, as he approached, his anger blinded him more and more, and instead of the dignified and haughty speech he had prepared for the challenge, he spoke only a rough personality, accompanying it with a frantic movement.

- Hey, why are you hiding behind the shutter, he exclaimed. "Tell me what you're laughing at, and we'll laugh together."

The nobleman slowly turned his eyes from the horse to the rider, as if he did not immediately understand that these strange reproaches referred to him; when there was no doubt about it, his eyebrows frowned slightly, and, after a rather long silence, he answered d'Artagnan with indescribable irony and insolence.

“I am not talking to you, sir.

“But I am talking to you,” exclaimed the young man, irritated to the extreme by this mixture of insolence and good manners, decency and contempt.

The stranger glanced at him once more with a slight smile, moved away from the window, walked slowly out of the inn, and stood two paces from d'Artagnan, opposite his horse.

His calm posture and mocking look doubled the gaiety of his interlocutors who remained at the window. D'Artagnan, seeing him beside him, drew his sword a foot from its scabbard.

- This horse is brown, or, rather, it was so in its youth, continued the stranger, turning to his listeners who were at the window, and apparently not noticing d'Artagnan's irritation, - this color is known in botany, but before still rarely seen between horses.

“He who does not dare to laugh at a rider laughs at a horse,” said de Treville's imitator furiously.

“I don’t laugh often,” objected the stranger, “you can judge by the expression on my face; but I wish to keep to myself the right to laugh whenever I please.

“But I,” said d’Artagnan, “don’t want to be laughed at when I don’t like it.”

- Indeed? continued the stranger very calmly. - That's completely fair. And turning on his heels, he intended to return to the inn, through the great gate, at which d'Artagnan had seen a saddled horse.

But d'Artagnan's character was not such that he could let go of a man who had insolently ridiculed him. He completely unsheathed his sword and set off after him, shouting:

“Come back, come back, mister mocker, otherwise I will kill you from behind.”

- Kill me! said the stranger, turning on his heels and looking at the young man with astonishment and contempt. "What's the matter with you, my dear, you're out of your mind!"

He had hardly finished speaking when d'Artagnan sent such a blow at him with the point of his sword that his joke would probably have been the last if he had not had time to jump back quickly. The stranger, seeing then that things were in earnest, drew his sword, bowed to his adversary, and pompously took a defensive position. But at the same time, two of his servants, accompanied by the innkeeper, attacked d'Artagnan with sticks, spades and tongs. This produced a swift and complete revolution in the struggle.

While d'Artagnan turned back to parry the hail of blows, his adversary calmly put in his sword and, with his usual dispassion, turned from a protagonist into a spectator, grumbling to himself.

“Damn the Gascons! Put him on his orange horse and let him get away!

“But first I will kill you, coward!” shouted d'Artagnan, deflecting as much as he could the blows that fell upon him, and not retreating a single step from his three enemies.

- Still bragging! muttered the nobleman. “These Gascons are incorrigible. Continue, if he absolutely wants to. When he gets tired, he will say - that's enough.

But the stranger did not know what kind of stubborn man he was dealing with: d'Artagnan was not the kind of person to beg for mercy. The fight went on for a few more seconds; at last d'Artagnan, exhausted, let go of his sword, which had been broken in two by the stroke of the stick. At the same time, another blow to the forehead knocked him down, bloody and almost unconscious.

At that very moment, people from all sides flocked to the place of the spectacle. The owner, fearing trouble, carried the wounded man, with the help of his attendants, to the kitchen, where help was given to him.

As for the gentleman, he returned to his former place at the window and looked impatiently at the crowd, whose presence seemed to displease him.

- Well, what is the health of this madman? he said, turning around at the sound of the door opening, and addressing the host, who had come to inquire about his health.

“Your Excellency are not injured?” asked the owner.

“No, quite unharmed, kind host. I ask you, what is the condition of the young man?

“He is better,” answered the owner, “he is in a swoon.

- Indeed? said the nobleman.

- But before fainting, he, having gathered the last of his strength, called you and challenged you to battle.

“This entertainer must be the devil himself,” said the stranger.

