Memoirs of Aramis, Book 1

Memoirs of Aramis, Book 1
Translator's Preface

The preface to Alexandre Dumas's novel The Three Musketeers states that it is not fiction, but a publication of the true memoirs of Athos, also known as the Comte de la F;re. You can easily verify this for yourself by opening the book.
The said memoirs of Athos are supposedly entitled as follows: "Memoirs of the Count de La F;re of some events that took place in France towards the end of the reign of King Louis XIII and at the beginning of the reign of King Louis XIV."
It follows that Dumas himself decided to inform readers that this book was only the beginning of an existing memoir, the remaining parts of which would be published later. Since the novel "Twenty Years Later" does not refer to "the beginning of the reign of King Louis XIV," and this can only be said of the novel "The Vicomte de Bragelonne, or Ten More Years Later" (in the Russian translation, the word "still" is omitted), it follows that Dumas himself intended to pass off all three novels as Athos's authentic memoirs.
He apparently forgot this subtlety of his preface almost immediately after writing it, because already in the first novel, The Three Musketeers, we encounter inaccuracies that Athos would never have made (such as the reference to Athos being almost twice d'Artagnan's age), and details that Athos simply could not have known. Furthermore, there are other people's assessments of Athos's behavior: for example, it is written that d'Artagnan considered Athos a drunkard, while in Twenty Years After, he traveled to meet him with bated breath, expecting to find an alcoholic who had completely lost his mind. But d'Artagnan would never have admitted this to Athos, so Athos could not have described it in his memoirs. Furthermore, the final novel of the trilogy describes Athos's death, as well as many of the events that followed.
Either we were to attribute this to Alexandre Dumas's forgetfulness, or another explanation must be found for these inconsistencies.
"The Memoirs of Aramis" shares the same source material as the novel "D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask." This story is described in the preface to "D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask," which you can find here and on the Proza.ru website.
We understand, of course, that Alexandre Dumas is the author of all three books. He creatively drew on at least two books by Gatien de Courtil de Sandras, one of which is mentioned in the preface as supposedly "The True Memoirs of d'Artagnan," the other as "The Memoirs of the Comte de Rochefort." We find ample evidence of this. Dumas also used, at a minimum, the memoirs of Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, Tallemant des R;aux, Cardinal de Retz, and likely other sources. This doesn't make the trilogy any less valuable. But Dumas couldn't have used the memoirs of the Comte de La F;re, since none existed.
Here is what Dumas writes in the preface to The Three Musketeers regarding these memoirs: “One can imagine how great was our joy when, leafing through this manuscript, our last hope, we discovered on page twentieth the name of Athos, on page twenty-seven the name of Porthos, and on page thirty-one the name of Aramis.” He further asserts: “We now offer to the attention of our readers the first part of this precious manuscript, having restored its due title, and we undertake, if this first part has the success it deserves and of which we have no doubt, to immediately publish the second.” Therefore, if we are to believe the statement that this manuscript is precisely what has been presented to our attention, we can expect to find “on page twentieth the name of Athos, on page twenty-seven the name of Porthos, and on page thirty-one the name of Aramis.” However, this is not the case. In fact, on page twenty-four, we encounter Porthos's name first, and almost immediately, a few lines later, Aramis's. Athos's name appears later, about a page and a half later. We can only conclude: "Precision isn't Dumas' thing."
Writing in another author's name was common in those days, as it had been long before and since. The novel about Robinson Crusoe had the title indicating that the story was told by him, and, incidentally, the entire novel is written in the first person. The same can be said of Courtil's novels, which claim authorship by the Comte de Rochefort and d'Artagnan and are also written in the first person. Dumas's works are free of this, but that doesn't make them any worse. It's simply that neither the author nor the editors noticed this discrepancy. But it also extends to Ten Years After, which describes Athos's death from a distance and also describes the events that followed his death.
Of course, if we accept Dumas's assertion that his books are Athos's memoirs, we cannot help but see all these inconsistencies. Most readers simply forget this preface statement, or don't read it at all, instead perceiving The Three Musketeers and the two subsequent novels as the sole product of the author's—that is, Alexandre Dumas'—creative imagination. And rightly so!
We were told we'd be reading a memoir, but were instead given an adventure novel. We were deceived. It's as if we'd been invited to play checkers, but instead we'd been playing a game of giveaways or chess. We didn't get what we were promised, but we forget what we were promised. And what difference does it make? After all, reading this novel is a pleasure!
In those days, it was perfectly acceptable to attribute authorship to anyone, whether a fictional figure or a historical one. Dumas didn't invent it, and he didn't stop it. But, as you can see, he let it slip. In any case, Athos couldn't have described his own death. Either he didn't die and wrote a fiction, or it wasn't Athos who described it. Dumas didn't bother to respond to this oddity. However, he did state that he, Alexandre Dumas, was solely responsible for everything published in the novel, thereby confirming his authorship of this novel and the two following ones.
Indeed, at the end of the preface we read: "In the meantime, since the godfather is a second father, we invite the reader to see in us, and not in the Count de la F;re, the source of his pleasure or boredom." Dumas thereby establishes himself as the author of everything he offers us. Let's turn to The Princess of Monaco and see that there, too, Dumas claims to be publishing only the princess's memoirs, which did not prevent him from listing himself as the author of this novel on the title page. As we see, all readers understood that this was merely a game; the assertion that the book recounts true events is the first stage of the storyteller's act, which invites us to accept it at face value only in the sense that our attention should be drawn to this work as genuine memories, and therefore completely faithful, historically accurate, and honest. But the question of accepting this game is solely for the reader. From a legal standpoint, Alexandre Dumas is, of course, the author of these books. He alone held the copyright, and no heirs of the non-existent Comte de La F;re could have brought a claim against him for copyright infringement. The text written in a literary work should not be understood as an indication of the actual origin of the manuscript, nor should it be used to infringe the copyrights of others. This is a game the reader is invited to accept. In this sense, I, as the author of fanfiction, am continuing the game that Alexandre Dumas began with his readers. Let us begin this game.

In the preface to the novel "D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask, or Two Years Later," I wrote about how, while in Clermont-Ferrand, I dug up several old manuscript folders in a second-hand bookstore. I purchased all of them, along with the copyrights to these documents, for what I considered a considerable sum, but I didn't regret it.
The first folder was that very novel. The other folders were different in appearance and appeared to be someone's memoirs. Imagine my surprise when the author of these memoirs turned out to be the very same Aramis mentioned in the first folder, whose name is known throughout the world! I sat down to translate, using modern automatic translation tools and then editing to the best of my meager understanding of the text's meaning.
So, the book offered to your attention is a translation of sheets entitled "Memoirs of Henri-Ren; d'Herblay (Aramis), formerly a musketeer of King Louis XIII, also formerly Bishop of Vannes, later General of the Jesuit Order, Cardinal, and Pontiff, written in his own hand." These sheets made up the second and subsequent folders, which were entitled "Deux ans plus tard par Alex Dumas," also with a volume number. I had already translated the first two books, albeit with difficulty, and published them with many abbreviations, omitting, at my own discretion, scenes describing cities, nature, battles, combats, duels, and travels on horseback and in carriages. All this seemed tedious to me, and I did not even bother translating these fragments. On the basis of the acquisition made, as well as on the basis of the gigantic work of translation that has been carried out, and in full accordance with the completed transaction for the acquisition of the manuscript, I have the right to consider myself the author of everything that has been published in the form of two books, with the general title “D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask, or Two Years Later.”
The last folders proved the most challenging for me. First, different chapters were written in different languages—while French was the dominant language, there were also chapters written in Italian and Spanish. There were also some Latin passages, and in other places I encountered a language completely unfamiliar to me, which I couldn't translate even with the most modern automatic translators that had helped me cope with Spanish, Italian, and Latin. It was probably some kind of code, and the author had encrypted the passages he didn't want to make public under any circumstances. I somehow didn't bother with those passages. What I couldn't translate, I put aside for now, and what I managed to figure out, albeit with difficulty, I tried to weave into a more or less coherent narrative.
Judge for yourself what the result was.
The first book has been translated, which gives me a chance to take a break.
For the convenience of readers, it is published in two versions - as a single book in one file in a folder called "Memoirs of Aramis Book 1" and in parts, that is, individual chapters in a folder called "Memoirs of Aramis in Parts Fanfiction".
As I've written before, I'm being persistently offered the same or even slightly better terms for a similar folder called "The Three Henris," which tells the adventures of Henry III, Henry IV, and Henry de Guise, as well as the great buffoon Chicot. I don't think I should do this, as I've already put a lot of work behind me on this extremely complex translation.
However, I haven't made the final decision yet.

Book 1

Chapter 1

I was born in 1602…
To hell with it! I'm writing these notes for myself, not for some descendant who would read them and judge me. So should I recount my biography, starting from birth? Of course not. If I want to write about it, it will be only for my own memory. Perhaps I'll recall some episode from my youth or even childhood. Who's to stop me from violating the chronology and leaving out what I consider desirable, if I'm writing this exclusively for myself ? That's why I allowed myself to curse. Such a thing is unbecoming of me, a clergyman. After all, I'm not some Porthos!
Richelieu was right, he was right when he said that any paper that could serve as an incriminating evidence should be immediately destroyed. But he, too, left a great deal behind! My secret room contains much that incriminates him, his friends, his enemies, his servants, and those who ruled over him—though, admittedly, there weren't many of those on earth.
Perhaps I too will burn these memoirs someday, if I decide it's best. For now, I have extremely secure hiding places, and every now and then I have a few minutes to jot down what perhaps should no longer be remembered. To write down in order to forget, to free my memory for more important information—that's why I've undertaken this endeavor.
I'll be talking to myself. Where else can I find someone equally intelligent, someone with whom I can freely discuss everything?
Life turned out in such a way that everything I know, as a rule, I had to keep secret from everyone with whom I had to communicate; I had to make all decisions myself, without consulting anyone.
True, I had friends. But even with them I could discuss little.
Porthos was the kind of man who would have found it difficult to understand my thoughts and share my aspirations. D'Artagnan could understand me all too well, even before I had time to realize that I had given him enough information for him to re-establish in his tenacious mind all the connections between individual events and facts. It was not that I was afraid that he would learn the truth in all its details, but sometimes it seemed to me that he should not know it, at least not when he could have found out about it. He understood me so quickly that at times it simply frightened me. Therefore, I preferred not to tell him anything, for even in my gaze he managed to read my thoughts and understand me even before I had time to understand myself. I can only hope that sometimes d'Artagnan did not succeed in completely understanding me, although perhaps he simply did not show it. Now it no longer matters.
As for Athos, he tended to avoid understanding me completely, as soon as he realized that the matter might involve matters of great delicacy. He always tried to see the best in me and not the worst, though perhaps he didn't always succeed, but I can attest to his great effort.
My maternal grandfather was the same Chicot who served as jester first to King Henry III and then to Henry IV . His position was entirely worthy of the nobleman he was, so there's nothing to be ashamed of. I inherited his diaries from my mother. Who would have thought Chicot kept diaries! I memorized them. They should have been destroyed, since they will never be erased from my memory, and others shouldn't read them. It was Chicot who, through his diary, taught me the fundamental principles of my worldview; it was from him that I inherited my character. I understood the most important thing. The entire country revolves around the royal family. Not necessarily around the King. Sometimes, and even more often than everyone thinks, it is not the King who decides everything, but someone else, constantly at his side. And this person influences the country’s policy, its finances, its army, its navy, the construction of cities and the destruction of fortresses, the declaration of wars and the conclusion of peace.
If you want to achieve something, know that it's easier to do so near the King. Sometimes it simply won't work any other way. But you must also remember that the closer you are to the King, the closer you are to death, since both royal favors and royal wrath can arise not only for reasons visible to you, but also without reason, or for reasons that are impossible to discern.
But it also happens that all the causes can be clarified and controlled by a single person. Then that person can control the monarch, and therefore the entire monarchy.
Such was Richelieu. We fought with this man without understanding him, but now I bow to his intelligence and insight, his capacity for work, his memory, capable of retaining both the most important things and the seemingly insignificant, and even those that may be insignificant in reality but can instantly become the most important. He kept everything in his mind, and he devised complex chains of influence on the state apparatus not only within France, but throughout Europe, and even beyond. His influence extended to the New World, to Asian countries, and even to such an incomprehensible country as Russia, which is neither in Europe nor Asia, but is stuck somewhere in the middle and influences both parts of the world in such a way that its future influence is impossible to predict.
I'll probably remember many of our dealings with Maria. I'll call her "Goat," as Anne of Austria called her. She didn't allow me to call her that, but I can allow myself this liberty here, because she won't read my memoirs, and thank God for that.

Chapter 2

What in my grandfather's notes prompted me to take up intrigue? Yes, yes, since I write these notes exclusively for myself, there is no need to pretend to myself. I told some people that I was half musketeer, half abbot, others that I was more abbot than musketeer, but why should I lie to myself? My main profession is the same as that of Maria Kozochka—intrigue. If intrigue is directed against one person, it is called that; if against an entire state, it is politics, or, if you prefer, diplomacy. If it is aimed at changing the government, it is a conspiracy. A conspiracy that succeeds should be called a coup, but it is called the fall of a rotten regime, or even better if it occurs so quietly that it goes unnamed , since to all the uninitiated, everything remains as if nothing happened. One monarch quietly passed away, or at least retired, and another took his place, and that's it. What kind of conspiracy is this? Where is the conspiracy? Who are the conspirators, gentlemen?
And only that conspiracy that failed is called a conspiracy, a rebellion, a riot.
The ideal conspiracy happens as if it never happened.
When, after the death of Henry III, Henry of Navarre declared himself the new King of France under the name Henry IV, the Catholics of Paris did not recognize him and named Charles of Bourbon their king, Charles X. This relative of Henry IV declared that he did not agree to such an election; he had not asked for it, had not intended it, was refusing, and was protesting. Thus, he did not succeed as King Charles X. And there was no conspiracy. No one, it seems, exerted any influence on him. Everything happened quietly and peacefully. No events, no unrest. Henry IV of Bourbon remained king. And only my grandfather knew why Charles X failed to succeed, and history will never know him by that name. There was no such King in France, that's the end of the story.
Even Henry IV didn't know why Charles of Bourbon renounced the French crown. Chicot knew, because he was the one who orchestrated it. Here's the ultimate example of a conspiracy that no one considers one!

