The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [39]
Louis XIII appeared, his henchmen in his wake. He was clad in dusty hunting dress; his high boots reached over his knees and he held a riding-crop in his right hand. At first glance D’Artagnan realized that His Majesty was very much out of sorts.
The royal displeasure, obvious though it was, did not prevent the courtiers from lining up, right and left, to form a human avenue down which His Majesty might proceed. At court, it is better to be noticed even with an angry eye than not to be seen at all. The three musketeers, therefore, did not hesitate to step forward. As for D’Artagnan, he stood behind them. Though the King knew Athos, Porthos and Aramis, he swept by without a word or glance of recognition; but as he passed Monsieur de Tréville and looked at him a moment, Tréville outstared his master. Grumbling, His Majesty entered his apartment.
“Things are going badly,” Athos commented, smiling. “We shall not be appointed Chevaliers of the Royal Order this time.”
“Wait here for about ten minutes,” Monsieur de Tréville told his protégés. “If I do not return by then, it will be useless to stay on; go back to the Hôtel de Tréville.”
Obediently they waited ten minutes, fifteen, twenty; finally, apprehensive of what might be happening, they withdrew.
Monsieur de Tréville marched boldly into the King’s rooms to find a very glum Majesty, ensconced in an armchair, beating his boots with the handle of his riding-crop. This did not prevent the Captain of Musketeers from inquiring phlegmatically after the royal health.
“Bad, Monsieur, bad as can be,” the King answered. “I am bored, I am bored stiff!”
Indeed, Louis XIII suffered chronically from ennui. Often he would lead a courtier to the window, invite him to gaze out upon the scene below, and say: “Monsieur, let us suffer boredom together!”
“What? Bored? I thought Your Majesty had been enjoying the pleasures of hunting.”
“Pleasures, Monsieur? Fine pleasures indeed! I don’t know whether it’s because the game leaves no scent or because the dogs have no noses, but everything is arseyturvy! We started a stag of ten branches and chased him for six hours; we were just about to take him, Saint-Simon was raising his horn to blow the mort, when before we could catch our breath, the whole pack took to the wrong scent and dashed off after a two-year-old. I shall be forced to give up hunting just as I had to give up falconry. Ah, I am a very unhappy monarch, Monsieur, I had only one gerfalcon and he died the day before yesterday.”
“Indeed, Sire, I understand your discomfort. It was a great misfortune. But you still have a number of falcons, sparrowhawks and tiercets.”
“And not a man to train them. Falconers are disappearing; I alone know the noble art of venery. Let me die and all will be over; people will hunt with gins, snares and traps. If I only had time to train a few pupils! But no! The Cardinal will not give me a moment’s respite, what with his talk about Austria, his talk about England, his talk about Spain. Ah, speaking of His Eminence, I am much annoyed at you, Monsieur de Tréville.”
Here was the chance Monsieur de Tréville had been waiting for. Knowing the King of old, he realized that all these complaints were but a prelude and a means whereby his master roused himself to the proper pitch of anger.
“Have I been so unfortunate as to incur Your Majesty’s displeasure?” asked the Captain of Musketeers, feigning the greatest astonishment.
Without replying directly to the question:
“Is this how you perform your duties, Monsieur?” the King continued. “Did I appoint you Captain of Musketeers so that your men should assassinate a soldier, disturb a whole quarter and try to set fire to Paris, while you stand by without opening your mouth?” The King paused a moment, then added judiciously: “But perhaps I am too hasty in rebuking you. Doubtless the rioters are in prison and you have come to tell me that justice has been done.”
“Sire,” Monsieur de Tréville answered calmly. “On the contrary, I have