The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [34]
At these words, with the most gallant gesture one could ever see, d’Artagnan drew his sword.
The blood had risen to d’Artagnan’s head, and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the realm as he had just done against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
It was a quarter past noon. The sun was at its zenith, and the place chosen as the theater for the duel was exposed to its full ardor.
“It’s very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword in his turn, “but I’m unable to take off my doublet; for just now I felt my wound bleeding again, and I’m afraid I may hamper the gentleman by showing him blood that he has not drawn from me himself.”
“That’s true, Monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, “and whether drawn by another or by myself, I assure you that I will always greatly regret to see the blood of so brave a gentleman. I will therefore fight in my doublet like you.”
“Come, come,” said Porthos, “enough of such compliments. Remember we’re waiting our turn.”
“Speak for yourself, Porthos, if you want to make such unseemly remarks,” interrupted Aramis. “As for me, I find what they are saying to each other very well said and entirely worthy of two gentlemen.”
“Whenever you like, Monsieur,” said Athos, putting himself on guard.
“I was awaiting your orders,” said d’Artagnan, crossing his blade.
But the two rapiers had barely rung on touching when a squadron of His Eminence’s guards, commanded by M. de Jussac, appeared around the corner of the convent.
“The cardinal’s guards!” Porthos and Aramis cried out together. “Put up your swords, gentlemen! Put up your swords!”
But it was too late. The two combatants had been seen in a posture that left no doubt of their intentions.
“Ho, there!” cried Jussac, advancing towards them and making a sign to his men to do as much. “Ho, there, musketeers! So you’re fighting here? And the edicts? What about them?”
“You are very generous, gentlemen of the guards,” said Athos, full of rancor, for Jussac had been one of the aggressors the night before. “If we saw you fighting, I promise you, we’d keep from interfering. Leave us alone, then, and you’ll enjoy yourselves without going to any trouble.”
“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “with great regret I must inform you that the thing is impossible. Duty above all. Put up your swords, if you please, and follow us.”
“Monsieur,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac, “it would be a great pleasure for us to obey your gracious invitation, if it depended on us; but unfortunately the thing is impossible: M. de Tréville has forbidden it. Go your ways, then; that’s the best thing you can do.”
This mockery exasperated Jussac.
“We shall charge you then,” he said, “if you disobey.”
“There are five of them,” Athos said in a low voice, “and only three of us. We’ll be beaten again, and we’d better die here, for I declare I will not reappear in defeat before the captain.”
Then Porthos and Aramis instantly closed ranks with him, while Jussac lined up his soldiers.
That single moment sufficed for d’Artagnan to choose sides: this was one of those events that determine a man’s life; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal; once made, it had to be persevered in. To fight, that is, to disobey the law, that is, to risk one’s head, that is, to make at one stroke an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself: that was what the young man foresaw, and, be it said in his praise, he did not hesitate a second. Turning to Athos and his friends, he said:
“Gentlemen, if I may, I shall revise your words somewhat. You said there were only three of you, but it seems to me that we are four.”
“But you’re not one of us,” said Porthos.
“That’s true,” replied d’Artagnan, “I don’t have the clothes, but I have the soul. My heart is a musketeer’s; I feel it very well, Monsieur, and that leads me on.”
“Get out of the way, young man,” cried Jussac, who had undoubtedly guessed d’Artagnan’s intentions by his gestures and the expression