The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [148]
“‘First of all,’ he said, ‘I want my valet returned to me fully armed.’
“We hastened to obey this order; for you understand, Monsieur, that we were disposed to do everything your friend wanted. M. Grimaud (this one had given his name, though he didn’t speak much), M. Grimaud was therefore sent down to the cellar, wounded as he was. Then his master, having received him, barricaded the door again, and ordered us to go about our business.”
“But where is he, finally?” cried d’Artagnan. “Where is Athos?”
“In the cellar, Monsieur.”
“What, you wretch, you’ve kept him in the cellar all this time?”
“Merciful heavens, no, Monsieur! We, keep him in the cellar! You don’t know what he’s doing there in the cellar! Ah, if you could only make him come out, Monsieur, I’d be grateful to you all my life, I’d worship you like my patron saint!”
“So he’s there, I can find him there?”
“Of course, Monsieur, he has stubbornly remained there. Every day we pass him bread through the vent window, and meat when he asks for it. But, alas, his greatest consumption is not of bread and meat. Once I tried to go down with two of my servants, but he flew into a terrible rage. I heard the sound of him cocking his pistols and of his domestic cocking his musketoon. Then, when we asked them what their intentions were, the master replied that he and his lackey had forty shots between them, and that they would shoot to the last sooner than allow a single one of us to set foot in the cellar. After that, Monsieur, I went to complain to the governor, who replied that I had gotten what I deserved, and that that would teach me to insult honorable noblemen who take lodgings with me.”
“Meaning that all this time…” d’Artagnan picked up, unable to keep from laughing at the pitiable face of his host.
“Meaning that all this time, Monsieur,” the latter went on, “we’ve been leading the saddest life you ever could see. For you should know, Monsieur, that all our provisions are in the cellar. There is our wine in bottles and our wine in casks, our beer, oil and spices, lard and sausages; and as we’re forbidden to go down, we’re forced to deny food and drink to travelers who come to us, so that our hostelry suffers losses every day. Another week with your friend in my cellar, and we’re ruined.”
“And justly so, you rascal. Tell me, couldn’t you see perfectly well by the look of us that we were men of quality and not forgers?”
“Yes, Monsieur, yes, you’re right,” said the host. “But wait, wait, there he goes again!”
“Someone must have disturbed him,” said d’Artagnan.
“But we have to disturb him,” cried the host. “Two English gentlemen have just come to us.”
“Well?”
“Well, the English like good wine, as you know, Monsieur. These two have called for the best. My wife must have begged M. Athos’s permission to enter in order to satisfy these gentlemen, and he must have refused as usual. Ah, good heavens, what a racket!”
D’Artagnan did indeed hear a great noise coming from the direction of the cellar. He stood up and, preceded by the host, who was wringing his hands, and followed by Planchet, who kept his musketoon at the ready, approached the scene of the action.
The two gentlemen were exasperated. They had made a long journey and were dying of hunger and thirst.
“But this is tyranny,” they cried in very good French, though with a foreign accent, “that this mad fellow will not let these good people have use of their wine. We’ll break down the door, and if he’s in too much of a rage, well, then we’ll kill him.”
“Hold on, gentlemen!” said d’Artagnan, drawing his pistols from his belt. “You won’t kill anybody, if you please.”
“Good, good,” said the calm voice of Athos behind the door, “let those eaters of little children come in, and we shall see.”
Brave as they seemed to be, the two English gentlemen looked at each other hesitantly. One would have thought the cellar was home to one of those scraggy ogres, gigantic heroes of popular legend, whose cave no one could force with impunity.
There was a moment of silence; but in the end the two