“Oh no, your excellency, he doesn’t look like a devil,” said the host with a contemptuous grimace: “during a faint, we searched him; he has only one shirt in the bundle, and only 12 ecu in the purse, and despite the fact that he fainted, he said that if this happened in Paris, you would have to repent immediately, while you repent here, but only later.

“In that case, it must be some blood prince in disguise,” the stranger said coolly.

“I tell you this, sir, so that you will be careful,” said the owner.

“He did not call anyone by name in his anger?”

“Oh, yes, he hit his pocket and said: we’ll see what my offended patron de Treville has to say about this.”

- De Treville? said the stranger, becoming more attentive. “Did he hit his pocket talking about de Treville?” Listen, master, while this young man was in a swoon, you must have examined his pocket as well. What was in it?

“A letter addressed to de Treville, captain of the Musketeers.

- Indeed?

“Exactly so, Your Excellency.

The host, who was not gifted with great insight, did not notice what expression his words gave to the face of the stranger, who moved away from the window and frowned with concern.

“Damn it,” he muttered through his teeth, “did Treville send me this Gascon?” He is very young. But a blow from a sword, from whomever it may be, is still a blow, and a child is less feared than anyone else; sometimes the slightest obstacle is enough to prevent an important undertaking.

And the stranger went deep into thought for a few minutes.

“Listen, master, save me from this madman: in conscience, I cannot kill him, but meanwhile,” he added with an expression of cold menace, “he interferes with me.” Where is he?

In my wife's room, on the first floor, he is being bandaged.

- His clothes and a bag with him? Did he take off his camisole?

“On the contrary, all these things are in the kitchen. But since this madman is bothering you...

- Without a doubt. He makes a scandal in your hotel, and this cannot please decent people. Go upstairs, settle my account and warn my man.

- How! sir is leaving already?

- Of course, when I already ordered to saddle my horse. Was my command not carried out?

“Oh, yes, Your Excellency, perhaps you have seen your horse at the big gate prepared for departure.

- Okay, so do what I told you.

- "Hm ... the owner thought, is he really afraid of this boy."

But the imperious look of the stranger stopped him. He bowed low and left.

- It is not necessary for this amusing person to see my lady, the stranger continued: - she should arrive soon, and then she was already late. It's better to go to meet her. If only I could know the contents of this letter to de Treville!

And the stranger, muttering to himself, went to the kitchen. Meanwhile, the host, not doubting that the presence of the young man prevented the stranger from staying in the hotel, returned to his wife's room and found d'Artagnan already recovered.

Trying to convince him that he could get him into trouble for a quarrel with a nobleman - in the opinion of the owner, the stranger was certainly a nobleman - he persuaded him, despite his weakness, to get up and continue on his way. D'Artagnan, who had hardly regained his senses, without his camisole, with his head bandaged, got up and, urged by his master, began to descend. But when he entered the kitchen, the first thing he saw was his adversary, calmly talking at the foot of a heavy carriage drawn by two large Norman horses.

His companion, whose head was visible through the frame of the carriage doors, was a woman of about twenty or twenty-two.

We have already spoken about d'Artagnan's ability to quickly grasp the appearance: he noticed at a glance that the woman was young and beautiful. Her beauty struck him all the more as it was a beauty of a kind unknown in the southern countries where d'Artagnan had hitherto lived. This woman was pale blonde, with long curly hair falling to her shoulders, with large blue, languid eyes, pink lips, and hands as white as marble. She had a very lively conversation with a stranger.

- Therefore, the cardinal orders me ... said the lady.

“Return immediately to England and warn him if the duke leaves London.

- What are the other assignments? asked the beautiful traveler.

“They are contained in this box, which you will not open until on the other side of the English Channel.

- Very well. And what will you do?

- I'm going back to Paris.

“And leave this impudent boy unpunished?” asked the lady.

The stranger was about to answer, but the moment he opened his mouth, d'Artagnan, who had overheard their conversation, appeared at the door.

“That insolent boy punishes others,” he cried, “and this time I hope that the one he should punish will not escape him.”

- Won't slip away? objected the stranger, furrowing his brows.

“No, I don't think you dare run in the presence of a woman.

- Think, said my lady, seeing that the nobleman put his hand on the sword, - think that the slightest delay can ruin everything.

- You are right, said the nobleman: - go, and I'm going.

