CHAPTER ONE

A FATHER'S THREE GIFTS

Louis XIII of France considered himself one of the finest swordsmen in his kingdom. Nevertheless he was often heard to say, "If I had a friend about to fight a duel and he needed a 'second', I would advise him to choose myself first and Treville next—or perhaps Treville first."

Of the King's friends M. de Treville was one of the closest and certainly the most faithful. In those days it was very necessary to be surrounded by trustworthy men like Treville, and so, at the first opportunity after becoming king, Louis XIII had made him captain of the royal bodyguard—the Musketeers.

The King's chief minister, Cardinal Richelieu, was no less respected, and certainly more feared, than the King. When he saw the powerful body of picked men with whom M. de Treville surrounded the King, he decided that he too should have his Guards as the King had his Musketeers. These two rival regiments of fearless men competed with each other in adding to their number the most skilled and most daring swordsmen they could obtain.

Quarrels, fights, and alarms were everyday happenings in those times. Proud nobles quarrelled or plotted against each other, and there were robbers, professional beggars, adventurers, and scoundrels who readily troubled everybody. The citizens always took up arms against these wanderers, often against nobles, but never against the Cardinal.

It was natural, then, that the curiosity of the citizens of Meung should be aroused on hearing the noise of loud voices near the "Jolly Miller" inn. Seizing whatever they could use as weapons, they rushed towards the inn in front of which was a rapidly increasing crowd of people all shouting and talking. The cause of the disturbance was not difficult to discover.

The trouble-maker was a young man. He was a Gascon without doubt, as could be easily seen by the open and intelligent eye and the finely cut nose. He was too big for a youth and yet too small for a grown man. An experienced eye might have taken him for a farmer's son upon a journey, if it had not been for the long sword hanging at his side.

His horse, however, attracted everybody's attention. It was between twelve and fourteen years old, with a yellow coat and a completely hairless tail. The horse had the habit of going with its head lower than its knees, nevertheless it managed to travel its eight leagues a day.

D'Artagnan—for this was the young man's name—was unable to hide from himself the ridiculous appearance he made on such a horse, good horseman as he was. He had sighed deeply, therefore, on accepting the gift from his father that morning.

"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, "this horse was born in my stables some thirteen years ago and has served me faithfully ever since. This fact ought to make you glad to own it.

"Now that you are going to make your own way in the world," continued D'Artagnan's father, "guard carefully your name of gentleman. Accept criticism from no one except the Cardinal and the King. Never fear quarrels, but seek adventure I have taught you how to use the sword. Fight on all occasions.

"As soon as you reach Paris," added the old man, "take this letter personally to M. de Treville. This gentleman was formerly my neighbour, and had the honour of being the chosen companion of our King before his accession to the throne. He is now a captain of the Musketeers—that is to say, chief of the King's personal guards. Moreover, M. de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year and is, therefore, a great noble. He began as you begin. Go to him with this letter and make him your model so that you may be as successful as he has been. I have nothing to give you, my son, but fifteen crowns, my horse and the advice that you have just heard. Take advantage of all, live happily and long."

M. D'Artagnan then hung his own sword at his son's side, kissed him on both cheeks, and gave him his blessing.