De Treville was my cousin. It's not customary to talk about this, since every Gascon wants to achieve everything he deserves. The most important Gascon to conquer Paris was our glorious King Henry IV . Paris conquered him, and he conquered Paris. When his troops surrounded the rebellious capital of France, victory was too difficult. Although Paris had already run out of food, a thousand citizens had died of starvation, and the inhabitants had come up with the idea of making food from the corpses of their fellow citizens, doubling the mortality rate. The King's comrades told him that victory was near, since although Paris had decided not to surrender as long as at least one Parisian remained alive, the time would soon come when not a single person would remain alive. Henry was indignant, declaring that he did not need Paris at such a price. He ordered that supply convoys be allowed into the besieged city. No military leader would have acted as Henry IV did , but he did so precisely because he was no ordinary military leader. He entered Paris without resistance, the heralds shouted, "Forgiveness to all! Forgiveness to all!" and Paris submitted to its King.
Along with Henry, as many Gascons as Paris could accommodate came to Paris.
Naturally, Henry couldn't resist appointing someone who wasn't his fellow countryman as captain of his bodyguards. He appointed his fellow countryman, de Praslin, and de Sully, also a Gascon, as Superintendent of Finances. It was the perfect time for the Gascons to move to Paris.
IV's legitimate heir , Louis XIII , also favored the Gascons, and so, under him, de Treville, also a Gascon, was appointed captain of the king's musketeers. I have called Louis XIII the legitimate heir of Henry IV , but I have not called him the son of this king. Alas, although he was considered such, the only fact that remains certain is that he was born to Queen Marie de Medici during her time as the legitimate wife of King Henry IV . Our glorious Henry visited many ladies in their beds, but he was not the cause of King Louis's birth, and this explains why Henry, who greatly loved all the children born to him by his mistresses, did not love Louis but ordered him to be flogged as much as possible, apparently for his own good and for the good of France.
Well, in that case, we won't be surprised why Henry, who so loved women, even very young girls, didn't pass on his temperament to Louis, who hated women. If the King hadn't been obliged to leave an heir, Louis probably never would have married.
Whatever happens in the marital bedroom should stay there, especially if that bedroom is royal. So I'm going silent. At least here and now.
I told this only to explain to myself the fact that upon arriving at the royal court, I entered de Treville's employ, and the fact that most of my interests were connected with women, despite the fact that I myself was most eager to advance my career as quickly as possible. I simply realized that the best career can only be achieved by someone who understands the influence women have on virtually all events in this world, or at least in Paris.
At that time, the King had his own musketeers, who wore blue cloaks adorned with embroidered silver lilies, the symbol of the Bourbons, while Richelieu began to have his own musketeers, who wore red cloaks adorned with embroidered gold crosses. Some called them guardsmen. This is a mistake; they were musketeers just like us. We were simply the King's musketeers, and they were Richelieu's musketeers; the only difference was that, along with the color of our cloaks and the coats of the horses we rode.
The cunning Bezmo found a job in a maintenance platoon. These men had one job—buying replacement ammunition and acquiring new horses, but they also enjoyed all the privileges of true musketeers. It was because of these maintenance men that the musketeers were known as the darlings of fortune, ladies' men, swordsmen, gamblers, duelists, drunkards, and so on and so forth. Having received funds from their superiors for the necessary purchases, they would sometimes try to make these purchases as cheap as possible in order to pocket the difference. Cheaper means worse. This rule always applies to military procurement. By buying stolen goods, sometimes looted goods, and often simply inferior goods wholesale from some swindler, instead of focusing on finding the best property, these scoundrels acquired both extra money and extra time, which allowed them to spend both in taverns, giving the musketeers the worst reputation. It was a good thing they didn't lose the money earmarked for purchases at cards!
And yet, the musketeers were loved. Whenever there was a skirmish between us and Richelieu's musketeers, the people came to our aid, not theirs. This was their revenge on Richelieu, holding him responsible for the ever-increasing taxes and, in general, all the troubles they had encountered in their lives. I'll admit, they were only half right, or even a quarter right, but that didn't stop us from enjoying the people's love, and Richelieu's musketeers from being hated, even though they received twice our pay and had better horses, saddles, spurs, and clothing. No one complained about this, however, since de Treville used to say to us: "My children! To be the King's musketeer is the greatest happiness. When I received my patent, I bought all the necessary equipment, including my horse, with my own money, and I have never regretted it. So do the same." In private, he told each of us the following: "If you don't have enough money, I can lend you some, but don't tell anyone about it, as I can't lend to all my musketeers. You will easily repay the debt, as service to the King brings rewards to the brave, and in the event of your heroic death, I will forgive this debt to your heirs."
I don't know a single musketeer who wouldn't have acquired all the necessary ammunition after such a speech.
Skirmishes with Richelieu's musketeers... I recalled them because the King's edict was in effect, strictly prohibiting duels. They carried the death penalty, with both parties, including the seconds, facing the same punishment. Richelieu initially urged the King to sign such a decree, believing that nobles should not be allowed to die over such trivial matters as quarrels between them. And when his older brother, who had contributed so much to Richelieu's career, died in a duel, he began to regard this edict as one of the most important acts of his life.
It must be said that skirmishes were punished more leniently. The difference between a duel and a skirmish is clear from their names. If the opponents quarreled and immediately drew swords in the heat of the moment, it was a skirmish. This could be explained by simple fervor. Even Richelieu could forgive skirmishes, although he was not inclined to be magnanimous toward violators of this edict. With a duel, however, things were different. The offended and the offender would agree to meet in another place and at another time, each bringing at least two seconds. The seconds on both sides not only ensured that the duel proceeded according to all the rules but also took an active part in it. Imagine if a four-on-four duel were taking place, and if one of them managed to defeat their opponent so that he left the fight dead or seriously wounded, that fourth person could join the remaining three pairs and help any of their supporters. In this case, the two of them could defeat the next person, and then the four of them could defeat the remaining two. So, the duel was only relatively fair until the first participant was seriously wounded.
Incidentally, Count Rochefort lost two of his brothers in this way in his youth. Although he would have killed his opponent in this duel, after which they dealt with two seconds, one of Rochefort's younger brothers was also killed, and the other was mortally wounded. Truly a Pyrrhic victory! Rochefort himself narrowly escaped punishment, as Richelieu himself interceded for him, knowing him as a brave and diligent special officer. However, he fell out with his family—his father, who disinherited him, and his stepmother, since he caused the deaths of two half-brothers.
So in a duel where seconds are involved, if one wins, the opponents' defense collapses like a house of cards.
That's pretty much what happened with d'Artagnan. Once he struck his opponent, the odds were in our favor. At first, I couldn't figure out whether this was pure luck or whether he was truly exceptionally skilled with a sword. But every subsequent duel he fought proved that his victory was far from accidental. He was agile, his sword flickering through the air so quickly that it was sometimes impossible to see. Although I was quite skilled with the weapon myself, I believe that had we been in a life-or-death fight, he would have defeated me. Fortunately, neither of us ever thought to test this assumption, and we always fought on the same side.
Or almost always...
Well, yes, almost always. I remembered that incident. I'll tell you about it later.
When d'Artagnan arrived in Paris in 1626, I had already been a musketeer for seven years, and had already lived in Paris for ten years. And I had known Maria the Goat for five and a half years.
She had a character almost identical to mine. More precisely, it was she who made me what I became; she instilled in me a passion for intrigue and political games.
I can't say I didn't want it. Reading my grandfather's diaries, I was already prepared to take this path, but readiness alone isn't enough. I needed to enter the Louvre. And not everyone has access there. Outside the Louvre, intrigue is worthless. Or rather, it's worthless unless it's directed at the Louvre, or originates from the Louvre, or isn't connected to the Louvre in one way or another.
You can be a thousand leagues from the Louvre and still be connected to it, or you can stroll right next to it and have no connection whatsoever, and therefore be as far from the King, the court, and your career as you are from the moon, or even further. Marie didn't just belong to the Louvre; she was part of it, one of the springs that drives the Queen and, therefore, the King. Although the King didn't love the Queen, he was dependent on her opinion and, most importantly, was jealous of her. And jealousy is a form of weakness. Tell me what someone's weakness is, and I'll teach you how to control them.
Mary controlled the King and Anne, she controlled Richelieu too, but she became so engrossed in these games that all three turned their backs on her. More precisely, they, without consulting each other, decided to get rid of her. Perhaps not physically, but at least to free themselves from their dependence on her.
As I write this diary, I realize how inconsistent I am in presenting my thoughts and events. However, I never intended to present events in any particular order, and thoughts come in whatever order they please, without asking whose mind they're in.

Chapter 3

Marie was two years older than me, but one might have guessed she was five years younger. In any case, for a long time I mistakenly believed she was much younger than me, so frail, slender, and comely was she. It must be said that Marie-Emme was very proud of her descent from the Rohan-Montbazon family. Indeed, had I had such a distinguished lineage, I would not have become what I did, and, apparently, would have been quite content with what I was given at birth. But I was a simple Gascon, whose family owned only the Abbey of Herblay, another name for which was Aramitz. My friends so rarely called me by my name that I am inclined to think that some of them simply did not know it, or had forgotten it. That was the custom among us. The Count de la F;re invented the name Athos for himself, du Valon invented a name for himself by slightly altering one of the family names of de Porto, so that he began to be called Porthos, and I only corrected the last letter of the name of the abbey, which allowed me to enter the nickname I received into this series of fictitious names in such a way that everyone around perceived it as some kind of secret nickname, suitable only for use among musketeers.
Indeed, if I had to shout during a battle, "Chevalier du Valon, pay attention, the enemy is on the left!" it would have been too long, whereas "Porthos! On the left!" would have been simpler and clearer. My nickname is already a whole syllable longer than Athos's and Porthos's. Perhaps something like "Orestes" would have been better, but then everyone would be looking for "Pylades" next to me. However, two-syllable names are too reminiscent of dog names, so my involuntary choice of name suits me perfectly, and even now, as I write this, the name Aramis is much dearer to me than Monseigneur the Bishop of Vannes, or Monseigneur the Duke of Alameda, or Your Grace the Cardinal of San Pancrazio fuori le Mura. Did poor Henri d'Herblay ever think he would one day become a bishop, a general of the Jesuit Order, a cardinal? Will my vanity stop there, or perhaps I'll be destined to ascend to the holy throne? What name will I then call myself? Idle dreams! I think in that case I'll be called Innocent. Does Innocent the Twelfth ring a bell? It does. But… Idle dreams!
In 1616, I arrived in Paris; in 1620, I met her. She was the wife of Charles d'Albert de Luynes, the Duchess of Luynes, wife of the Constable of France. This title, which had previously belonged to such great military leaders as Anne de Montmorency, had been abolished, but Louis XIII specifically restored it for his favorite. So Marie was the constable's wife, a sort of constableess.
But when I met Maria, I thought she was young, naive, pure, and beautiful. I was only right about her appearance.
She was already one of the representatives of the highest French nobility of that period; after the Queen, to be honest, she was second in importance.
It was a single, so to speak, "quadruple bed," which could accommodate, in pairs (in all combinations), or together, the King, the Queen, Duke Charles de Luynes, and Duchess Marie de Luynes. The Duke had just over a year to live. He was twenty-two years older than his charming wife, who was only a year older than the King and Queen. In this "bed for four," those who ruled France grew ever closer. Charles de Luynes mentored all three of his companions in debauchery, using Marie to influence the Queen, and using his imposing appearance to influence all three, including the King, whose eccentric tastes sometimes recalled the unconventional passions of Henry III , James I of England, and Henry I of England. However, these passions also manifested themselves later in relation to his attachment to the Bishop of Lu;on, who went down in history under the name of Cardinal Richelieu, as well as in relation to de Cinq-Mars, who was made Chief Equerry, after which his position gradually began to sound simply like "Chief", and not only in sound, but also in its degree of importance in all decisions made by the King.
IV , the father of Louis XIII , had exactly the same Chief at his side in his time, and it was said of him that his rapid advancement up the career ladder is not surprising, considering the pressure that the King was exerting on him from behind.
A funny thing happened to this other Chief. His arrival was expected in Paris, and the city guards were ordered to open the gates for him, even if he arrived at night. That very night, a certain insignificant nobleman named Le Grand happened to arrive. Having been delayed en route, this Le Grand must have known he wouldn't be allowed into Paris in the middle of the night, but he nevertheless decided to try his luck and knocked on the gate. When the chief guard asked who had arrived, he simply stated his name: "Le Grand." The chief guard, thinking it was the Chief he had been expecting ("Le Grand" means "Chief" in French - translator's note), opened the gates and reported the Chief's arrival to the commandant. The commandant ran out to greet the guest, but seeing an unknown nobleman instead of the Chief, asked him, "What's the matter? Who are you?" The newcomer replied, "My name is Le Grand!" The commandant responded: “You should be called Le Grand Imbecile!” and then turned around and returned to his quarters.
However, the era of Henry IV is known to me only from the diaries of contemporaries, including the memoirs of my grandfather Chicot. I am constantly distracted by these details, because they are stored in my memory, and my goal was to put down on paper everything I don't need to remember, so as to forget it and give my mind more space to retain things more important for my future work as cardinal.

Chapter 4

Richelieu... Corneille wrote about him:

                “He was so kind to me that even words
I don't have the strength to write anything evil about him.
He was so cruel to me,
That I could not remember him well either."

