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The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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Title: The Three Musketeers
Author: Alexandre Dumas, Pere
Posting Date: August 12, 2008 [EBook #1257] Release Date: March, 1998
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE MUSKETEERS ***
Produced by John P. Roberts III, Roger Labbe, Scott David Gray, Sue Asscher, Anita Martin
THE THREE MUSKETEERS
Alexandre Dumas
Contents
Author's Preface
 The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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1. THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER 2. THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE
TREVILLE 3. THE AUDIENCE 4. THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND
THE HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS 5. THE KING'S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL'S GUARDS
6. HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII 7. THE INTERIOR OF "THE MUSKETEERS" 8. CONCERNING A
COURT INTRIGUE 9. D'ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF 10. A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY 11. IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS 12. GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
13. MONSIEUR BONACIEUX 14. THE MAN OF MEUNG 15. MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE
SWORD 16. M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL, IN
ORDER TO RING IT, AS HE DID BEFORE 17. BONACIEUX AT HOME 18. LOVER AND HUSBAND
19. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN 20. THE JOURNEY 21. THE COUNTESS DE WINTER 22. THE BALLET OF
LA MERLAISON 23. THE RENDEZVOUS 24. THE PAVILION 25. PORTHOS 26. ARAMIS AND HIS
THESIS 27. THE WIFE OF ATHOS 28. THE RETURN 29. HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS 30.
D'ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN 31. ENGLISH AND FRENCH 32. A PROCURATOR'S
DINNER 33. SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS 34. IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND
PORTHOS IS TREATED OF 35. A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID 36. DREAM OF VENGEANCE 37.
MILADY'S SECRET 38. HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMODING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURED HIS
EQUIPMENT 39. A VISION 40. A TERRIBLE VISION 41. THE SEIGE OF LA ROCHELLE 42. THE
ANJOU WINE 43. THE SIGN OF THE RED DOVECOT 44. THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES 45. A
CONJUGAL SCENE 46. THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 47. THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
48. A FAMILY AFFAIR 49. FATALITY 50. CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER 51. OFFICER
52. CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY 53. CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY 54. CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD
DAY 55. CAPTIVITY: THE FOURTH DAY 56. CAPTIVITY: THE FIFTH DAY 57. MEANS FOR
CLASSICAL TRAGEDY 58. ESCAPE 59. WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH 60. IN FRANCE 61.
THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BETHUNE 62. TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS 63. THE DROP OF
WATER 64. THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK 65. TRIAL 66. EXECUTION 67. CONCLUSION
EPILOGUE
THE THREE MUSKETEERS
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
In which it is proved that, notwithstanding their names' ending in OS and IS, the heroes of the story which we
are about to have the honor to relate to our readers have nothing mythological about them.
A short time ago, while making researches in the Royal Library for my History of Louis XIV, I stumbled by
chance upon the Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan, printed--as were most of the works of that period, in which
authors could not tell the truth without the risk of a residence, more or less long, in the Bastille--at
Amsterdam, by Pierre Rouge. The title attracted me; I took them home with me, with the permission of the
guardian, and devoured them.
It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this curious work; and I shall satisfy myself with
referring such of my readers as appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages. They will therein find
portraits penciled by the hand of a master; and although these squibs may be, for the most part, traced upon
the doors of barracks and the walls of cabarets, they will not find the likenesses of Louis XIII, Anne of
Austria, Richelieu, Mazarin, and the courtiers of the period, less faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.
But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the poet is not always what affects the mass of
readers. Now, while admiring, as others doubtless will admire, the details we have to relate, our main
preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one before ourselves had given a thought.
 The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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D'Artagnan relates that on his first visit to M. de Treville, captain of the king's Musketeers, he met in the
antechamber three young men, serving in the illustrious corps into which he was soliciting the honor of being
received, bearing the names of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
We must confess these three strange names struck us; and it immediately occurred to us that they were but
pseudonyms, under which d'Artagnan had disguised names perhaps illustrious, or else that the bearers of these
borrowed names had themselves chosen them on the day in which, from caprice, discontent, or want of
fortune, they had donned the simple Musketeer's uniform.