And bowing to the lady, he jumped on his horse; while the driver of the carriage whipped the horses with all his might. Both interlocutors went at a gallop, in opposite directions.

- And money? shouted the owner, whose respect for the traveler turned into deep contempt when he saw that he was leaving without paying.

- Pay, the traveler shouted at a gallop to his lackey, who, throwing two or three silver coins at the feet of the owner, rode after the master.

- Coward! scoundrel! false gentleman! shouted d'Artagnan, rushing after the footman.

But the wounded man was still too weak to bear such a shock. He had scarcely taken ten steps when he felt a ringing in his ears; his eyes darkened, and he fell in the middle of the street, still shouting:

- Coward! coward! coward!

“He really is a coward,” muttered the host, going up to d’Artagnan and trying by this flattery to make peace with the poor boy.

“Yes, a big coward,” said d’Artagnan. “But she is so beautiful!

- Who is she? asked the owner.

“Milady,” whispered d’Artagnan, and for the second time fainted.

- All the same, said the owner: - I lose two, but I still have this one, which I will probably be able to delay, at least for a few days. Still, I will win eleven crowns.

We already know that the amount that was in d'Artagnan's purse consisted of exactly eleven ecu.

The owner counted on eleven days of illness, one crown a day; but he calculated, not knowing his traveller. The next day, d'Artagnan got up at five o'clock in the morning, went down to the kitchen himself, asked, besides some other drugs, the list of which has not reached us; wine, oil, rosemary, and according to his mother's prescription he made a balm, smeared his numerous wounds with it, renewed the bandages himself and did not want any doctor.

Thanks, no doubt, to the strength of the gypsy balm, and perhaps to the doctor's exclusion, d'Artagnan was on his feet in the evening, and the next day was almost well.

But when he wanted to pay for rosemary, oil and wine - his only expense, because he kept the most strict diet - and for the food of his yellow horse, which, on the contrary, according to the innkeeper, ate three times more than could be expected from her height, d'Artagnan found in his pocket only a crumpled velvet purse with 11 ecu in it, but the letter to de Treville disappeared.

The young man very patiently began to look for letters, turning his pockets inside out twenty times, rummaging through his bag and purse; when he was convinced that there was no letter, he fell into a fit of rage for the third time, which almost forced him to resort again to the use of aromatic oil and wine, because when he began to get excited and threatened to break everything in the institution if they did not find him letters, the owner armed himself with a hunting knife, his wife with a broom, and the servants with the same sticks that served the day before.

Unfortunately, one circumstance prevented the fulfillment of the young man's threats, precisely the fact that his sword was broken in two during the first fight, which he completely forgot. Therefore, when d'Artagnan wanted to draw his sword, it turned out that he was armed with one fragment of it, eight or ten inches long, which was carefully sheathed by the owner of the inn. The rest of the blade he skillfully folded to make a larding needle out of it.

This would probably not have deterred the impetuous young man, had the host not judged that the traveler's demand was perfectly just.

“Really,” he said, lowering the knife, “where is that letter?”

Yes, where is the letter? Shouted d'Artagnan. “I warn you that this is a letter to de Treville, it must be found; if it is not found, he will force it to be found.

This threat finally frightened the owner. After the king and the cardinal, the name of de Treville was the most repeated by the military and even by citizens. True, there was also a friend of the cardinal, Father Joseph, but the horror inspired by the gray-haired monk, as they called him, was so great that they never spoke of him aloud. Therefore, throwing down the knife, the owner ordered to put the weapon to his wife and with fright, and began to look for the lost letter.

Was there anything precious in this letter? asked the owner after a fruitless search.

- Of course, said the Gascon, who hoped to pave his way to the court with this letter: - my happiness consisted in it.

– Spanish funds? the owner asked anxiously.

“The funds of His Majesty’s own treasury,” replied d’Artagnan.

- Hell! said the master in despair.

“But all the same,” continued d’Artagnan with national self-confidence: “money means nothing, this letter was everything to me. I would rather lose a thousand pistoles than this letter.

He would have risked no more if he had said twenty thousand; but some youthful modesty held him back.

A ray of light suddenly lit up the mind of the owner, who sent himself to hell, not finding anything.

“The letter is not lost,” he said.

- BUT! said d'Artagnan.

No, they took it from you.