This enigmatic man becomes more understandable when we consider that he had one ambition: to direct and lead the most powerful nation in Europe. Therefore, he devoted every effort to both ensuring France's dominance and maintaining his position at the helm of that nation. Justice to the individual, as he understood it, meant that if guilt is in doubt, the suspect should be acquitted. Justice to the interests of state, as he understood it, meant that France must be protected from any danger at any cost, and if this meant innocent people suffering, the price was acceptable. Consequently, to condemn anyone even slightly suspected, the suspicion itself was sufficient. He did not separate the interests of France from those of religion, the monarchy, or, however presumptuous it might seem, his own interests, which consisted solely of securing a firmer grip on the reins of power. Thus, anyone who plotted against him was, in his eyes, not only an enemy of himself, Armand du Plessis de Richelieu, but also an enemy of France, an enemy of Catholicism, and, ultimately, an enemy of the King. And only after his death did everyone agree that he had been right in this opinion.
But at the time when Marie, as the wife of de Luynes, approached the throne, Richelieu was still very far from the power that he later received from Louis XIII .
He was unlucky. His father was a close aide of Henry IV , which would have brought Armand and his brothers closer to the throne in the future. However, Henry IV died as a result of the fatal knife attack of Ravaillac, and power passed into the hands of his widow, Marie de' Medici, and her lover, Marshal d'Ancre. Marie de' Medici initially resented Richelieu's father for his support of her husband, whom she had every reason to dislike, since he loved many other ladies far more than the one his duty as a husband required him to love.
Father Joseph introduced Marshal d'Ancre to Richelieu, after which young Armand had the opportunity to deliver a sermon, which the Queen Mother also heard. It's believed that Marie de' Medici liked the text of this sermon. Perhaps. But few know that she liked Richelieu himself. Yes, yes! He was twelve years younger than her, you say? So what? Doesn't it bother you that de Luynes was twenty-two years older than his charming wife, as I wrote above? And Catherine de' Medici, who was born in 1519, couldn't have seen Henry of Navarre, born in 1553, as a man, you say? The thirty-four-year age difference was enough for Henry himself to ignore the ambiguous hints and appeals of the elderly Queen Mother, but she didn't take these thirty-four years into account, just as Elizabeth of England didn't consider the age difference when she chose her lovers. If not for the love of Catherine de' Medici, Henry would not have survived the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day. Catherine de Medici was even jealous of her own daughter Margaret for her favorite, which is why she showed obvious hostility towards her, a Catholic, like Catherine herself, and sometimes showed incomprehensible tolerance towards Henry, who in the depths of his soul always remained a Huguenot, which did not prevent him from repeatedly converting from the Protestant faith to the Catholic one and back, right up to the very time when he said his famous phrase "Paris is worth a mass", which meant that, well, be it so, he agreed to become a Catholic and regularly listen to Catholic services, on the condition that Paris would submit to him, and, consequently, he would become the King of France not nominally, but really. So, Catherine de' Medici loved the young Henry of Navarre, and her relative Marie de' Medici loved many things, but least of all her husband, the same Henry of Navarre, who had already become King of France, Henry IV. However, she loved Concino Concini, who had arrived with her, and countless other Tuscans. Richelieu exploited her feelings for him, which allowed him to get closer to the throne. He then acted precisely as he should to strengthen his power. While Marie de' Medici was in power, he remained close to her and supported her in everything, including her personal little war with her own son, Louis XIII . When Louis ordered the elimination of Marshal d'Ancre, declaring that he would henceforth rule the country himself, power was divided into two roughly equal parties. In this situation, Richelieu acted as a reconciliator, acting as a messenger of peace between mother and son. When power was completely concentrated in the hands of Louis XIII , Richelieu completely sided with the King and even supported him in his decisions to exile the Queen Mother. He endorsed the King and offered advice on how to most reliably deprive her not only of power but also of any hope of returning to power.
What surprises you, gentlemen? After all, the philosopher Seneca was exactly the same, considered wise even by the Catholic Church despite being a pagan. Many of his philosophical teachings were adopted by Catholicism and became canonical. Then remember that Seneca educated Nero, receiving the position of tutor to this future prince precisely because of his relationship with Livia, the future emperor's mother. But when the young lion cub grew claws and teeth, he felt his mother was hindering his ability to rule Rome, meddling where no one asked her to—that is, in absolutely everything. Seneca taught Nero to build a ship that could be dismantled if a few locking devices were knocked out. It was on this ship, at Seneca's instigation, that Nero sent his mother on a voyage, ordering a trusted companion to knock out the locks so that the ship would dismantle and sink in the middle of the bay. Does this ring a bell? Yes, my friends, Richelieu, who was kind enough to the Queen Mother Marie de Medici to become the confessor to the young King Louis, later morally justified the Queen's exile and did everything he could to ensure its irreversibility. So, our Richelieu is a new Seneca, and in every respect, for he too was drawn to writing and discourse on philosophy, religion, and morality. However, regarding religion, he had a simple view: what the Pope approves is true. If a papal bull asserts that such-and-such a verse in Holy Scripture should be understood in such-and-such a way, then it is therefore true. If what the Gospel calls white should be called black according to a papal bull, then it is black. This is how the great Richelieu understood religion, and he considered all who understood it differently heretics. Which did not prevent him from concluding any alliances with any heretics, even with entire heretical countries, such as England or even Turkey, against completely Catholic states, such as Spain, Italy, the Holy Roman Empire.
And this same Richelieu fell out with Marie because they disagreed about their influence over the Queen. Marie-Goat wanted sole influence over the Queen, while Richelieu wanted the same.
Marie sought influence for her own benefit—fun, debauchery, enrichment. Richelieu sought influence over the Queen for the benefit of France—strength, unity, and the strength of the state. He wanted France to forge advantageous alliances and avoid disadvantageous ones. He wanted a strong monarchy. And a strong monarchy required a Dauphin, that is, a son of the Queen, an heir to the throne, a boy born in wedlock. Moreover, such a boy did not necessarily have to be conceived by the King. There was a time when all of France doubted Louis XIII's ability to sire children. The late King Henry IV gave no cause for such doubts, as his mistresses regularly bore him both boys and girls. Louis XIII avoided outside affairs; it seemed he hated women altogether. Therefore, Anne of Austria's prolonged infertility was attributed by all her subjects to him, fueling the hopes of numerous princes and dukes close to the throne, and, of course, especially the King's brother, Gaston d'Orl;ans, who was considered the official heir to the throne should the King die childless. Clearly, Anne of Austria needed to give birth to a boy as soon as possible. If the King didn't help her, then someone else would have to. De Luynes was no longer alive, so the man closest to the throne was the one who considered himself most responsible for ensuring the birth of the Dauphin: Richelieu, the Queen's confessor. His proposal to the Queen was thus salvation for her and for France. However, it came too soon. Anne of Austria still considered herself to belong only to the King, and to no one else, and for herself, she only considered platonic love for anyone other than the King possible. Platonic love doesn't produce a Dauphin. Richelieu tried to explain this to her, which ultimately led to a falling out with her. Mary took a different approach – first, she explained how wonderful Buckingham was in bed, something she knew from personal experience. Next, she explained how deeply he was in love with her. Finally, she presented Buckingham himself, so to speak, in person. The Queen hesitated. Richelieu had spies everywhere, so he couldn't have been unaware of this entire intrigue and couldn't have failed to understand where it might lead. England was sometimes an ally of France, but generally more of a competitor than a reliable ally. Richelieu couldn't allow the Queen to fall under the spell of England's first minister, its de facto ruler. He couldn't allow France to become an appendage of England. This love, platonic or not, had to be stopped. The path Richelieu chose required him to go all the way, including the Queen's exile, divorce, and, of course, Mary's exile. Mary could not do that.

Chapter 5

So, Maria, Little Goat...
When I met her, I didn't know she was married.
It was like this.
I was walking down the street, returning from duty, when I suddenly heard a lovely female voice.
"Mr. Musketeer!" said the lady. "Would you mind lending me your cloak?"
I turned and saw a slender girl of delicate build. She was dressed modestly, but I sensed she was a noblewoman, and a rather important one at that. This was evident in the delicacy of her hands, the gracefulness of her movements, her speech, and the way she wore her clothes. Her clothes, however, were only apparently simple, but my keen eye, of course, discerned that these clothes were not those of a bourgeois, but rather garments sewn from the finest fabrics, cut to perfection to give her the appearance of a bourgeois. I would say that even the Queen would not be ashamed to appear on stage in such a dress, playing a shepherdess.
"What do you need my musketeer's cloak for, madam?" I asked. "That kind of dress is not appropriate for ladies, and it is not fitting for me to violate the dress code, so I will lose what is necessary and give you what is superfluous if I agree to give you my cloak."
"I need your cloak to get rid of a pesky pursuer, and you don't need it now, since you're already returning from duty," the playful girl replied. "But if you help me escape from him, I'll not only return your cloak to you, but I'll also reward you."
At this she made such a cute face that I almost threw off not only my cloak, but also something else, however, I pulled myself together.
"Madam!" I objected. "It's not becoming for a musketeer to undress in the middle of the street, nor for a noblewoman like you to don a man's cloak in full view. Besides, the person you're trying to escape from has apparently already noticed that we're having such a pleasant conversation, so such a disguise won't help you any more. Let me simply stab your pursuer; it'll be safer that way, and I won't have to part with my cloak."
" Are you ready to kill a man like this in the middle of the street?" she asked, and I saw admiration on her face.
"Exclusively for you, madam," I replied. "Besides, this won't be a banal murder, but a duel."
"But duels are forbidden!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you afraid of being executed for violating the royal edict?"
"I'm ready to give my life for a price far less than your sweet smile, madam," I replied. "Sometimes we get into a duel just because someone we don't care about said something about us that we couldn't care less about!"
"But you could be executed just for standing up for a girl you don't know!" she exclaimed.
"However, if I don't stand up for a sweet girl like you, I'll be punishing myself for the rest of my life, and after I die, the devils will roast me in hell!" I replied.
Apparently, my answer pleased her. She pointed out to me the man she said was stalking her.
"Should I kill him?" I asked. "Or shall we give him life for the occasion, and will it be enough for him that I deprive him of the ability to spy on you?"
"What holiday is it today?" she asked.
“It was a holiday that I met you,” I replied, and without waiting for her answer, I headed towards the nobleman she pointed to.
"Let him live!" she exclaimed after me.
Without turning around, I made a gesture with my hand, depicting the flight of a butterfly with the brush of my right hand.
"Sir, don't you find today a particularly sunny day?" I asked the man.
“Go about your business, sir, and don’t interfere with me doing mine,” he replied.
“Everything about today is harmonious, except one thing,” I continued.
“I don’t care about your views on what is harmonious and what is not,” he replied, intending to move on.
"But the problem is that your sour expression ruins the harmony of today," I replied. "If it weren't for it, today could be called the best day not only this year, but in the previous two!"
"Sir, if you can't wait to go to the next world, then by all means, tomorrow we'll cross swords, but for now, get the hell out of here!" he exclaimed.
“I, sir, am eager to make some corrections today, and therefore I intend to make sure that you go to hell and take your sour face with you,” I replied.
At that very moment, this stranger drew his sword, after which I drew mine and stood in the welcoming pose adopted by fencers before the start of a duel.
The spy's rage was such that he was ready to kill me with the first blow, but I deftly parried him and with a return blow tore his sleeve and slightly wounded his left arm just above the elbow.
"Forgive me, sir!" I exclaimed. "I had absolutely no intention of wounding you in the arm! I intended to wound you in the leg so that you and your face would remain as long as possible where I met you both!"
"I'll kill you, puppy!" the stranger exclaimed. "I'll show you how to pick a duel with His Eminence's musketeer!"
"I have done you the honor of fighting with His Majesty's musketeer, as you might recognize by my cloak," I replied, still fighting. "Where did you leave your red guardsman's cloak?"
"It's none of your business, puppy!" the stranger exclaimed angrily, again trying to deal me the fatal blow.
This time, I not only deftly parried his blow, but also landed a blow to his left leg, exactly where I wanted it. The blow was accurate and powerful; after such a blow, he probably lost the ability to run for at least two weeks.
"Damn it!" he cried. "I'm not giving up, I'll keep on dueling!"
"Don't fuss," I replied. "I've already forgiven you for your sour expression and consider the incident closed. However, if you insist on me killing you, come to Monsieur de Treville's regiment when your leg is healed and ask for Aramis. It's me. I'm ready to continue the fight, but not with a cripple."
After these words, I bowed dramatically and left the stranger. This skirmish marked the beginning of my deep dislike for the guards. The man I wounded was called de Bedeau.
In the evening my servant, Bazin, told me that a lady, who hid her face under a thick black veil, had given me a note.
The note read:
"Monsieur Aramis, you have rendered me a most important service, and I wish to thank you. Be at the entrance to your barracks tomorrow at eight o'clock this evening. My page will come for you. Follow him. The lady to whom you did not give your cloak."
I still don't know how she knew my name, but I believe she knew it before she asked me to lend her my cloak.

Chapter 6

I must say that the relationships at the Louvre were the most frivolous, a legacy inherited from Catherine de Medici. The queen, descended from a noble Tuscan family, made full use of all the methods traditionally employed by the Tuscan nobility to achieve her goals. These included, of course, poison and debauchery. If a desired person could not be seduced from the true path and directed in the desired direction, they could be eliminated with poison mixed into food, drink, or even simply inhaled through the air. But Catherine rarely resorted to poison, often resorting instead to her flying squadron , composed of young, fairly noble, beautiful, and docile women in every sense. The harsh and selfish Henry II demonstrated to her through her own sad experience how much a man can forget not only his own duty, but also his own interests, when seduced by a woman and becoming dependent on the signs of attention she shows, demonstrating her voluptuousness and elastic compliance, that is, consent after some ostentatious and not too persistent resistance.
The abandoned Queen was puzzled by how to control her husband, and realizing that her body was no longer so seductive to her royal spouse, she devised the idea of using her own ladies-in-waiting to influence men who, without this means, seemed rigid and uncontrollable. However, with this means, they all fell under her direct or indirect influence. Beginning with a few gallant young ladies who suited the King's tastes, she expanded her squadron first to thirty, then to sixty, and eventually to several hundred. Those in the know claimed that her squadron of regular seductresses numbered up to six hundred docile women, with the La Bourdaisi;re family alone supplying twenty-six amazons. One of them, Madame d'Estr;es, managed to ensnare Henry IV himself. It's no coincidence that this family's coat of arms featured vetch—a berry that has historically symbolized promiscuous love. This is why the coat of arms of the La Bourdaisiere family became known as "vetch seed," since, by a curious coincidence, it features a hand sowing vetch. The following quatrain was written about their coat of arms:

"Blessed be the hand,
That I am not tired of sowing vetch,
Giving us, generous, easy,
"There are many whores in the sowing of this seed."