From the moment we had no rest till we could find some trace in contemporary works of these extraordinary
names which had so strongly awakened our curiosity.
The catalogue alone of the books we read with this object would fill a whole chapter, which, although it might
be very instructive, would certainly afford our readers but little amusement. It will suffice, then, to tell them
that at the moment at which, discouraged by so many fruitless investigations, we were about to abandon our
search, we at length found, guided by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulin Paris, a manuscript in folio,
endorsed 4772 or 4773, we do not recollect which, having for title, "Memoirs of the Comte de la Fere,
Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the Reign of King Louis XIII and the
Commencement of the Reign of King Louis XIV."
It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when, in turning over this manuscript, our last hope, we
found at the twentieth page the name of Athos, at the twenty-seventh the name of Porthos, and at the
thirty-first the name of Aramis.
The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in which historical science is carried to such a
high degree appeared almost miraculous. We hastened, therefore, to obtain permission to print it, with the
view of presenting ourselves someday with the pack of others at the doors of the Academie des Inscriptions et
Belles Lettres, if we should not succeed--a very probable thing, by the by--in gaining admission to the
Academie Francaise with our own proper pack. This permission, we feel bound to say, was graciously
granted; which compels us here to give a public contradiction to the slanderers who pretend that we live under
a government but moderately indulgent to men of letters.
Now, this is the first part of this precious manuscript which we offer to our readers, restoring it to the title
which belongs to it, and entering into an engagement that if (of which we have no doubt) this first part should
obtain the success it merits, we will publish the second immediately.
In the meanwhile, as the godfather is a second father, we beg the reader to lay to our account, and not to that
of the Comte de la Fere, the pleasure or the ENNUI he may experience.
This being understood, let us proceed with our history.
1 THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of
ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots
had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the women flying toward the High Street,
leaving their children crying at the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their somewhat
uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller,
before which was gathered, increasing every minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of curiosity.
In those times panics were common, and few days passed without some city or other registering in its archives
an event of this kind. There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the king, who made war
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against the cardinal; there was Spain, which made war against the king. Then, in addition to these concealed
or public, secret or open wars, there were robbers, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made
war upon everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often
against nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then,
from this habit that on the said first Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and seeing
neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the
Jolly Miller. When arrived there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.
A young man--we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don
Quixote without his corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don Quixote clothed in a woolen
doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly azure;
face long and brown; high cheek bones, a sign of sagacity; the maxillary muscles enormously developed, an
infallible sign by which a Gascon may always be detected, even without his cap--and our young man wore a
cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye open and intelligent; the nose hooked, but finely chiseled. Too big
for a youth, too small for a grown man, an experienced eye might have taken him for a farmer's son upon a
journey had it not been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric, hit against the calves of its
owner as he walked, and against the rough side of his steed when he was on horseback.
For our young man had a steed which was the observed of all observers. It was a Bearn pony, from twelve to
fourteen years old, yellow in his hide, without a hair in his tail, but not without windgalls on his legs, which,
though going with his head lower than his knees, rendering a martingale quite unnecessary, contrived
nevertheless to perform his eight leagues a day. Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were so well
concealed under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable gait, that at a time when everybody was a
connoisseur in horseflesh, the appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place he had entered about a
quarter of an hour before, by the gate of Beaugency--produced an unfavorable feeling, which extended to his
rider.
And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young d'Artagnan--for so was the Don Quixote of this
second Rosinante named--from his not being able to conceal from himself the ridiculous appearance that such
a steed gave him, good horseman as he was. He had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift of the
pony from M. d'Artagnan the elder. He was not ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and
the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.
"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid
himself, "this horse was born in the house of your father about thirteen years ago, and has remained in it ever
since, which ought to make you love it. Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if
you make a campaign with it, take as much care of it as you would of an old servant. At court, provided you
have ever the honor to go there," continued M. d'Artagnan the elder, "--an honor to which, remember, your
ancient nobility gives you the right--sustain worthily your name of gentleman, which has been worthily borne
by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By
the latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anyone except Monsieur the Cardinal and the
king. It is by his courage, please observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman can make his way nowadays.
