The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [149]
“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan, cocking his pistols, “I’ll take care of the one up here, you take care of the one down there. So you want a fight, gentlemen? Well, then, we’ll give you one!”
“My God,” cried the muffled voice of Athos, “I believe I hear d’Artagnan!”
“That’s right,” said d’Artagnan, raising his voice in turn, “it’s I myself, my friend.”
“Ah, very good!” said Athos. “So we’ll give these door-smashers a working over!”
The gentlemen had drawn their swords, but found themselves caught in a cross fire. They hesitated another instant; but, as the first time, pride won out, and a second kick split the door from top to bottom.
“Take cover, d’Artagnan, take cover,” cried Athos, “take cover, I’m going to shoot!”
“Gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, whose wits never deserted him, “gentlemen, think it over! Be patient, Athos. You’re getting into a nasty business, and you’ll wind up riddled with holes. Here are my lackey and I, who will fire off three shots at you, and you’ll get as many from the cellar. Then we still have our swords, which, I assure you, my friend and I handle passably well. Let me settle your affairs and my own. You’ll have something to drink shortly, I give you my word on it.”
“If there’s anything left,” growled the mocking voice of Athos.
The landlord felt cold sweat trickling down his spine.
“What do you mean, anything left!” he murmured.
“There will be, devil take it!” d’Artagnan picked up. “Don’t worry, the two of them couldn’t have drunk the whole cellar. Gentlemen, sheathe your swords.”
“Well, then you put your pistols in your belt.”
“Gladly.”
And d’Artagnan set the example. Then, turning to Planchet, he made him a sign to uncock his musketoon.
The Englishmen, convinced, grumblingly sheathed their swords. They were told the story of Athos’s imprisonment. And as they were decent gentlemen, they held that the landlord was in the wrong.
“Now, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “go back up to your room, and in ten minutes I guarantee you will be brought everything you could desire.”
The Englishmen bowed and left.
“Now that I’m alone, my dear Athos,” said d’Artagnan, “I beg you to open the door.”
“This very instant,” said Athos.
Then came a great noise of clattering logs and groaning beams: these were Athos’s counterscarps and bastions, which the besieged man demolished himself.
A moment later, the door swung open, and in the doorway appeared the pale face of Athos, who looked over the surroundings with a rapid glance.
D’Artagnan threw himself on his neck and embraced him tenderly. Then he was about to drag him out of those damp quarters, when he noticed that Athos was swaying.
“Are you wounded?” he asked.
“Me? Not in the least. I’m dead drunk, that’s all, and never has a man done better at it. Good God, mine host, I must have drunk at least a hundred and fifty bottles on my own!”
“Mercy!” cried the host. “If the valet drank only half what the master did, I’m ruined.”
“Grimaud is a well-born lackey, who would never allow himself the same fare as I. He drank only from the kegs. Wait, I think he forgot to turn off the spigot. You hear? It’s running.”
D’Artagnan let out a burst of laughter that turned the host’s shivering into a hot fever.
At the same time, Grimaud appeared in turn behind his master, the musketoon on his shoulder, his head wagging, like the drunken satyrs in Rubens’s paintings.117 He was soaked front and back in a thick liquid that the host recognized as his best olive oil.
The cortege crossed the main dining room and went to install itself in the best room of the inn, which d’Artagnan occupied on his own authority.
Meanwhile, the host and his wife rushed with lamps to the cellar, which had so long been forbidden them and where a frightful spectacle awaited them.
Beyond the fortifications Athos had breached in order to come out, which were made up of logs, planks, and empty barrels piled up according