Catherine selected the ladies for her Amazons based on personal loyalty, which could only be guaranteed by the fact that each of these girls had a history of sins that could ruin her life if revealed. With a corresponding list of sins for each of her Amazons, Catherine forced each to act exclusively in her interests. Having secured obedience, she placed these girls under the care of her husband, her own children, and her son-in-law, Henry IV , to whom she herself would not have refused to show every sign of the highest trust.
Debauchery in royal circles reached such a level that intercourse ceased to be anything special; courtiers indulged in these pleasures as easily as other common pleasures. To play hombre, one had to have at least the money one was willing to lose; to have sex with a charming woman, it was enough that she was unoccupied that evening, as it was easy to obtain consent. Even the hunchbacked dwarf Prince de Cond; enjoyed this universal feast of love. Marriage, therefore, ceased to be a prerequisite for a man to "unwrap gifts" from a lady intended exclusively for her lawful husband. A special terminology even emerged. For example, the term "sight-reading," used exclusively by musicians, came to signify a man's easy willingness to prove his masculinity without unnecessary foreplay. The word "prelude," denoting the opening section of a musical composition, came to signify foreplay aimed at arousing the lovers' desires. The act of love itself became known as a "score," hence "sight-reading" signified a willingness to perform the male part without any preparation, with virtually any girl who would open "her pages of notes" to the "musician." Therefore, when the aging constable inquired of one of the court "moths" whether he sight-read, and received the answer "of course!", he sighed and said sadly, "You are lucky! I have long since lost that talent, so my wife's house is open to moths of all colors and sizes." It must be said that his wife's "flower" did not go unnoticed by these insects, so much so that even the constable himself, when giving money to his wife, would say: "This is for your clothes, this is for your jewelry, and this is for your friends," and instead of the word "friends" he used such a strong word, derived from a verb that denotes a certain action performed by a man at the time of the greatest intimacy, which we do not dare to reproduce in this book.
Thus, such a loose moral code persisted in court circles until Louis XIII matured and became an incredible prude. Anne of Austria contributed significantly to this, as his gradually developing dislike for his own wife developed into a dislike for women in general. Therefore, Louis was as faithful a husband as was possible at the French court, and he demanded the same from everyone else.
Until then, Charles de Luynes took charge of the married couple, who were not passionate about each other, since their marriage had been concluded without taking into account their personal preferences and tastes at a time when they did not yet have and could not have erotic aspirations.
Marie de Medici desired to achieve "eternal peace" with Spain, and so entered into this double marriage, which Henry IV would never have permitted had he still been alive. The young Louis was married to the Spanish King's daughter, Anne of Austria, so called because she had a maternal right to inherit the Austrian crown. The Spanish King's son was married to the sister of Louis XIII . The wedding took place on the same day, and the young princesses were exchanged at the border of the two kingdoms. Thus, the French princess Elizabeth appeared at the Spanish court, and the Spanish princess Anne at the French court. Her beauty mattered little; only her birth mattered. You must admit that origin is a weak argument in the bed of a King, especially one as cold as Louis XIII , who interpreted the meaning of the concept of “friendship” in a very strange way and, it seems, slightly confused what kind of friendship is appropriate with men and what with women.
The Queen, meanwhile, found nothing appealing in the King's caresses. "Men are so rude!" she said, and this phrase was her assessment not only of Buckingham, who had attempted to possess her in every way during their stroll in the gazebo, but also of Louis XIII , who was not at all inclined to affection and could only perform the most basic biological male function, paying no attention to foreplay.
"I have other places on my body, Your Majesty!" she said to the King, who was focused on only one of these places.
“You will not bring me an heir through other places,” Louis replied, from which the Queen concluded with horror that he understood her hints in a completely different sense from what she tried to put into them.
If Anne desired ordinary tenderness, wishing Louis to admire her entire figure, to caress not only what constituted a husband's ultimate interest, then the King believed that she was referring to those methods of expressing love sometimes employed by jaded lovers, as well as by the minions of Henry III , who, lacking the male object of attraction with which God has endowed women, used the entrances and exits possessed by every person, regardless of gender. Ladies who utilized the full scope of this arsenal were called "double-pole ladies," although one wit said of them: "The only trouble is that such creatures usually think through their lower pole."
Mary had the advantage over Louis that she wasn't as rude as most men. If the Queen hadn't had experience with Mary, would she have said that men were so rude? After all, to say such a thing, one must know that women aren't like that—that is, one must know how women aren't rude; in other words, one must know how gentle and affectionate they are. Naturally, Mary provided Anne with every proof that she knew better than men how to treat a woman. This skill had been taught to her by the experienced Charles de Luynes. This skill was one of her primary means of managing both women and men, so that not a single man who ever fell under Mary's spell subsequently did her any harm, nor even refused to do anything she asked. Such was the Duc de Chevreuse, such was Buckingham, such was Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, Count Hollande, the Duc de Longueville, and many others, even the King of Spain. I was the same for a long time, but eventually I managed to free myself from her corrupting influence, although by the time this happened we were both well over fifty.
I didn't know any of this, and my first meeting with Maria seemed like some kind of romantic flight to heaven. This was because Maria the Goat was the first noblewoman I'd ever met. Meetings with simpletons don't excite us so much, and they, it must be said, teach us nothing, since common ladies are often so submissive and accommodating that we fail to discover what they actually want. They fulfill our whims, and we assume that it couldn't be otherwise, since our position as masters over them precludes anything else. Our hearts don't flutter when we receive from them evidence of a higher inclination, since we didn't have to seek them out; they come to us effortlessly. Of course, you don't value a handful of cherries you pick from a bush nearly as much as the same handful of the same berries served to you on a plate at an exorbitant price, after an excessive wait and with the excessively theatrical pride of a butler who removes a silver cap from the plate with the air of sending a newly built ship on its maiden voyage.
And although I can't say I expended excessive effort to win Maria over, she nevertheless made me feel resistance, doubt, the thrill of unpredictability, and the joy of victory. She knew how to do that.