Whoever hesitates for a second perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second fortune held
out to him. You are young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the
second is that you are my son. Never fear quarrels, but seek adventures. I have taught you how to handle a
sword; you have thews of iron, a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight the more for duels being
forbidden, since consequently there is twice as much courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you, my son,
but fifteen crowns, my horse, and the counsels you have just heard. Your mother will add to them a recipe for
a certain balsam, which she had from a Bohemian and which has the miraculous virtue of curing all wounds
that do not reach the heart. Take advantage of all, and live happily and long. I have but one word to add, and
that is to propose an example to you--not mine, for I myself have never appeared at court, and have only taken
part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of Monsieur de Treville, who was formerly my neighbor, and
The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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who had the honor to be, as a child, the play-fellow of our king, Louis XIII, whom God preserve! Sometimes
their play degenerated into battles, and in these battles the king was not always the stronger. The blows which
he received increased greatly his esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Treville. Afterward, Monsieur de
Treville fought with others: in his first journey to Paris, five times; from the death of the late king till the
young one came of age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times; and from that date up to the present
day, a hundred times, perhaps! So that in spite of edicts, ordinances, and decrees, there he is, captain of the
Musketeers; that is to say, chief of a legion of Caesars, whom the king holds in great esteem and whom the
cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing, as it is said. Still further, Monsieur de Treville gains ten thousand
crowns a year; he is therefore a great noble. He began as you begin. Go to him with this letter, and make him
your model in order that you may do as he has done."
Upon which M. d'Artagnan the elder girded his own sword round his son, kissed him tenderly on both cheeks,
and gave him his benediction.
On leaving the paternal chamber, the young man found his mother, who was waiting for him with the famous
recipe of which the counsels we have just repeated would necessitate frequent employment. The adieux were
on this side longer and more tender than they had been on the other--not that M. d'Artagnan did not love his
son, who was his only offspring, but M. d'Artagnan was a man, and he would have considered it unworthy of
a man to give way to his feelings; whereas Mme. d'Artagnan was a woman, and still more, a mother. She wept
abundantly; and--let us speak it to the praise of M. d'Artagnan the younger--notwithstanding the efforts he
made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought, nature prevailed, and he shed many tears, of which he
succeeded with great difficulty in concealing the half.
The same day the young man set forward on his journey, furnished with the three paternal gifts, which
consisted, as we have said, of fifteen crowns, the horse, and the letter for M. de Treville--the counsels being
thrown into the bargain.
With such a VADE MECUM d'Artagnan was morally and physically an exact copy of the hero of Cervantes,
to whom we so happily compared him when our duty of an historian placed us under the necessity of
sketching his portrait. Don Quixote took windmills for giants, and sheep for armies; d'Artagnan took every
smile for an insult, and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was
constantly doubled, or his hand on the hilt of his sword; and yet the fist did not descend upon any jaw, nor did
the sword issue from its scabbard. It was not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite numerous
smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the side of this pony rattled a sword of respectable
length, and as over this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty, these passers-by repressed their
hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed over prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like the masks of
the ancients. D'Artagnan, then, remained majestic and intact in his susceptibility, till he came to this unlucky
city of Meung.
But there, as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the Jolly Miller, without anyone--host, waiter, or
hostler--coming to hold his stirrup or take his horse, d'Artagnan spied, though an open window on the ground
floor, a gentleman, well-made and of good carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking with two
persons who appeared to listen to him with respect. d'Artagnan fancied quite naturally, according to his
custom, that he must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This time d'Artagnan was only in part
mistaken; he himself was not in question, but his horse was. The gentleman appeared to be enumerating all his
qualities to his auditors; and, as I have said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for the narrator, they
every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the
young man, the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth may be easily imagined.
Nevertheless, d'Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance of this impertinent personage who
ridiculed him. He fixed his haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a man of from forty to forty-five
years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale complexion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and
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