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Chapter Six: 27 April 1844, Part I
Four days later, the three former Musketeers finally have a solid lead to Porthos's location. Athos hopes that the final part of the man's namesake chapter being published that morning is a good sign that the lead would pan out and they would soon find their friend.
One of Aramis's patients, who is an avid admirer of Alexandre Dumas' works, had spotted the author outside of a house on the Rue du Vieux-Colombier* in what is now the sixth arrondissement. It had been some years since the old Musketeers garrison had been torn down and houses had been built in its place, so it had never occurred to either him or d'Artagnan that Porthos might have a place near the same location.
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When the three men stepped up to the front door, both Aramis and d'Artagnan looked in unison towards him to take action. Athos glared at them for a moment, wondering why he had to be the one to knock. Rolling his eyes, his lifted his hand and grabed the ornate door knocker, banging it twice before letting go.
Looking back at his friends as they waited for someone to open the door, he saw that they were nervous. It made him realize that he was also apprehensive at seeing Porthos. There have been disagreements amongst them more than once throughout the years, some causing them to go their separate ways for a time, but he hoped for a better outcome this time around.
Keeping secrets from each other tended to be the cause of the majority of their rifts, but on a rare few occasions, they had fought on opposite sides in a war. He never wanted to be put in the position of having to fight his brothers over land or other petty squabbles amongst rulers ever again. He didn't think his soul—
He was startled out of his thoughts by a servant opening the front door.
"Can I help you?" the servant asked.
"Yes, Is Po— Is Monsieur Dumas in residence?" Aramis asked.
"I apologize, Messieurs, but Monsieur Dumas is extremely busy and has asked to not be disturbed today."
The servant began to close the door, but d'Artagnan surged forward, wedging his boot in the opening. Putting a hand on the door, d'Artagnan pushed it open, forcing the servant to step back even as they stepped through the entrance and into the foyer.
Athos took off his hat and handed it to the servant, who shocked to speechlessness, simply took it in hand. "He will want to see us. We have business of the utmost importance to discuss with Monsieur Dumas."
Looking nervous and indecisive, the servant continued to stare at the three of them.
"If you would kindly lead the way," d'Artagnan said, gesturing towards the hallway.
"We would be ever so grateful," Aramis added.
A moment later, the man blinked and dazedly led the way to a room at the end of the short hallway. In Athos's opinion, the servant had never had a chance against the three of them and he wondered how well Porthos got along with the older man.
When the servant opened the door, the three former Musketeers were confronted by a bright room hung with wallpaper the color of buttercups and embossed with an unusual design.
"Monsieur," the servant said after clearing his throat. "These men are here to see you."
At the paper-strewn desk, which was perpendicular to the massive window, was the hunched-over form of their friend writing furiously on a sheet of paper. It was apparent that Porthos had not heard his servant or even noticed that he had visitors.
The servant let out a noisy huff of frustration before kicking the desk. "Monsieur!"
"Huh, what?" Porthos replied as he raised his head from his work and looked directly at the servant. "Planaud,* I told you not to disturb me unless it was for the evening meal – or a fire."
"Yes, Monsieur, you did, but these gentlemen"—he swept a hand towards the door to indicate their presence—"urgently need to speak to you." Planaud leaned forward and lowered his voice. "They insisted…quite strenuously."
Porthos meanwhile had turned his attention to his visitors. The grin on the man's face broadened until Athos thought it would cause his friend harm, but then grin began to fade until he looked faintly ill as realization stole into his eyes.
"You can go, Planaud. This time, I mean it about any further disturbances."
Planaud dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the order. "Yes, Monsieur."
The servant quickly retreated, closing the doors to the study as he left, while Porthos stood and started around his large desk. Before any of them could realize what was happening, d'Artagnan without saying a word stepped forward and punched Porthos.
Either d'Artagnan hit Porthos exceptionally hard or his friend was off balance, because the hit caused the man to drop to the ground, a loud thunk filling the room when his knees hit the wooden floor.