Chapter 7

King Louis XIII was born on September 27, 1601. It was no coincidence that his birth occurred just moments after the arrival of the Queen Mother, Marie de Medici, to her now legal husband, Henry IV, in 1600.
Henry wasn't particularly fond of fat women; this marriage, like most royal marriages, was concluded for political reasons. But an even more important motive was the extraordinary wealth of the Medici family and the extreme poverty of the French King. It's no coincidence that Henry called her the fat banker.
The arrival of the banker herself was not as important to Henry as the arrival of her treasury, so we should not be surprised that before beginning to fulfill his marital duty, he began to fulfill his state duty in terms of calculating the results of the replenishment of the treasury.
Since Henry divorced his first wife, Queen Margot, on the grounds of alleged infertility, which was extremely selective, Marie de' Medici (not to be confused with Marie the Goat) was forced to consider the danger of repeating an unfortunate precedent. Margot was far from infertile; she is known to have given birth to at least two children, but none of them were Henry's, so their births were carefully concealed. However, she did not bear the King an heir, and this constituted infertility from the standpoint of state necessity. Thus, formally, Henry needed not so much Marie de' Medici's money as her womb, which was obliged to provide France with an heir to the throne.
For this reason, Maria's uncle, the ex-cardinal Ferdinando, who, in order to ascend to the Tuscan throne, poisoned his brother Francesco and his sister-in-law Bianca Capello, gave his niece some extremely helpful advice:
"My dear niece," he said, "you are about to marry the King of France, who recently divorced his first wife because she had no children. King Henry IV is far more in need of money than of women , of whom he has plenty, while France itself needs an heir more than anything else. The King has a penchant for slender young women and almost married one, disdaining her insufficient nobility. It was for this marriage, and not for yours, that he divorced his wife, Queen Margot, daughter of the King of France and sister of three successive Kings. If you do not bear the King a son, the same fate awaits you. Remember, you have a month's journey on a fine and comfortable ship, as well as three young, handsome, and stately gentlemen in your retinue: Virginio Orsini, Paolo Orsini, and Concino Concini. So, ensure that the possibility of divorce is eliminated before you arrive in France, after which all you'll have to do is convince the King of his involvement in this achievement, or at least get him into bed with you, after giving him a potion that will make it impossible for him to claim with certainty that he wasn't involved in the birth of this child.
After these words, the worthy uncle handed his niece a drink that would allow her to force the King to spend the night wherever she pleased, and not have any opportunity to remember the details of that night.
Indeed, the ship carrying the newlywed took an extremely long time to sail, allowing Maria to fulfill her uncle's plans not just once, but as many times as necessary to guarantee success. True, the court poet Malherbe, in a vile verse, justified the Queen's lengthy voyage by claiming that Neptune, in love with her, held the ship for a long time, unwilling to part with such a captivating beauty as Maria, which is a poor compliment to Neptune's taste. Thus, nine months after the wedding, Grand Duke Ferdinando could rest easy, since the pretext for divorce he had feared had already been eliminated. The world learned of the birth of the Dauphin Louis, immediately dubbed "the Just" (the Just), as he was born under the sign of Libra.
From childhood, Louis XIII displayed all the traits of the Orsini family: melancholy and thoughtfulness, a penchant for music, painting, and small crafts, indifference to power, and a lack of interest in state affairs. However, he displayed none of the hereditary traits of the Bourbons, particularly those concentrated in Henry IV , such as an extraordinary love of life, a love and irresistible attraction to women, a passion for fun, jokes, and pranks, and a lack of jealousy or vindictiveness. From his youth, Louis was not known for his warmth; he was callous and rude, jealous and touchy, sometimes even cruel. Henry IV flogged him twice with his royal hand. The first time, for the dislike Louis felt for a nobleman was only assuaged by shooting the nobleman with an unloaded weapon and reporting him to the Dauphin as dead on the spot. And the second time, because Louis had smashed the head of a lively sparrow with a wooden mallet. The Queen reproached him for never whipping his bastards, but always lovingly petting them at every opportunity. Henry IV , mindful of the word "his," replied that Louis would whip them if necessary, while no one but Henry IV could ever whip Louis himself .
However, Henry was such an easy-going husband that even if he not only suspected, but also knew for certain that Louis was not his son, he never showed it, at least not in public.
Most likely, his plan was to divorce Marie de' Medici and marry one of his many mistresses, who already had sons, in order to legitimize these children and ensure the future transfer of the French crown to one of them, rather than to the dubious Louis, whom Marie de' Medici had so unsuccessfully contrasted with "her" children of the King. But Henry had already cooled slightly to Gabrielle d'Estr;es's charms, believing that Marie de' Medici's money was more important at this stage than the fading beauty of Gabrielle's former beauty. Meanwhile, the very young and rather dim-witted Charlotte de Montmorency, for whom the elderly King had fallen in love with youth, conditioned her courtesy on a secure future through a respectable marriage. Having arranged for her to marry his ruined nephew, the Prince of Cond;, Henry hoped that a hundred thousand livres of annual income would be sufficient incentive for the Prince to feign his absence as painstakingly as possible. However, the rebellious Prince sought to profit simultaneously from both the King's money and the gifts of his young wife's love, which pleased Marie de Medici but deeply angered Henry himself. By overzealously pursuing his claim to Charlotte, Henry exhausted the patience of his already rather meager wife. She demanded a swift coronation to compensate for the loss of her marital rights to the King by acquiring a substantial share of the Queen's rights. Henry rashly agreed, a decision he deeply regretted upon reflection. In this situation, his physical elimination would have made Marie de Medici the sovereign Queen Regent, a fact she undoubtedly understood. Her secure position as regent was further secured by the fact that she managed to give birth to five more legitimate children after Louis's death, and Henry IV , realizing that a holy place abhors a vacuum, did not shirk his marital duties. As soon as the King's death became advantageous to the Queen, the fanatic Ravaillac immediately arose, dispatching Henry with three dagger thrusts. This fortunate turn of events for the Queen, and her mild chagrin at this event, did not go unnoticed by both the nobility and the common people. Anything that might have pointed to a conspiracy between the Queen, her lover Concino Concini, and the Duke of ;pernon was immediately purged and blocked, including an inappropriate letter and an attempt to testify by a certain Marquise Jacqueline d'Escomant, who was also conveniently eliminated. The head of the French government, the Superintendent of Finance, Duke Maximilien de B;thune de Sully, Baron de Rosny, who knew something and tried to continue the King's policies, was dismissed, during which time he secretly began writing his memoirs. The Queen Mother, Marie de Medici, took over the country.
After Henry's death, the Queen's lover, Concino Concini, Marshal d'Ancre, treated Louis as if he truly stood above him in nobility, although his entire power rested solely on his connection to the Queen. Perhaps Concini considered Louis his son.
Like all melancholic souls and all descendants of the Medici, Louis XIII was adept at concealing his feelings. He smiled most captivatingly at those he sought to destroy. This included Marshal d'Ancre.
As early as 1613, Marshal d'Ancre himself assigned de Luynes, a scion of a humble Tuscan family, to Louis as his page. A shared passion for hunting brought de Luynes and Louis together. Very soon, de Luynes was promoted to Chief Falconer. Louis's falcons, hawks, kites, shrikes, and parrots were then declared royal cabinet birds, so that de Luynes would not have to leave the king's side for a moment. From then on, Louis XIII developed such a close friendship with him that he would not part with his chief falconer even at night; indeed, he would dream of de Luynes in his sleep and call out loudly for him, fearing he had left.
Indeed, de Luynes succeeded, if not in amusing him, then at least in entertaining him, instilling in him a taste for hunting, as much as was possible with the limited freedom enjoyed by royal children. In his apartments, Louis set a parrot and shrikes on small birds. Luynes taught him how to hunt rabbits with greyhound puppies in the Louvre moats and falconry on the plain of Grenelle. Then de Luynes taught Louis the science of love, and finally, how to hunt humans. Young Louis's first and most important catch was his mother's lover, Marshal d'Ancre, Concino Concini, the very same man who had introduced de Luynes to the royal chambers. The fact is that Concini believed that de Luynes was too quickly acquiring too much influence over the King, while de Luynes did not. On the contrary, he had already realized that Concini had no intention of relinquishing his influence over the Queen, and that it would be futile. Therefore, a trusted lieutenant, Captain Vitry, shot Concini in front of Louis, on his orders. If Concini was involved in Henry's murder, then retribution came from the one generally believed to be Henry's son.
The day after the death of Marshal d'Ancre, the same court poet Malherbe asked Madame de Bellegarde, whom he found getting ready for mass: "What, madam, is there really anything left to ask of the Lord God after He has delivered France from Marshal d'Ancre?"
Thus, Louis XIII became King of France, formally continuing the Bourbon dynasty. However, the Tuscan princes, who knew Marie de' Medici better than anyone else, remained convinced that the throne had been ascended by a Tuscan not only on his mother's side but also on his father's. The night after this event, Louis slept soundly and happily. He announced that he would henceforth rule the country independently, after which the Queen Mother was exiled to Blois.
She was forbidden to see her little daughters and Gaston d'Orl;ans, her beloved son; her ministers were dismissed, and only the Bishop of Lu;on was allowed to accompany her into exile, where he won her heart, which did not recognize emptiness, to replace Concini in it.
I must say that it was de Luynes who introduced the Bishop of Lu;on to the Queen Mother, for which this bishop, Armand Jean de Pluis de Richelieu, the future Duke, Cardinal, and First Minister of France, expressed his gratitude in writing in his memoirs. And the wife of this benefactor, de Luynes, was Marie de Rohan, the Goat, Duchess, and a very close friend of mine.
So this lyrical and historical digression should give my readers, if there are any, an understanding of who the lady really was who asked me for my musketeer's cloak, but did not receive it, but received in return the entire musketeer who had the honor of wearing this cloak.
Although Louis XIII did become King after Concini's removal, he was in no hurry to become a man, neglecting to visit Anne of Austria, whom he had married at an age too young to arouse any masculine desire. Moreover, Anne had been forced upon him by his mother, with whom he was now at odds. While enjoying the freedom that, for him, came primarily from the absence of his mother's oppression, he also distanced himself from Anne, who embodied the Queen Mother's desires. For a long time, he was Anne's husband in name only.
If the King visited the marital chamber at all, it was only to take a nap or chat about unrelated topics, after which he would quietly return to his bachelor bedroom. Queen Anne thus risked sharing Queen Margot's fate, as she lacked the most important thing to bear an heir—His Majesty's attention.
Encouraged by the Spanish ambassador and the papal nuncio, de Luynes took on the important task of laying the foundations of the future monarchy, not hiding from his inspirers that he risked losing the King's trust.
On January 25, 1619, the King, as usual, lay down and was about to fall asleep when de Luynes entered his bedroom and suggested he get up and visit the Queen. The King objected, but de Luynes insisted. Seeing all his arguments were futile, de Luynes simply picked up the King and carried him to the Queen's bedroom.
As a result of this persistence, the King finally came to know the Queen more closely, finding in her those charms reserved for himself alone. The experience, one must assume, was a successful pastime, as de Luynes did not lose her trust; on the contrary, he acquired the title of Constable. However, state interests were not adequately served, as the closer acquaintance between the King and Queen did not result in conception. De Luynes's heroism was rewarded too late, for which Marie-the-Goat is to blame, as I will discuss below. Thus, the Constable himself never lived to see the fruits of his selfless behavior. The Dauphin, the future Louis XIV , was born not nine months after this meeting arranged by de Luynes, but only nineteen years later, in 1638. But de Luynes was not fortunate enough to see the fruit of the tree he planted: in 1621, he died of nettle fever, believed to be scarlatinum , from the Italian scarlatto , meaning bright red or purple. This death, supposedly from scarlet fever, allowed the Queen Mother, Marie de Medici, to return to court. She brought with her the Bishop of Lusson, Armand de Richelieu, and secured his inclusion in the Council of State. He had been seeking the rank of cardinal for a year , although the Pope had not yet granted this petition, written by Louis at the request of the Queen Mother, as the King had enclosed a note requesting his denial. Nevertheless, Richelieu would soon become a cardinal and first minister.
His star rose when Louis decided to make peace with his mother, and Richelieu stepped in as peacemaker. From that moment on, his rise to power began rapidly. But as an opponent of Austrian and Spanish policy, he fell out with both Anne of Austria and Marie de' Medici. Marie de' Medici, like the King, subsequently had her own ministry, also headed by a cardinal: his name was B;rule. The difference was that Richelieu was a genius, while B;rule was a complete fool. Furthermore, Monsieur, the King's brother, whom Richelieu had married and to whom, hoping to find support, he gave Mademoiselle de Montpensier's enormous fortune, was far from a friend of Richelieu. On the contrary, he constantly plotted against him, hoping to become King. These plots continued until the birth of Anne's son, the future Louis XIV.
From what has been said, it is clear how necessary Louis's birth was. The King was interested in it, but he seems to have shown no interest whatsoever. He seems indifferent to what would happen to France after his death, and he seemed to refuse to understand that the presence of a Dauphin not only ensured the monarchy's future but also contributed to the citizens' present peace, since confidence in the future (even if mistaken) greatly contributes to peace. Anne was also interested in the Dauphin's birth, but since the conspiracies were directed not against her but against those who were oppressing her, she felt no pressing need to quickly fulfill her marital destiny. In fact, Richelieu was most concerned about the arrival of an heir, since only by depriving Monsieur of any hope of ascending the throne could he be appeased. While the King remained childless, given his poor health, the hope that the throne would soon become vacant kept Gaston in suspense. The Queen Mother loved Gaston far more than Louis. Or rather, she hadn't loved Louis at all since he sent her to Blois. Therefore, she hoped to pass the throne to Gaston and become his regent, or at least assume a more powerful position in the kingdom. Gaston was easy to bully, which she did, and after her, any woman who found herself near him, whether wife or daughter-in-law, did so with ease.
The first conspiracy against the King and Richelieu, who by then had already become a cardinal (he became one in 1624), was the Chalais conspiracy. The Privy Council, led by the physician Bouvard, who was utterly devoted to Marie de Medici and Anne of Austria, failed, like all subsequent ones, and cost the lives of all involved except the royal family. It began with the physician informing the Queens of the King's poor health, requiring weekly bloodletting. The King's mother and wife began to seriously hope for the King's imminent death and planned Richelieu's assassination, in order to secure a comfortable life under the reign of Gaston I. The Princess de Conti was also involved, even purchasing daggers to assassinate Richelieu , but at the last moment, the kindly Queen Anne of Austria weakly objected to the Cardinal's murder: "He's a priest." Had he not been a priest, one would presumably have had no objection to this method of settling their differences. Let me remind you that he was also Anna’s confessor and first minister.
Reflecting now, as I write these memoirs, I believe the bond between Anne and Armand was far deeper than we all imagined at the time. Anne never took the final, decisive step to crush the Cardinal, and only this saved him. The Cardinal never took the decisive step that would have sent Anne into eternal exile, and only this mercy of his sometimes saved her. So what does this mean? Does it mean that the enmity between Anne and Armand was merely a facade? It is no wonder that when the Cardinal was gone, the Queen, no longer needing to conceal her thoughts, looked at Richelieu's portrait and said, "Great man! Had you lived now, you would have received more than you had, much more!"
Did she mean the power of the first minister, or the affection she felt for him as a man, which he had apparently been trying in vain to achieve all his life?
Be that as it may, Richelieu was the first person to tell Anne, privately and without witnesses, what Marie de Medici's uncle had once said: he opened her eyes to the fact that the Queen's first concern should be the birth of a son; that until this happened, her future was uncertain and uncertain; but once it happened, her future would be assured. He also, presumably, explained to her that if the King wasn't paying her enough attention to produce a Dauphin, then she herself should ensure that she conceived and that the King wouldn't object to her acknowledging the child as his own.
Remember that Richelieu was Anne's confessor, which gave him many opportunities to speak with her alone, while she was expected to listen to him with the same respect she would have given the Pope himself, whose representative in this case Richelieu was. From Marie the Goat, I know for a fact that Richelieu told the Queen how Julius Caesar, upon first seeing Cleopatra's son, hesitated a little before taking the child in his arms. However, since the clever Cleopatra had the foresight to name her son Caesarion, meaning "Son of Caesar," Caesar took her son anyway. According to Roman law, this signified the father's recognition of his son as his own. Richelieu also explained to the Queen that the King did not necessarily have to take a son in his arms for the people to recognize him as Dauphin, since, by marrying the King, the Queen would not give birth to any bastard, but to an heir to the throne, whereas any other girls, no matter how many boys they gave birth to, could not hope that any of them would ever occupy the French throne.
“You must give birth to a boy and name him Louis, this will be enough for him to become King, and you will thus become the Queen Mother, which, believe me, is a hundred times more reliable than being just a Queen without children,” Richelieu told her in his capacity as confessor.
" Your Grace," Anna objected, "What can I do if the King doesn't pay me the attention he deserves?"
“The Holy See forgives you in advance for this involuntary weakness for the salvation of France,” replied Richelieu.
Should we believe that Richelieu hoped that Anne would see him as a man and seize the opportunity? Oh, yes, but only for the simple reason that Marie de Luynes assured him of this. Remember that Richelieu owed his closeness to the King to de Luynes, Marie's first husband. At first, Richelieu not only favored her but also considered himself indebted to her. The reckless Marie decided to play a trick on Richelieu. She told him, supposedly in the Queen's name, that she favored him and was ready to offer him the highest proof of her tender regard, but first asked him to please her with a tarantella. Richelieu believed her, since in his youth he had been a remarkable dancer. He only asked how they would provide music. Marie said she would invite musicians, who would be behind a screen so that no one would see who was dancing. Mary said that the Queen would also watch the dance from behind a screen, through a narrow slit for the eyes.
Richelieu procured a dancer's costume and, having donned it, arrived at the room indicated, where he noticed a screen. At his signal, the music began to play, and Richelieu began to dance. But imagine his surprise when, at the end of the performance, he heard cheerful laughter and realized it wasn't just the Queen laughing. Peering behind the screen, he discovered not only Anne, but also Marie and Gaston. Offended to the core, Richelieu angrily left the room. Naturally, after this, peace between the Queen and Richelieu was no longer possible, at least not an apparent one. As I already noted, I believe they nevertheless found common ground, as evidenced by their constant intercession for each other. I should also note that Richelieu retained his position as the Queen's confessor, from which one must conclude that the unfortunate episode was forgotten by both parties.
Yet Mary wasn't satisfied with this. By setting Anne against Richelieu, she had done her a disservice, so she decided to make amends by doing her a service that would never be forgotten. She resolved to help Anne fulfill the very destiny her confessor had insistently reminded her of. To this end, she proposed various options. The most well-known was the failed scheme with Buckingham. But no one knows that there was another scheme, in which the true son of King Henry IV, Caesar, Duke of Vend;me, son of Gabrielle d'Estr;es, was chosen. Was it a failure? Judge for yourself!
The cunning Mary convinced Anne that her duty to France was to right the wrongs committed by Marie de' Medici, that is, to restore to the throne a descendant of the legitimate King, Henry IV . The Duke of Beaufort, Mary's suggestion, was rejected because he was not the King's son, but the grandson, and therefore not sufficiently of royal blood as a true son of the King. One could say that he was only a quarter royal, whereas the sons of the King were half royal, as required for a true King.
Mary laid out portraits of Henry's illegitimate but legitimate children before Anne like solitaire. Among them were C;sar, Duke of Vend;me, five years older than Queen Anne; Alexandre de Vend;me, only two years older than Anne; Henri de Bourbon, Duke of Verneuil, Bishop of Metz, Anne's contemporary, his son by Henrietta d'Entragues; and finally, Antoine de Bourbon, Count of Moret, six years younger than Anne, his son by Jacqueline de Bayle de Moret.
"Tell me, dear Mary, why do you think that the birth of the Dauphin from King Henry's illegitimate son would somehow excuse me?" Anne asked.
"How could it be otherwise?" asked the cunning Maria. "Surely, Your Majesty, you won't deny that every child is sent by God?"
“I won’t deny that,” Anna agreed.
"A son sent by God, and officially recognized and legitimized by the King, is both a legitimate son and the King's son, is he not?" Mary continued.
“Apparently so,” Anna agreed.
"Well, if the King had a legitimate son, and if he had married that son's mother, he could even have had him recognized as heir to the throne, if he had obtained Rome's consent, wouldn't that be so?" asked Mary.
“If the King had had time to do it, then that’s probably how it would have been,” Anna said doubtfully.
"Well, King Henry was going to do it, but he didn't have time because he was killed!" Mary exclaimed with such confidence, as if Henry himself had shared this revelation with her.
"So it turns out that for the King's illegitimate son to become King himself, all that was missing was just a few acts?" the Queen asked in surprise.
"Exactly so, Your Majesty! You see for yourself how things stand," Maria replied. "Not several documents, but just one paper! Such a trifle!"
"In that case, the right to the throne would belong only to the eldest of these true sons of the King you spoke of," Anna replied. "So remove all these portraits except one."
After these words, Anne picked up a portrait of Caesar, Duke of Vend;me, who, alone among them, could apparently have become King if Henry had not only legitimized the birth of all his illegitimate children but also secured for them all the right of succession to the throne. He would have been the first in line for this right; all the others were juniors and therefore would not have had this right.
“If Louis, my husband, really should not have received the crown of France, since and if he is not the son of Henry IV , and if Henry IV himself had brought order to the succession to the throne, excluding Louis from it, then only he, Caesar, could have had this right.
Anna thought the name "Caesar" was no accident. She recalled an example Richelieu had told her. Caesar—the name means first among others, princeps, head. The family name of the Caesars, after Gaius Julius Caesar, became the word for emperor. The Duke of Vend;me was named Caesar. It was a sign.
If anyone ever does what Louis XIII does not want or cannot do in relation to her , it will be a man worthy in every respect of influencing the future fate of the Bourbon dynasty in France, a man who has the most direct relationship with this dynasty.
"Oh, God, what nonsense you've told me!" Anna cried. "Take it all away! Take it away from me. I belong only to my husband, King Louis XIII , and I will never belong to anyone else!"
Maria did not believe her exclamation.
Anna herself didn’t believe herself either.
But the appearance of purity of intentions was maintained.
Maria made her conclusions.
Anna too.