They took him, but who?

- Yesterday's nobleman. He went to the kitchen, where your jacket lay, and was there alone. I bet he stole the letter.

- You think so? answered d'Artagnan, not quite believing it; he knew that the letter was important only to him personally, and could not find a reason that could induce him to steal it, none of the servants and travelers present would gain anything by acquiring it.

"So you say," said d'Artagnan, "that you suspect this insolent gentleman?"

- I'm sure of it, continued the owner: - when I told him that de Treville patronizes you, and that you even have a letter to this famous nobleman, it seemed to disturb him very much; he asked me where this letter was, and immediately went down to the kitchen, where your coat was.

“In that case, he is a thief,” answered d’Artagnan: “I will complain to de Treville, and de Treville to the king.” Then he solemnly took out three crowns from his pocket, gave them to the owner, who accompanied him with a hat in his hand to the gate, mounted his yellow horse, and, without any incidents, rode to the gates of St. Anthony in Paris, where he sold the horse for three crowns. This price was still quite considerable, judging by the way d'Artagnan rigged his horse on the last march. The horse-dealer, who bought it for the aforementioned nine livres, told the young man that it was only the original color of the horse that prompted him to give this exorbitant price.

So d'Artagnan entered Paris on foot, with a bundle under his arm, and walked until he found a room commensurate in price with his meager means. This room was in the attic, in Grave Diggers Street, not far from Luxembourg.

D'Artagnan immediately gave a deposit and settled in his new apartment; the rest of the day he used for trimming his camisole and pantaloons with a braid ripped off by his mother from the almost new camisole of d'Artagnan's father and given to him secretly. Then he went to the iron row to order a blade for a sword; from there he went to the Louvre, where he asked the first musketeer he met where de Treville's hotel was located and, learning that he was in the neighborhood of the room he rented, in the street of the Old Dovecote, considered this circumstance a good omen.

After all this, satisfied with his behavior in Myong, without reproaches of conscience in the past, trusting in the present and with hope for the future, he lay down and fell into a heroic sleep.

He slept with the quiet sleep of a provincial until nine o'clock, got up and went to the famous de Treville, the third person in the kingdom, according to his father.

Based on the trilogy of the same name by Alexandre Dumas and adaptations

The Three Musketeers Trilogy - Dumas

Les Trois Mousquetaires, The Three Musketeers

Cycle of books; 1844-1847

The series includes books

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Today is Defender of the Fatherland Day and I will take out my wadded patriotic photo album from the dusty shelf.
This is how I looked in the fall of 1988, before being drafted into the orderly ranks of the Soviet Army

We, the conscripts, were invited to the military enlistment office and instructed how to come to the recruiting station. In particular, it is necessary to be short, but not bald-haired. Those who came bald as a billiard ball were threatened with a submarine fleet and three years of service. As a result, inspired by the instructions received, we, friends, got together and cut each other's hair, saving on the hairdresser's. And the funds released in this way were spent on beer.


Here's what happened and the end result. By the way, behind my back you can see the light switch I designed. It has a designer green backlight, by means of an indicator seamlessly drawn from the factory, and double switching on of one lamp - at full incandescence and at half power, by means of a D226 diode and a smoothing capacitor.

And this is already in the army, he served for more than a year. I am in the middle, left and right - army colleagues. One from Siberia, the other from Western Ukraine.

As you can see, I was no stranger to culture either - once I was dismissed, I even went to the Oktyabrsky KZ. I just don't remember what for. The picture was taken on a color slide film, at that time - fucking luxury.

The tendency to stay away from the authorities and closer to the place of cooking, or better - to lead this process, appeared in me back in those years. AT this case we are secretly using a blowtorch with a special nozzle to cook a chicken stolen in a neighboring part. A Ukrainian stole it, no one could have done it better than him - he had a great practice in the village of folding the heads of chickens. Recipe and cooking - was already behind me. As I remember now, it was something like chakhokhbili.

I also visited Borispol and Fergana during the years of service, but I don’t have any scanned photos on my computer.

To all men and women who wore and still wear epaulettes for the glory of our Motherland - Happy Defender of the Fatherland Day, cheers!

#it_was_so_long_that_it_is_not_a_sin_to_remember_ #congratulations_fanfix