For almost a minute, everyone stood stock-still, but Aramis was the first to begin moving again, while he surged forward to prevent d'Artagnan from escalating the violence. Kneeling at Porthos's side, the physician was checking the area d'Artagnan had made contact with, already seeing a bruise begin to form.
"How dare you?" d'Artagnan asked as if each word were its own sentence.
D'Artagnan struggled to escape, but Athos made sure to keep a strong grip on his friend's arms. When the Gascon attempted to wrench one of his arms from the grasp he had on it, they locked eyes. Athos made sure to convey with a look that d'Artagnan needed to calm down and give Porthos a chance to explain. At first, d'Artagnan glared defiantly back, but eventually his shoulders sagged and he dipped his head once in acquiescence of Athos's silent request.
Athos removed one hand, and when he saw that his young friend was calm enough for the present, he let go of the other arm, moving that hand up to gently squeeze the back of d'Artagnan's neck. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening his eyes again as he exhaled. His friend's mouth curled in a slight smile of gratitude.
By the time Athos had refocused on what else was going on in the room, Aramis had already moved Porthos over to sit on the large settee along the wall opposite the windows.
Porthos lifted a hand to his jaw and grimaced. "Brother, I am so sorry. I never—"
"Tell me – us! – Dumas. Why did…? What…? When were—argh!" D'Artagnan threw his hands up in the air, obviously frustrated with not being able to form a complete thought due to his rage.
No matter how angry they had ever been with each other, none of them dared to be so careless as to not use their aliases where other people could overhear – especially now with the publication of the story that has caused all this conflict amongst them.
"I didn't mean to. I swear it on my mother's soul," Porthos said, standing up from the settee. "I didn't mean to ever write this blasted story."
"Then why?" Athos asked, knowing that Porthos would not have invoked his mother's soul if he were not telling them the truth.
Porthos lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Maquet. He found my journal, or rather, he found one of my journals – an early one." Dropping his hand, he lowered his head. "I started it after I…you know, for the first time. I didn't know – none of us knew – how it would affect our memories over time, so I started writing down the odd bit or two about"—Looking up, he gestured to the four of them—"Back then just a word or a phrase, something to help me remember but not enough to cause trouble."
"Or so you thought," Aramis said.
Porthos glared in Aramis's direction for a moment before his shoulders slumped. "Yeah. Maquet was delivering some research he'd done for me on prison escapes* when he came across my journal."
"Dumas," d'Artagnan said, exasperation weighing the name's syllables down.
"I know," Porthos said. "I should've made sure it was locked away with my other things or—"
"Not written at all. You promised, my friend," Aramis said.
"I did, and I fully intended on keeping that promise*, but…"
"But what?" Aramis asked.
"Maquet barged into my office one day and asked me about the journal. He seemed really excited by what he'd read, thinking it was notes for another novel. At the time, I just went along with it to keep him from getting suspicious."
"Why not just say you didn't want to pursue the idea?" Athos asked.
"The first page. I wrote down the words memoirs and d'Artagnan*—"
D'Artagnan stepped into Porthos's space, making Athos wonder if he would have to hold his friend back again. "Don't you dare blame any of this on me."
Porthos held his hands up in surrender and took a step backward. "I'm not. I'm not. It's just Maquet wanted to scour the Library* for a copy of something that doesn't exist."
Walking over to the desk, his friend picked up a pile of papers. "You know him. Likes his research; likes to be thorough."—Porthos let out a humorless laugh and dropped the stack of papers back onto the desk.—"So I told him that a conceit of the idea was to make the reader think it was somewhat true by stating it had come from memoirs, ones that didn't actually exist."
"And he bought that?" d'Artagnan asked.
"He loved the idea so much, he practically begged me to write it."
"And here we are," Athos said.
"Not exactly. I told Maquet that I'd lost interest in the idea and wasn't going to write it, but the idiot said something in front of the editor of Le Siècle and"—Porthos shrugged—"there wasn't much I could do after that."
"Alright, fine," Aramis said. "You were backed into a corner and had to write the story… But why use our names? You could've easily changed them."
"I did!" Porthos replied, anger stealing over his expression. "I did. I changed all the names I could but Maquet went behind my back on the first issue, changed them back…and then it was too late."—Porthos sank into the desk chair—"When I confronted him, he said the new names weren't distinct enough."