Chapter 8

Marie's audacity consisted in taking the first steps toward the difficult task she had set herself without consulting the Queen. Her idea was to arrange a blind date. She was to charm a duke approved by the Queen without revealing her identity. This method of meeting was common in Italy and was gradually adopted in France as well. The idea was for a noblewoman to send her chosen one a scented letter on the finest paper, written in calligraphic handwriting and bearing other hallmarks of being written by a noblewoman. The recipient's imagination was supposed to complete the portrait of the beautiful correspondent. As a rule, the recipient of such a letter always assumed it was written by a young, noble, beautiful, and passionate woman, and, incidentally, they were rarely wrong in this assumption, although, of course, they also risked falling into a trap. This cunning method of luring young noblemen could also be used by less beautiful women, or less noblewomen, or both, or, finally, by simple bandits or hired killers. But in those days, doubt was unacceptable. Doubt of this kind was close to cowardice, and no nobleman would risk acting in a way that could be considered cowardly. It could also be assumed that such a letter was written by friends as a joke, to test the recipient's courage. If, out of fear, the man failed to appear at the mysterious rendezvous arranged by the stranger, the anecdote would become common knowledge the next day. In which case, even a duel with the instigator of such a prank would hardly restore the former respect of his comrades to the unfortunate man who dared to be cautious. Therefore, to such impudence, there was only one possible response: consent.
So, Maria decided to write a passionate letter informing the recipient that a beautiful stranger had fallen in love with him and invited him to a rendezvous on the condition that he agree to blindfold him and take him in a carriage at night to a place he was not to inquire about. He, for his part, must give his word as a nobleman not to attempt to remove the mask or discover his whereabouts, much less discover the name of the lady who had invited him to such a rendezvous. If these conditions were met, the daredevil was promised an unforgettable night of love, which could subsequently be repeated as often as both parties desired.
Of course, Mary could not present the Queen on the very first date; she could only, at her own peril and risk, test the passion and assertiveness, as well as the complaisance and tenderness of the prospective lover, and then recommend this daredevil to the Queen for the next date, which could contribute to the achievement of her goal.
Mary, to her disappointment, was unable to draw the intended prince into this dangerous game from the very first attempt, but she decided to practice on more accessible noble gentlemen, who seemed to her no less worthy of the expected favor than the chosen one, against whom Anna protested the least.
It must be said that she had already been openly attacked by Monsieur Bellegarde, who had held a very high position under both Henry III and Henry IV . He was a most attractive man in every respect, but by the Queen's standards, he was already quite old. This is not surprising, since he had once been the lover of Mademoiselle d'Estr;es herself, the mistress of Henry IV . King Henry IV even intended to deal with him for such insolence, but decided that killing his lover would upset his beloved Gabrielle too much. Therefore, he not only abandoned his jealousy but also retained all of Bellegarde's high positions, including the one for which he was called "Monsieur le Grand."
This same Mr. Chief (in the past) now assumed that he could extract from Anna, who was old enough to be his daughter, the same proofs of love he had so easily obtained from the ladies of Catherine de Medici's flying squadron. He dropped an unambiguous hint to the Queen, asking her what she would do if he decided to ask her to be his companion. "I would kill you," replied the Queen, "as, indeed, I would kill any other man except the King who dared to make me such a proposal!" Bellegarde, who often expressed extreme surprise by saying, "I wish I could die on this very spot!" upon hearing this answer, uttered his favorite phrase, which in this case proved quite appropriate. Fortunately or unfortunately, Bellegarde did not die, but he abandoned his intentions regarding the Queen forever.
This display of pride so successfully created the impression of the Queen's genuine inaccessibility and innocence that her reputation remained impeccable for a long time, despite the almost obvious evidence against her. However, the King readily forgave her intrigues if they were directed solely against Richelieu, not realizing that absolutely all intrigues directed against the Cardinal were always also directed against the King himself. The Queen's correspondence with relatives in Spain or Austria contained not only family conversations about the weather or health, but always touched on political matters. At the very least, they conveyed, in the subjunctive mood, how the Queen and her loyalists would act if , God forbid, some misfortune befell the King and Richelieu, which, of course, entailed their physical elimination.
Mary chose Antoine de Bourbon, Count de Moret, a handsome young man and the son of Henry IV . A relationship with such a nobleman would in no way be considered a fault for any lady of the court; such a relationship would only elevate any woman in the eyes of the entire court. The Duke was single, so he could dispose of himself quite freely, and for any lady, such a prospect offered, if not a brilliant prospect, then at least the justification for the possibility, however remote, that such a prospect might arise. Of course, Mary herself was at that time married to de Luynes, a very advantageous match, but the constable was not jealous; on the contrary, he encouraged Mary to pursue such adventures, so she finally decided to do something that would make her heart tremble in fear and her blood run cold, but which she could later tell with laughter to her best friend, the Queen. Mary reasoned that if her idea was successful, she would be able to influence the Queen to experience a similar adventure, but if the idea failed, she would at least gain experience in similar adventures and draw the necessary conclusions for the future.
Having prepared a scented letter, Maria slipped it to the Duke through trusted contacts. The letter stated that if the handsome prince (as de Moret was referred to in this letter!) consented, he should ride down such-and-such a street at such-and-such a time, wearing a blue ribbon on his wrist. Maria was on her way to see if the Duke would consent to further adventures.
Richelieu learned through his informants that the Duchess de Maria had delivered a letter to the Duke de Moret, and he even learned what it contained. He therefore arranged for the Duke de Moret to be unable to appear at the agreed-upon time and place, and dispatched his agent to spy on the Duchess. Unfortunately for Richelieu, he lacked the experienced spies he acquired shortly after this unfortunate failure. The dimwitted de Bedot hadn't even bothered to change into civilian clothes, so he shadowed the Duchess while wearing a guardsman's cloak. Naturally, Maria spotted him and tried to escape, deciding to enlist my help. Thus began our acquaintance. Looking ahead, I will say that Mariat believed that Moret had ignored her invitation, so she abandoned the idea of seducing this son of Henry IV .
Well, in trying to catch the Duc de Moret, she caught the Musketeer d'Herblay. Perhaps at the time she couldn't yet appreciate the acquisition fate had given her, but I can say without false modesty that she gained a devoted friend for many years, right up until the moment she decided to betray him, which gave the word "devoted friend" a whole new meaning to me.

Chapter 9

In the evening I showed up for a date with Maria.
"So, my glorious musketeer, have you come for your reward?" she asked.
"Not in the slightest!" I replied. "I came at your call. You invited me, and I showed up. I have no reward to ask for; I did what I thought was right, and I don't expect to take anything from anyone for it."
"Ah, noble knight!" exclaimed Maria. "I had no idea that such selflessness and valor could still be found in France!"
"Perhaps we move in different circles," I replied. "Among the Musketeers, of which I have the honor of being a member, such a view of things is not uncommon."
"And among courtiers, of which I am one, such a look is rare!" Maria replied. "I still intend to thank you for your intercession for a weak woman."
“I don’t take money or gifts from women, madam,” I objected.
"I don't intend to offer you anything material!" Maria replied.
“Oh, madam, if you want to offer me something immaterial, then I feel embarrassed,” I said.
Indeed, I myself didn't understand my state. Young noblemen, and especially musketeers whose lives could end any day, don't neglect opportunities to obtain the highest proof of affection from ladies. I was the same way. If Maria had feigned unavailability, I would likely have made every effort to extract from her everything she had no intention of providing. Here, however, she seemed to offer herself quite unequivocally. It was as if a rabbit had caught a boa constrictor and forced itself into its jaws. This violated every rule of conduct. The prey does not hunt the hunter! Intuitively, I sensed something was wrong, so I lost any desire to flirt with her.
"Sir!" Maria exclaimed. "You have obviously misunderstood me. You think I am offering you my love? But I am not! I am offering you my friendship, which is far more precious, believe me. You do not know who I am, I will tell you that."
At that moment, I felt a desire to win her love again. Everything fell into place: the prey no longer hunted the hunter, but once again avoided him, which made the hunter yearn to hunt the prey again.
"Madam, do you not love me?" I asked, trying to feign coldness. "Then forgive me for misinterpreting your words. I do not reject your friendship, but friendship presupposes many mutual obligations, so I must first learn who you are and what kind of friendly services you might require from me. I must remind you that I am in the service of the King, and any actions or inactions that conflict with my duties as a musketeer are unacceptable to me , and requests for such are insignificant; I refuse in advance to accept any obligations of this kind.
"My friendship will in no way interfere with your service to the King, my knight!" replied Maria. "On the contrary, these duties overlap in almost every way."
“It’s your ‘almost’ that makes me wary,” I answered as gently but insistently as possible.
"Who do you think rules France?" asked Maria.
“Of course, His Majesty the King,” I replied.
"How naive you are!" laughed Marie. "France is currently ruled by three men and three women. The three men are King Louis XIII , the Constable Duke de Luynes, and the Bishop of Lu;on, Monsieur de Richelieu. The three women are the Queen Mother Marie de Medici, Queen Anne, and her closest friend, de Luynes' wife, Marie de Luynes."
"Let's assume that's the case, madam," I said. "I'm far from the court, so I agree in advance that you know best. So what?"
"And the fact is that soon one man and one woman will be excluded from this list," Mary continued. "The Queen Mother is rapidly losing power, and with her, that vile Richelieu will lose it too. That will leave four."
“So be it,” I agreed. “What business is it of mine?”
"If you agree with what I've said," Marie continued, "then you'll also agree that the King, raised from childhood to detest government, relies entirely on his best friend and confidant, his most important adviser, the Duc de Luynes. The Queen, meanwhile, consults her best friend, the Duchess de Luynes, in everything. Thus, France is effectively governed not by six or four people, but by two. Moreover, the Duc de Luynes would never do anything to harm his wife, Marie de Luynes.
“I suppose everything you said is very interesting, but I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I said.
“You are currently in the house of the Duke de Luynes and talking with the mistress of this house, Marie Aim;e de Luynes,” Marie said solemnly.
“Chevalier d'Aramitz, Abb; d'Herblay, madam,” I replied with a bow.
"Abb;, really?" Maria asked in surprise. "I was told your name was simply Aramis. Was my information inaccurate?"
“Quite correct, madam, since that is precisely what they call me among the musketeers, Aramis,” I replied.
"But you haven't told me your name, Monsieur Aramis," said Maria. "What should I call you if you really are my friend? Jean? Jules? Charles?"
"Henri-Ren;," I replied. "My relatives who address me by my first name call me Henri or Ren;. But I don't think such an address is appropriate for a duchess who, by her own admission, rules France."
"You don't believe me, Aramis," Maria burst out laughing. "But how can you call me Maria if you don't let me call you Henri?"
“I didn’t mean to call you Maria, madam,” I replied as coldly as I could.
"It doesn't matter," Maria waved her hand dismissively. "What you were going to do, or weren't going to do, isn't so important anymore. What matters is what you will do. And you will be my friend, and so I will call you Henri, and you will call me Maria."
“What a woman wants, even God will not resist,” I said modestly.
"That would be true if God knew what she really wanted," Maria laughed. "Or at least if the woman herself knew it! Right now, I'd like to slap you for all the insolence you've said to me, Monsieur Aramis, but instead, I'll just kiss you, Henri!"
With these words she came up to me and gave me the sweetest kiss in the world.
From that moment on, I was captivated. I returned her kiss, and more. The next day, I was almost late for morning roll call. If Maria hadn't given me a fresh shirt from her husband's countless wardrobe, I would have had to report to the barracks in a dirty one, something that never happened to me. Fortunately, the Duc de Luynes and I were about the same height and size, and fortunately, the Duke spent more nights at the Louvre than at home. However, Maria assured me that the Duke wasn't jealous. That night, I had the opportunity to witness Maria's extraordinary passion and experience. This relationship lasted for thirty-five years. God knows, if Maria hadn't been married, and if I had been the Duke at that time, after that night I would have decided to spend the rest of my life with her. Fortunately, these conditions weren't met, so our relationship wasn't blessed by the Lord; it remained something more than friendship, but less than marriage. How could I have known then that Maria was entering into such relationships with far more than just me?
"Henri!" Maria said to me as we parted this morning. "I beg you, get rid of that Gascon accent of yours and don't tell anyone you're Gascon. Even King Henry IV , your namesake, did the same. Follow his example."
I wanted to object, but Maria sealed my mouth with hers. There was no time to object. I nodded and rushed to the barracks.
Maria supplied me with a wealth of books on history, politics, even fortification, as well as books in Spanish with parallel translations into French, so that I could learn the language. Every time I pretended to pray, I read these books. Prayer is a futile exercise. If God listened to them, the world would be a different place. The fact that the holy men who devote all their time to prayer always ask for the same thing proves they don't receive it. However, prayers aren't supposed to be heard by God, otherwise they wouldn't be prayers, but conversations.

Chapter 10

Regarding books, one funny episode came to my mind.
One day, Maria laughingly showed me a rare edition of Niccolo Machiavelli's "The Prince: A History of Florence: Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livius." It was a first edition of the great historian and philosopher's three famous books, extremely rare and expensive. The only problem was that it was hopelessly damaged. Maria's little dog had chewed the spine and all the corners, making the book unpleasant to hold.
"Look what that insufferable Mimi has done to one of my favorite books!" she exclaimed.
“I’ll get you the same one,” I replied.
"The dog or the book?" Maria asked with a laugh. "Don't worry about the dog, I've forgiven her. As for the book, don't make any promises you can't keep. There were only three such books in France. The first one belonged to me, the second to the Duke of La Rochefoucauld, and the third to some count unknown to me."
“Ask the Duke for this book,” I suggested.
"He loves books so much that he wouldn't part with such a bibliographical rarity for any amount of money," Maria replied. "Wait a minute! I've come up with a funny joke!"
Her joke was to borrow the Duke's book for a while, ostensibly so she could read it. The Duke, of course, couldn't refuse, but asked her to handle it with the utmost care. The Duchess promised to do so, and a week later, she brought him the book, which had been chewed to pieces by a dog. The Duke was devastated, and it was a pitiful sight.
"Will you forgive my dog for treating your book so disrespectfully?" Maria said, making a pitiful face.
"Oh, of course, Duchess!" exclaimed the Duke.
At the same time, according to Mary's account, he was simply devastated. His face hadn't shown such grief even at the hour of King Henry IV 's death . Having thoroughly enjoyed her suitor's suffering, Mary finally admitted to him that his book hadn't suffered at all, and that the book she'd shown him was another one, hers, and that it had all been a simple joke.
"Oh, my God!" cried La Rochefoucauld. "Accept this book, which belongs to me, as a gift, and throw away that one which your little dog has chewed."
"No, Fran;ois," Maria objected. "I will not accept such a great sacrifice from you!"
The Duke feigned disappointment, but the cunning Maria was sure that he was extremely relieved that his collection of rare books had not suffered any damage.
Maria later learned that the third owner of such a rare specimen was the Count de La F;re. She suggested that I play the same trick on him.
I asked Athos for this book, which he gave me without any conditions. When, a week later, I returned the dog-gnawed book to him, Athos took it indifferently and threw it in the corner of the room he rented, where other books lay, whose value, I imagine, was no less than that of this rare copy.
"Count, aren't you angry that I'm returning the book to you in a slightly different condition than when I took it from you?" I asked.
“Obviously you had your reasons for doing so, and let’s forget about it,” Athos replied.
“The thing is, one dog…” I tried to justify myself.
"Don't go on, my friend," Athos replied. "You don't keep dogs, so you didn't take this book from me for yourself. But I don't want to know anything about the lady for whom you took this book, and that's enough about that."
Here I was forced to admit that it was just a joke, after which I returned Athos's own book safe and sound.
"Which of the two do you want to keep for yourself?" Athos asked, pointing alternately to his own book and to Maria's damaged one.
"None of them," I replied. "The joke doesn't seem funny to me anymore, forgive me, Athos."
Athos, without saying a word, threw his own book into the same corner where he had previously thrown the damaged copy.
“Whoever suggested this way of testing our friendship did not give you the best advice,” Athos said softly. “Everything I own is yours to take, should you need it. I was not upset that the book was damaged, for the simple reason that when you asked for it, I gave it to you as a gift, but did not elaborate. When you returned it to me, or rather, what remained of it, I felt no sense of loss, but pride in you. I thought how awkward it must have been for you to return the damaged thing, and that it would have been far simpler to pretend you had forgotten about it than to admit your carelessness. At that moment, I was proud of you. This torn and ruined book should have been consigned to the fireplace, but in my eyes it became for a time a symbol of your honesty and, if you will, sacrifice, so I accepted it from you.” If it was just a joke, its value would drop to zero again and it would go into the fireplace at the first opportunity.
"Athos, this book has now become a symbol of our friendship for me, a symbol of your selfless generosity," I said. "I ask you to give it to me, this dog-gnawed copy, and I will keep it as a reminder of the lesson I learned."
"What is this lesson?" asked Athos.
"The lesson is that friendship shouldn't be tested," I replied. "And also that nothing is too much for a friend."
Athos hugged me, after which I carefully picked up the book with its gnawed spine and corners. You won't believe it! It's still with me. I never part with it, no matter how I move!
 For this reason, I suppose, I've reread it hundreds of times. I know it by heart. If I hadn't read so much, I wouldn't have written my memoirs. As you can see, everything has its reasons.

