Alexandre Dumas - The Three Musketeers (Complete Series)

“Another might reply to your Eminence that he had his pardon in his pocket. I content myself with saying: Command, monseigneur; I am ready.”

“Your pardon?” said Richelieu, surprised.

“Yes, monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan.

“And signed by whom—by the king?” And the cardinal pronounced these words with a singular expression of contempt.

“No, by your Eminence.”

“By me? You are insane, monsieur.”

“Monseigneur will doubtless recognize his own handwriting.”

And d’Artagnan presented to the cardinal the precious piece of paper which Athos had forced from Milady, and which he had given to d’Artagnan to serve him as a safeguard.

His Eminence took the paper, and read in a slow voice, dwelling upon every syllable:

“Dec. 3, 1627

“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of this has done what he has done.

“RICHELIEU”

The cardinal, after having read these two lines, sank into a profound reverie; but he did not return the paper to d’Artagnan.

“He is meditating by what sort of punishment he shall cause me to die,” said the Gascon to himself. “Well, my faith! he shall see how a gentleman can die.”

The young Musketeer was in excellent disposition to die heroically.

Richelieu still continued thinking, rolling and unrolling the paper in his hands.

At length he raised his head, fixed his eagle look upon that loyal, open, and intelligent countenance, read upon that face, furrowed with tears, all the sufferings its possessor had endured in the course of a month, and reflected for the third or fourth time how much there was in that youth of twenty-one years before him, and what resources his activity, his courage, and his shrewdness might offer to a good master. On the other side, the crimes, the power, and the infernal genius of Milady had more than once terrified him. He felt something like a secret joy at being forever relieved of this dangerous accomplice.

Richelieu slowly tore the paper which d’Artagnan had generously relinquished.

“I am lost!” said d’Artagnan to himself. And he bowed profoundly before the cardinal, like a man who says, “Lord, Thy will be done!”

The cardinal approached the table, and without sitting down, wrote a few lines upon a parchment of which two-thirds were already filled, and affixed his seal.

“That is my condemnation,” thought d’Artagnan; “he will spare me the ENNUI of the Bastille, or the tediousness of a trial. That’s very kind of him.”

“Here, monsieur,” said the cardinal to the young man. “I have taken from you one CARTE BLANCHE to give you another. The name is wanting in this commission; you can write it yourself.”

D’Artagnan took the paper hesitatingly and cast his eyes over it; it was a lieutenant’s commission in the Musketeers.

D’Artagnan fell at the feet of the cardinal.

“Monseigneur,” said he, “my life is yours; henceforth dispose of it. But this favor which you bestow upon me I do not merit. I have three friends who are more meritorious and more worthy—”

“You are a brave youth, d’Artagnan,” interrupted the cardinal, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder, charmed at having vanquished this rebellious nature. “Do with this commission what you will; only remember, though the name be blank, it is to you I give it.”

“I shall never forget it,” replied d’Artagnan. “Your Eminence may be certain of that.”

The cardinal turned and said in a loud voice, “Rochefort!” The chevalier, who no doubt was near the door, entered immediately.

“Rochefort,” said the cardinal, “you see Monsieur d’Artagnan. I receive him among the number of my friends. Greet each other, then; and be wise if you wish to preserve your heads.”

Rochefort and d’Artagnan coolly greeted each other with their lips; but the cardinal was there, observing them with his vigilant eye.

They left the chamber at the same time.

“We shall meet again, shall we not, monsieur?”

“When you please,” said d’Artagnan.

“An opportunity will come,” replied Rochefort.

“Hey?” said the cardinal, opening the door.

The two men smiled at each other, shook hands, and saluted his Eminence.

“We were beginning to grow impatient,” said Athos.

“Here I am, my friends,” replied d’Artagnan; “not only free, but in favor.”

“Tell us about it.”

“This evening; but for the moment, let us separate.”

Accordingly, that same evening d’Artagnan repaired to the quarters of Athos, whom he found in a fair way to empty a bottle of Spanish wine—an occupation which he religiously accomplished every night.

D’Artagnan related what had taken place between the cardinal and himself, and drawing the commission from his pocket, said, “Here, my dear Athos, this naturally belongs to you.”

Athos smiled with one of his sweet and expressive smiles.

“Friend,” said he, “for Athos this is too much; for the Comte de la Fere it is too little. Keep the commission; it is yours. Alas! you have purchased it dearly enough.”

D’Artagnan left Athos’s chamber and went to that of Porthos. He found him clothed in a magnificent dress covered with splendid embroidery, admiring himself before a glass.

“Ah, ah! is that you, dear friend?” exclaimed Porthos. “How do you think these garments fit me?”

“Wonderfully,” said d’Artagnan; “but I come to offer you a dress which will become you still better.”

“What?” asked Porthos.

“That of a lieutenant of Musketeers.”

D’Artagnan related to Porthos the substance of his interview with the cardinal, and said, taking the commission from his pocket, “Here, my friend, write your name upon it and become my chief.”

Porthos cast his eyes over the commission and returned it to d’Artagnan, to the great astonishment of the young man.

“Yes,” said he, “yes, that would flatter me very much; but I should not have time enough to enjoy the distinction. During our expedition to Bethune the husband of my duchess died; so, my dear, the coffer of the defunct holding out its arms to me, I shall marry the widow. Look here! I was trying on my wedding suit. Keep the lieutenancy, my dear, keep it.”

The young man then entered the apartment of Aramis. He found him kneeling before a PRIEDIEU with his head leaning on an open prayer book.

He described to him his interview with the cardinal, and said, for the third time drawing his commission from his pocket, “You, our friend, our intelligence, our invisible protector, accept this commission. You have merited it more than any of us by your wisdom and your counsels, always followed by such happy results.”

“Alas, dear friend!” said Aramis, “our late adventures have disgusted me with military life. This time my determination is irrevocably taken. After the siege I shall enter the house of the Lazarists. Keep the commission, d’Artagnan; the profession of arms suits you. You will be a brave and adventurous captain.”

D’Artagnan, his eye moist with gratitude though beaming with joy, went back to Athos, whom he found still at table contemplating the charms of his last glass of Malaga by the light of his lamp.

“Well,” said he, “they likewise have refused me.”

“That, dear friend, is because nobody is more worthy than yourself.”

He took a quill, wrote the name of d’Artagnan in the commission, and returned it to him.

“I shall then have no more friends,” said the young man. “Alas! nothing but bitter recollections.”

And he let his head sink upon his hands, while two large tears rolled down his cheeks.

“You are young,” replied Athos; “and your bitter recollections have time to change themselves into sweet remembrances.”