"Why did you not warn us?" Athos asked.
"I didn't even know for the first two days, and once I did, it was too late. I had to use our – those – names from then on. After that, I didn't know how to tell you. I knew you'd be so mad"—Porthos lifted a hand to his bruised chin for a moment—"Then I got so busy with keeping this story going, collaborating with Maquet on the Corsica story,* and starting to plot out another story, that I've hardly had time to use the water closet, let alone meet all of my deadlines."
Porthos leaned forward and hid his face in his hands for moment before standing.
"I just didn't know how… It wasn't entirely my fault, but I still… I still feel like it was."—Porthos came out from behind his desk to stand in front of them—"Will you guys ever forgive me?"
"Do we have to forgive Maquet?" Aramis asked in a flippant tone of voice.
Athos raised his eyebrow towards Aramis before facing his repentant friend. "You should have come to us sooner, Brother."—he glanced towards a nearly expressionless d'Artagnan—"It never ends well otherwise."
"I know," Porthos said. "I am truly sorry. Uh, you may have noticed that I've been altering our history…"
"And actual history as well," Athos said, which Porthos acknowledged with a dip of his head.
"So you thought starting the story in the year of our Lord 1625* was a good idea?" Aramis asked before involuntarily shivering.
"Sorry, Auguste, but I have my reasons. I swear I will never mention Savoy."
Aramis looked relieved as he said, "Thank you."
Porthos dipped his head again and smiled slightly. Athos sensed that Aramis had already forgiven their brother for what he'd done. He had as well for the most part, though with the introduction of Milady as a character, he couldn't promise that wouldn't change in the future. In his mind, Porthos would have to tread very carefully with how he dealt with certain characters and story lines. D'Artagnan though seemed—
His young friend made a frustrated sound and threw his hands up in the air. D'Artagnan then slowly shook his head and mumbled, "Figures."
Before he could question the comment, d'Artagnan abruptly turned and left the room.
Athos exchanged a glance with both Porthos and Aramis.
Porthos looked confused. "What?"
Aramis rubbed a hand over his beard. "Constance."
With Porthos's explanation of his actions, he had nearly forgotten d'Artagnan's main issue with the story.
"I'll go," Athos said and rushed out the room.
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To be continued.
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Historical Notes: Chapter Six:
-27 April 1844: Le Siècle published the last part (of three) of chapter 25 – Porthos.
-Rue du Vieux-Colombier: The end of Chapter 1 of The Three Musketeers establishes the location of Tréville's office on this street; I've decided that the garrison (from the TV show) was located there as well.
-Planaud: A combination of Grimaud and Planchet, two of the servants' names from The Three Musketeers. Grimaud was Athos's servant, while Planchet was d'Artagnan's servant.
-Prison escapes: Another reference to The Count of Monte Cristo (Le Comte de Monte-Cristo).
-"I fully intended on keeping that promise.": Though it's not explicitly stated in this story, when Porthos took over Alexandre Dumas' identity and continued the man's writing profession, he promised that he would not write about his friends in any way that would be recognizable. By using their names and personal lives for the characters, Porthos broke that promise even though he didn't have much choice.
-"[M]emoirs and d'Artagnan": This is a reference to the Preface chapter of The Three Musketeers – "I stumbled by chance upon the Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan…"
-Library: A reference to the Bibliotheque Nationale de France, one of the oldest libraries in the world. It is through their digitized collection of Le Siècle that I have been able to see/read the serialized version of Les Trois Mousquetaires.
-Corsica story: Another reference to The Corsican Brothers (Les Frères corses).
- "[S]tarting the story in the year of our Lord 1625": The Three Musketeers begins in the year 1625. However, the television show's timeline states that 20 Musketeers were massacred in Savoy that same year – something which did not happen in the novel. Aramis was one of the only survivors of that massacre (Episode 1.04, The Good Soldier). One of several reasons that Porthos begins the novel in 1625 is to help prevent Macquet from learning the truth of the journal's origins.
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Thanks for reading!