Chapter 11

I think it's appropriate here to recall how I first met Athos. It happened in 1619. For three years, I had been unsuccessfully trying to combine the duties of an abbot with those of a guardsman. At times, I felt unsuited to neither calling, while at other times, I felt both were exquisitely suited. Giving up the abbey would have meant losing my stable source of income; giving up military service would have meant becoming a priest forever. Neither prospect satisfied me. I couldn't become an abbot entirely, for serving the Lord was not so much a life choice for me as one of many possible, fascinating puzzles. I wasn't so much serving God as seeking Him. Reading so-called wisdom books about God, where I found much discourse on Him but never found Him, was a fascinating pursuit of unexplored tracks. For a long time, I also didn't take being a soldier seriously. I donned the uniform of a guardsman and felt free from the vows and restrictions of the church. Only as a guardsman could I look at the beauties I encountered the way I wanted to look at them. Just when I'd almost convinced myself I was nothing more than a soldier, I'd remember my duties as a confessor. And since such young, tender beauties, a joy to behold, often came to me for confession, I couldn't give up this part of my life. Once I seriously dedicated myself to the life of an abbot, I felt a keen need not to suppress my emotions, but to let them out, not to hide in a frail cell, but to prance on a spirited stallion, sword in hand, delighting the young townswomen.
One day, as I was leaving the confessional, I came face to face with a musketeer of the king with noble features and a slender figure.
"May I inquire, sir, which of your two professions is your primary one?" he asked with such a benevolent smile that his question could not possibly be considered an insult.
Besides, at that moment I was wearing an abbot’s clothes, and abbots, as we know, do not challenge musketeers to a duel.
“I wish I could find the answer to that question myself,” I replied with a grin. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know me?”
"I've seen you in an abbot's garb many times, but I've also encountered you among the guards," the musketeer replied. "It seems to me that you would have made a splendid musketeer, judging by the battles I've seen you in, but when I see you in an abbot's garb, it seems as if my eyes deceived me, and that dashing guardsman was a different man. Perhaps you have a twin brother?"
"No, sir, it was I," I replied in the calm voice that was only fitting for an abbot. "The Lord has not yet deigned to guide me to the true path, but I console myself with the hope that He will soon number me among His servants, so that I will forever abandon this absurd passion for military affairs."
"Did I understand you correctly that you prefer to be a full-time abbot rather than a military man?" the musketeer asked, with what seemed to me to be some disappointment.
“I think a cassock would suit me better than a guardsman’s uniform,” I replied.
“Then, holy father, I beg your pardon for daring to suggest that you might need my advice,” Athos replied, after which he left so quickly that I did not have time to answer him.

The next day I was in the fencing hall, where I was working on improving my skill, which, as we know, requires constant practice.
"Holy Father, I see your intention to become an abbot hasn't yet crystallized into a final decision?" I heard the now-familiar voice of the same musketeer. "Would you like to do me the honor of crossing rapiers with me? Perhaps I can show you a few tricks, or, better yet, perhaps you could teach me a thing or two?"
"Oh, with pleasure!" I replied. "Abb; d'Herblay, at your service!"
“Forgive me, sir, I cannot cross swords with the abbot,” replied the musketeer.
— In that case, sir, I hope that you will not refuse to fence with His Majesty's guardsman Aramis?
“His Majesty’s Musketeer Athos is at your service, Monsieur Aramis,” replied my fencing partner, bowing politely, as is customary between fencers in training fights with dull rapiers.
Athos missed three injections, while I missed four from him.
"Now let's try with our left hands?" Athos suggested.
"Left?" I asked, surprised. "But I've never trained to fight with my left hand!"
"That's a shame, Monsieur Aramis," replied Athos. "It might come in handy in a fight or a duel."
"You're probably right, but I'll still be much worse at fencing with my left hand than with my right, won't I?" I asked.
"Firstly, your opponent might be left-handed, in which case fighting him right-handed will be extremely difficult for you, while he's trained his entire life to fight right-handed people," Athos countered. "If you can fence left-handed, then your skill will be a novelty to him; he'll likely be unprepared for it, which gives you a significant advantage."
“You have convinced me, and from today on I will begin training in fencing with my left hand as well,” I replied. “But since you have said your ‘first’, I suppose there is also a ‘second’?”
"Of course," Athos replied. "Secondly, you might be wounded in your right hand, because every duelist aims first at the right hand, not the left, believing that your left hand is less dangerous. Then your only options are to continue the fight with your wounded hand, or to grab the sword with your left, but healthy, hand. Judge for yourself what's best for you."
"Your 'secondly' is no less convincing than 'firstly'!" I marveled. "Why don't fencing schools take this into account?"
"There are different schools," Athos replied with a gentle smile. "There's also the 'third' school. After all, you might be up against two opponents, or even more. In that case, you'll really need your left hand."
"That argument is even more convincing!" I exclaimed. "How come it never occurred to me?"
“Fourthly, the ability to use the left hand gives the ability to fight with both hands simultaneously if necessary,” Athos continued.
"Yes, I know that when a dagger is held in the left hand, it can serve as additional protection against a sword," I said. "That is, if its hilt, that is, the guard, is shaped like a crossguard, a bow, a shield, a half-basket, a basket, a half-cup, or a cup."
"You'll do it much more effectively if you learn to use your left hand as well as your right," Athos said, nodding. "But that's not enough."
“Not enough?” I asked.
"Of course!" Athos replied. "The next step after you learn to fence with your left hand is to learn to fence with both hands simultaneously and independently."
"Let's start the lesson immediately!" I exclaimed passionately.
"But you seemed to intend to leave the military field and become an abbot for good?" Athos asked with a smile.
"Oh, what are you saying!" I exclaimed. "It's the cassock that has this effect on me. When I'm dressed in it, I'm not myself."
“Then don’t wear it anymore,” Athos advised.
"And lose the income I inherited from my father?" I asked.
“I don’t undertake to advise you in financial matters,” said Athos with extreme seriousness.
“I’ll probably only be an abbot from time to time, very rarely,” I said.
"Whatever you decide, it's your life and your choice," Athos said, softening. "If your religious fascination doesn't take up more than two days a month, I could perhaps recommend you to our regiment of the King's Musketeers. There's real work there, not like with the guards."
"I'll be happy if that happens, but I have one request," I said. "Don't call me Monsieur le Abbe or Monsieur Aramis anymore. To you, I'm simply Aramis."
“Then to you I am simply Athos,” replied Athos. “Your hand, Aramis!”
We shook hands, which marked the beginning of our friendly pair, which later became a trio, and then, after d'Artagnan's arrival in Paris, an inseparable foursome.

Chapter 1 2

Today, my faithful servant, Bazin, has passed away. For a long time, he was simply a servant, then became a secretary, and finally, a friend. He carried out every order I gave him with more diligence than if it had been given to him by the King or the Pope himself. He never started a family; I was his family, and he was mine.
One day, he survived an attack by bandits and pirates, receiving two bullets. I believed he would never recover from these wounds, but I could not stay with him. Duty called me to pursue the pirates; I had to rescue from their hands a kidnapped prince, as well as a lady for whom my friend d'Artagnan was partial. I left poor Bazin in the care of worthy people, and my heart was in turmoil the entire time I was unable to inquire about his condition. I was afraid to write, afraid to learn the worst. But my dear Bazin survived. That was six years ago. He continued to serve me faithfully and truly for these six years, although his strength was no longer what it had been. He was with me for almost sixty years! We will see each other soon, my friend!
There were four of us musketeers, and each had his own servant. These servants also became friends. The first of them we lost was Mousqueton, who, for reasons unknown to me, in his old age asked to be called Mouston, as the name Mousqueton did not seem aristocratic enough to him. Yes, he had become aristocratic, at least in his way of life. Poor Mouston died at the hands of scoundrels hired by Colbert to assassinate d'Artagnan. Then Grimaud, Athos's servant, left. He looked very old, for his hair was completely gray and his face was deeply wrinkled, but he remained as robust as one could be for his age. And now Bazin. Is Planchet, d'Artagnan's former servant, still alive? God knows. He was the first to stop being a servant and set up his own business, running an inn and a grocery store where anyone could buy fruit, nuts, tea, and other small items. It seems Planchet was the only truly family-oriented man among our four servants. Indeed, d'Artagnan didn't need a servant so much as a friend after our separation some time after the siege of La Rochelle. After all, his position as captain-lieutenant of the king's musketeers provided him with a batman, sometimes even two, so there was no point in keeping a servant at his own expense. Planchet was active during the Fronde, practically one of the commoners' leading Frondeurs. Of course, the ruling party had other leaders. I'll write about this someday, but not today. Today I mourn my dear Bazin. He was to me what Father Joseph was to Cardinal Richelieu. Well, no. After all, Father Joseph initially facilitated Richelieu's rise by introducing him to the Queen Mother. I don't owe my career to Bazin; he simply served me conscientiously and honorably, worked for me, and was completely devoted to me. But in all other respects, he was my "grey eminence." I even wanted to make him a bishop! By God, that could have worked! In any case, he could have been an abbot. But out of selfish considerations, I held off on proposing it for a long time, and when I finally did, he was so offended that he spoke to me with the utmost diffidence for a whole week. "Yes, monseigneur," "No, monseigneur," "Yes, monseigneur." And so—for a whole week! Because I intended to part with him! He decided that I had found myself a more efficient servant, that I was dissatisfied with his services. Poor fellow! Could he have imagined that such an inveterate egoist as I could undertake something not for myself personally and not for my own benefit, but simply to do good to someone who is dear to him?
How easily we all assume the worst in others! And how difficult it is to accept that someone close to us might be better than we think! We most easily attribute our own shortcomings to others. The evil one sees malice in everyone, the greedy one considers everyone a miser, the envious one assumes everyone is envious of him, the one who is prone to adultery suspects everyone of the same. But Bazin wasn't selfish, was he? Or did I only imagine so? Be that as it may, he knew me well, and he was right; it really was difficult for me to bring myself to offer him something I wasn't interested in myself!
Sleep in peace, my dear Bazin!
I won't write anything else today.
Amen!

Chapter 1 3

On the evening of the day after my visit to Marie, I decided to reflect on the situation and, without noticing, arrived at the southern end of the Quai Henri IV . Suddenly, I saw two young men with drawn swords approaching me with an air that left no doubt they intended to attack me. I confess that, despite the gathering darkness, this didn't particularly disturb me, as I had a very high opinion of my own fencing skills, which I had learned from my father and two very competent swordsmen. Nevertheless, I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword and walked a little more slowly. Because of this, my steps became quieter and less frequent, and I immediately heard the clatter of two pairs of boots behind me. A quick glance around confirmed that I had not been mistaken.
Four against one – such a confrontation could have been fatal for me.
I noticed that if I continued at the same pace, the place where I would meet the people coming towards me would be the darkest and most secluded. Preferring to meet in a better-lit spot, where there was also a gate leading to a secluded garden, I decided to slow my pace even further and stop when the gate was behind me. My hopes of finding the gate open were slim, but it was better than nothing.
So, approaching the gate, I leaned my back against it and looked with interest at the four armed men approaching me from both sides.
"What a meeting!" exclaimed one of those walking towards me. "Is this really the same Mr. King's Musketeer who so loves to meddle in other people's affairs?!"
"It's hardly a meeting, Monsieur de Bedaux," I replied, for this was the very man from whom I had helped Maria escape, and whose name she had already told me. "However, I would be glad to meet you at any time you deign to appoint, with an equal number of seconds on both sides."
"Why put it off, Monsieur Aramis? That's your name, if I'm not mistaken?" replied de Bedaux. "My time is extremely valuable, and I may never have the chance to speak with you again. Right now, I'm free to talk with you and settle all differences, and with you, too."
My two pursuers, who were walking behind me, had also already approached and assumed positions that left no doubt about their intention to join in the massacre of me.
"Well, gentlemen!" I replied. "I see that you all seem to have some questions for me?"
"Yes!" replied de Bedo. "And we will converse in the language of swords!"
"All four of you with me alone?" I asked, maintaining a serene expression despite the slight confusion that, I confess, had overcome me. "If you, Monsieur de Bedaux, consider the present moment most suitable for a conversation of this kind, then, although I have no seconds on my side, I am prepared to engage in a conversation in the language of the sword. I hope that you yourself will draw lots or otherwise decide the order of our conversations."
"Order?!" de Bedo exclaimed and burst out laughing. "You mean the question of whose sword will be the first to plunge into your chest? Chance will decide that!"
"So, you intend to fight me all four at once?" I clarified. "Well then! In that case, I no longer consider you nobles and will use every trick I know!"
Luckily, I had a dagger with me, which I could hope to use to parry the blows of one attacker, while with my sword I could parry the blows of the other. I confess I'd never fought four at once, but then there's a first time for everything! I realized I had to kill or wound at least one of the attackers as quickly as possible, or better yet, two, then my chances of victory would be quite reasonable. The one on the right of the four standing before me was the most dangerous, as his sword was already pointed at me, and his face expressed determination to kill me as quickly as possible.
In an instant, I ducked under this opponent's sword and plunged my own into his chest, near the heart. At the same time, I threw my dagger with my left hand at the one standing next to him and tried to snatch the sword from the hands of the bandit I had just killed. I succeeded. Thus, my situation improved slightly, since I had two swords in my hands, and I now had only two opponents. To my chagrin, the dagger I threw did not seriously wound my opponent, but only pierced his thick leather belt superficially.
Still, fending off three attackers with two swords was much easier than fending off four with only a sword and a dagger. Furthermore, it seemed to me that the attackers didn't expect to lose one of their comrades so quickly, which forced them to act more cautiously.
I hoped to at least hit de Bedeau, as he was clearly the leader of the attackers, and if he were killed, the other two might leave me alone. However, the battle had become serious, and I was already beginning to feel my strength failing me. I was growing tired, no longer having the agility to hold off the onslaught of three nocturnal assassins. Furthermore, I had received two light wounds, one in the arm and one in the leg, which significantly weakened me, and I knew that soon my strength would fail me completely.
"What the hell is going on here?!" someone exclaimed behind me. "Three against one! I'll get you, you devils!"
The next moment, I saw a huge man with a long sword to my left, who fell upon my opponents with such fury that within ten seconds, one of them was down, and my unexpected savior and I found ourselves two against two against my enemies. My opponent was now only De Bedo, while my giant companion's opponent was the one who had been walking towards me with him.
I was already quite tired, and de Bedo was a fairly good swordsman, and his attack was further fueled by the rage that had consumed him at the loss of two of his men. Fortunately, my tall companion dispatched his remaining opponent quickly and with ease.
So, soon only de Bedo remained alive. Even if the duel between us had been conducted according to all the rules, my companion could well have helped me defeat this remaining opponent, but in this particular case, I would not allow it. However, he was not eager to do so. Having entered the fight due to the inequality of forces between the two opposing sides, he would have been breaking his rules if he had taken advantage of the resulting balance of swordsmen in favor of the other side. He calmly sheathed his sword and awaited the end of the fight.
Having confirmed that de Bedo had no intention of surrendering, I decided it was necessary to finish him off. I was saved by the fact that I still had my second sword in my hands. I gathered all my strength and, making two feints with my right hand, plunged the sword in my left hand into de Bedo's throat. At that very moment, he began to wheeze, collapsed to the ground, and soon gave up the ghost.
" Sir, I am infinitely grateful to you for coming to my rescue!" I said to the man who had taken my side. "Allow me to introduce myself, Abb; d'Herblay, or, Aramis, as my comrades in arms call me."
“Aramis?” my savior was surprised. “I think I’ve heard that name before. And I’m Isaac de Porto. I only arrived in Paris yesterday and am planning to join the Musketeers. I just haven’t decided where exactly. I’ve heard that in Paris there are the King’s Musketeers and the Richelieu Musketeers, whom we call the Guards. The Richelieu Musketeers are paid more.”
"But the King's Musketeers are four times more noble than the Guards, as you could see today," I said. "After all, those people who attacked me were Richelieu's Guards, while I am the King's Musketeer!"
"Well, then, fate itself has made its choice for me!" exclaimed de Porto. "If I managed to quarrel fatally with Richelieu's guards on the second day of my stay in Paris, then my path lies in becoming the King's Musketeers."
"Tomorrow I will speak with the captain of the king's musketeers, Monsieur de Treville," I said. "You know, we have short nicknames so we can quickly address each other in battle. Perhaps the name Porthos would suit you better?"
"Tell me, how long have you served in the King's Musketeers?" my interlocutor asked.
“A year and a half,” I answered.
"If a musketeer of such venerable standing tells me that I should be called Porthos, then from this moment on that is exactly what I shall be called!" he exclaimed. "Your hand!"
"I am your debtor and your friend forever!" I exclaimed and offered Porthos my hand.
It was quite rash of me. My hand ached for three days afterward, as Porthos had shaken it rather vigorously. I must say he was careful to be gentle, as had he squeezed with all his might, he would have broken every bone in my hand. I say this not conjecturely, but with full knowledge of the matter, as I have had countless opportunities to experience the full force of Porthos and his handshake, fortunately not on my own hand.

