The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [42]
Towards six o’clock, M. de Tréville announced that he had to go to the Louvre; but as the hour of the audience granted by His Majesty was past, instead of requesting entry by the back stairway, he placed himself with the four young men in the antechamber. The king had not yet come back from the hunt. Our young men had waited no more than half an hour, mingling with the crowd of courtiers, when all the doors were opened and His Majesty was announced.
At that announcement, d’Artagnan felt himself shudder to the marrow of his bones. The moment that was to follow would, in all probability, determine the rest of his life. And so his eyes were fixed with anxiety on the door through which the king would enter.
Louis XIII came marching in first. He was in hunting dress, still all dusty, wearing high boots and holding a crop in his hand. At first glance, d’Artagnan judged that the king was in a stormy mood.
This disposition, visible as it was in His Majesty, did not keep the courtiers from lining up as he passed: in royal antechambers it is better to be seen by an irate eye than not to be seen at all. The three musketeers did not hesitate, then, and took a step forward, while d’Artagnan, on the contrary, stayed hidden behind them. But though the king knew Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, he passed in front of them without looking at them, without speaking to them, and as if he had never seen them. As for M. de Tréville, when the king’s eyes rested a moment on him, he endured that gaze with such firmness that it was the king who looked away; after which, grumbling all the while, the king went to his apartments.
“Things are going badly,” Athos said, smiling. “We won’t be made knights of the order this time.”
“Wait here for ten minutes,” said M. de Tréville, “and if you don’t see me come out after ten minutes, go back to my hôtel, for it will be useless for you to wait for me any longer.”
The four young men waited ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes; and seeing that M. de Tréville did not reappear, they left, greatly worried about what was going to happen.
M. de Tréville had boldly entered the king’s room and had found His Majesty in a very foul humor, sitting in an armchair and tapping his boots with the handle of his crop. But this had not prevented him from asking with great composure for news of his health.
“Bad, Monsieur, bad,” replied the king. “I’m bored.”
This was indeed the worst ailment of Louis XIII, who often took one of his courtiers, drew him over to a window, and said: “Monsieur So-and-So, let’s be bored together.”
“How’s that? Your Majesty is bored?” said M. de Tréville. “Then you didn’t take pleasure in the hunt today?”
“Fine pleasure, Monsieur! Everything’s degenerating, by my soul, and I don’t know whether the game no longer leaves a trail or the dogs no longer have noses. We let loose a ten-point stag, we pursue him for six hours, and when he’s ready to be taken, when Saint-Simon40 is already putting the horn to his lips to blow the mort—bang! the whole pack changes direction and takes off after a brocket. It’s evident that I shall be obliged to give up hunting as I’ve given up hawking. Ah! I’m a very unhappy king, M. de Tréville! I had only one gyrfalcon, and it died the day before yesterday.”
“Indeed, Sire, I understand your despair, and the misfortune is a great one; but it seems to me you still have a good number of falcons, sparrow hawks, and tiercels.”
“And not a man to train them. Falconers are disappearing; I’m the only one left who knows the art of venery. After me all will be said and done, and they’ll hunt with pits, snares, and traps. If only I still had time to instruct some pupils! But no, there is M. le cardinal, who doesn’t give me a moment’s rest, who talks to me about Spain, talks to me about Austria, talks to me about England! Ah! speaking of M. le cardinal, M. de Tréville, I am displeased with you.”
M. de Tréville was