Chapter 1 4

In the end, Porthos, whom I had just met, saved me from an inglorious death at night on the embankment at the hands of criminals.
Had this event occurred a day later, when Richelieu had secured the edict banning duels, we both would have faced the death penalty—if not for murder, then for dueling, since we would have been unable to prove that it was neither, but merely self-defense. After all, we had no witnesses to the attack. If it had been discovered that we had killed those four guardsmen, Richelieu would have personally taken it upon himself to dispatch us. He had long advocated the strictest prohibition of duels, and after his beloved older brother died in one, he became an even more ardent hater of duels.
Fortunately, this edict had not yet been signed. The King signed it the day after this event, February 6, 1621. However, it was already clear that we were in grave danger. For this reason, we arranged the corpses so that it would appear that it had been a two-on-two duel, and that the combatants had killed each other. To make matters more convincing, I placed the sword of the attacker I had killed first and took my dagger.
Later, from Marie and other sources, I learned for certain that it was this incident that prompted the King to sign the previously prepared edict banning duels. Richelieu was furious at losing four of his guardsmen in one evening. Fortunately, he didn't suspect the true cause of this loss, otherwise the decree would likely have been retroactively extended to us. At that time, Richelieu hadn't yet managed to dominate the judicial system to the point where all decisions were rendered solely according to his wishes. However, it's unlikely that anyone would have believed that I was attacked alone by four fencers, after which I escaped with two minor wounds, while all four were killed, even with Porthos's unexpected reinforcements. I had to make every effort to conceal my wounds, and for this I required the assistance of the highly skilled physician de Cleroux, who had treated all the wounds of de Treville's musketeers. Luckily, I already had two spare sets of uniform, one of which I donned the next day, since the uniform in which I was attacked was damaged by two holes and stained with my blood.
Incidentally, in duels, the victor could take the vanquished's sword. In this case, we decided not to do so, for the obvious reasons I outlined above. Incidentally, if an officer was arrested, he was required to surrender his sword, but he could also break it and keep the hilt. This was because the hilt was often adorned with precious stones and carried other personal characteristics of the sword's owner, and such hilts were often passed down from father to eldest son. The blade, however, could be replaced by an experienced swordsmith.
I read that the custom of decorating weapons with gold and diamonds was introduced by Gaius Julius Caesar. Upon learning that fighting soldiers were abandoning their weapons and retreating, he ordered the hilt of his sword to be adorned with the most expensive diamonds and other precious stones possible. When a patrician friend asked him if he wasn't afraid of losing such a precious weapon in battle, he replied, "Do you really think my weapon can be taken from me without taking my life?" From then on, warriors began decorating their sabers as expensively as possible, to prove to everyone that they would never part with their weapons in battle. Cases of combatants abandoning their weapons almost never occurred from that time on. I believe this tradition has continued through the centuries to the present day; weapons were quite expensive for musketeers, so a sword-shaped trophy was very valuable. If the entire sword couldn't be taken, the hilt was taken. And yet, we left our trophies on the battlefield. I was doubly happy: first, to have escaped, and second, to have found a friend. As for Porthos, he had only just arrived in Paris; his sword was a simple one, and he hadn't even suspected the possibility of acquiring such a trophy. Incidentally, Porthos soon acquired an extremely ornate sword, in accordance with all the rules of military valor. But that's another story.
That same evening, despite the late hour, I suggested to Porthos that we celebrate my miraculous rescue and our acquaintance at one of the taverns near the barracks. Porthos displayed an excellent appetite, and the dinner cost me four times what I had expected, but I didn't regret the money spent. D'Artagnan later said very accurately: "One can watch three things endlessly and with pleasure: a fire burning, a young girl dancing, and Porthos eating." Porthos crushed turkey bones, which ordinary people gnaw on, with his magnificent teeth as if they were breadcrumbs. As for the wine, he emptied the goblet in one gulp as if nothing had happened.
 
Chapter 15

Still, I will return to the story of how I met Porthos and how he became a musketeer.
So I suggested to Porthos that he come to the musketeers' barracks at half past six in the morning, while I myself went there, as usual, at six o'clock.
“Aramis, de Treville is looking for you,” Athos said to me after we had exchanged the usual greetings.
"Do you know what the occasion is?" I asked.
"I imagine the occasion was not a pleasant one, since he said, 'As soon as this...' appears," Athos said, and then hesitated. "Allow me not to repeat the exact words he used; they denote an abbot, but such words are not customary in noble society. His vocabulary was approximately that usually used by Marshal de Br;z;."
"Wow, really?" I exclaimed.
Marshal de Br;z; was a paragon of foul language, even among military men. He likely did this to further anger Monsieur Desmarais, who was known for his prudishness. Indeed, the aforementioned Desmarais once ordered the burning of a large number of extremely valuable paintings by famous artists because they depicted nude women. These paintings had long adorned the finest rooms of the Ch;teau de Fontainebleau, where he had unfortunately been appointed caretaker. The aforementioned microcephalic individual went to great lengths to ensure the ch;teau appeared "decent," as he, Desmarais, understood the word, which, of course, diminished the value of the ch;teau's furnishings by destroying the priceless masterpieces that adorned it. Even the most hardened prudes of the Vatican would not have allowed themselves such a thing. The aforementioned Desmarais demanded that everyone use only the most refined vocabulary, and so, whenever he received papers from Marshal de Br;z;, he would lose his temper. Afterward, with great effort, he would assume a semblance of polite tolerance and ask the Marshal to rewrite the document, using only acceptable language. "Go away with your orders!" de Br;z; replied, adding further addresses that I also hesitate to mention here. So, if de Treville spoke of me using de Br;z;'s vocabulary, I should be prepared for a serious dressing-down.
Having thanked Athos, I resolutely headed “into hell,” that is, to de Treville’s apartments.
"Listen, Aramis!" exclaimed de Treville, seeing me. "What happened there on the Quai Henri IV ?"
“I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about, Captain,” I said.
“Don’t try to deceive me,” de Treville objected. “I was there. Do you understand me? While you might still hope to deceive Richelieu’s guards, you won’t deceive me. I saw their wounds. At least two of them were killed by you. In any case, it was a blow from below with a sword to the throat… Not one of the guards would have dealt such a blow. Granted, the bodies lay as if they had been in a duel, two against two. But the catch is that these four were four ravens from the same nest, and I am of the opinion that one raven will not peck out another raven’s eye. Silence?”
“I don’t know what to say, Captain,” I said, embarrassed.
"Better to remain silent than to continue lying," agreed de Treville. "Luckily, Richelieu's blockheads decided that things were exactly as you wanted them to think. But I see how it happened. Four guardsmen attacked you. You probably did something to annoy them, and they, I admit, intended to kill you."
"Then am I responsible for not approving of their plan?" I asked. "I didn't like it from the start."
"I admit you disagreed with those four," de Treville agreed. "But how dare they attack the King's four musketeers, all four of them? And who were the three who helped you deal with the others? And besides, if your forces were equal, why kill them? Wouldn't it have been simpler to simply wound them, take their swords, and send them away in disgrace?"
“Mr. Captain, I didn’t have three friends with me,” I replied.
"I don't believe you," de Treville objected. "I would be convinced that Athos was with you if I didn't know for a fact that he wasn't, since he was with me all evening yesterday, carrying out my instructions. So, who are these three?"
“I assure you, there was not a single musketeer with me,” I replied, “so none of the King’s musketeers are responsible for the fact that I am still alive.”
"So you had three guards with you?" asked de Treville, calming down a little. "Well, that explains why Richelieu's musketeers dared to attack you."
“There was not a single soldier with me, not a musketeer, not a guard, not a recruit,” I replied.
"You mean to tell me that you were alone?" de Treville asked incredulously.
“At first, yes, but after I dealt one of them that very blow that gave me away…” I answered.
"You mean to say that, while fighting against four men, you killed one of them with the first blow?" de Treville asked incredulously.
“Athos taught me to use both hands, which allowed me to hit the first one who attacked me and at least temporarily neutralize the second one,” I said sincerely.
"What are you saying?" de Treville exclaimed admiringly. "In that case, it would truly be a shame if, after such a glorious start, they still killed you."
"I decided so too, Captain," I agreed. "This consideration made me fight on."
"You said that at first you were alone," de Treville reminded him. "When did these three, or perhaps two, come to your rescue?"
“Almost at the same moment, but there were not two of them, but one,” I answered.
"Alone?!" de Treville was surprised. "You mean to tell me that someone, not a career soldier, sided with you even though you were only two against three?"
“That’s exactly how it was, Captain,” I replied.
“Judging by the two blows he dealt to two of your three opponents, he must be a very strong and tall man,” de Treville suggested.
“You have very accurately determined the texture and strength of this savior of mine from the wounds,” I agreed.
"Well, two against four," muttered de Treville. "And neither of you received any wounds?"
“None at all, Captain!” I exclaimed decisively.
De Treville looked at me carefully, his gaze lingering on my left arm and left leg.
"Or perhaps just trivial wounds?" asked de Treville.
“Perhaps completely trivial,” I agreed.
"Which, one hopes, will heal in three weeks?" asked de Treville. "Or five?"
“In three, Captain,” I replied.
"What do you want from me?" de Treville suddenly exclaimed with feigned anger. "What is your purpose in coming to me this morning? To boast of your exploits?"
“I was told that you were looking for me,” I said.
"I was looking for you, but you were looking for me too, weren't you?" asked de Treville. "Let me guess. You've come to ask me to accept your savior as one of the King's Musketeers?"
“I thought that…” I hesitated.
"Did you know that the King's Musketeers are not accepted without a sufficiently strong recommendation?" de Treville asked angrily.
“Yes, Captain,” I agreed.
“That means I cannot accept this nobleman, unknown to me, even though he possesses remarkable strength and is a good fencer, as a musketeer today,” replied de Treville, who seemed to be arguing with himself.
“It appears that way, Captain,” I confirmed.
"And what, in your opinion, should I propose to this nobleman? To join the guard of my son-in-law, Deszesart, for the time being?" continued de Treville.
“That will probably be the only possible solution,” I agreed.
"And thus allow such a strong and agile swordsman to be in the possession of someone other than me, is that what you are proposing, Monsieur Aramis?" asked de Treville, feigning indignation once again.
“That would be unfortunate,” I said.
"Can I at least take a look at this giant?" de Treville finally asked after much thought.
“He should arrive at the entrance to the barracks at this very moment,” I replied.
“Bring him here,” said de Treville.
I went out and returned a few minutes later, accompanied by Porthos.
“Your name is…” said de Treville.
"Porthos!" Porthos exclaimed so loudly that de Treville winced, probably from the pain in his ears.
"I thank you for the assistance you rendered to one of my finest musketeers," said de Treville. "But I beg you not to speak of this episode. Believe me, it is in your own best interests."
“I did what anyone would have done in my place,” Porthos answered modestly.
"It is commendable that you think so, but it is regrettable that you are mistaken," replied de Treville. "People, for the most part, are not such as to intercede for someone without a significant chance of preserving their own life and health, and, especially, without having a personal interest in the outcome of the case."
"Our chances were quite good," Porthos countered. "But you're right, I would have intervened even if the attackers had been twice or three times as numerous. In that case, our chances would have been a little worse."
"Are you saying you were confident you could overcome three of them together?" asked de Treville.
"I could have defeated three even alone," Porthos dismissed. "At home, I often amused myself this way, using a rapier with blunted ends instead of a sword, fighting against four, or even six, men. But I soon had to put an end to these amusements, as I had broken too many bones, although, God knows, I didn't mean to."
"Is that so?" de Treville was surprised. "So, you probably hope to become the King's musketeer?"
“I already became one, yesterday evening, from the moment I made this decision,” Porthos answered simply.
"Well, it doesn't happen that quickly," de Treville laughed. "I haven't yet decided whether to enlist you, and even after I make that decision—if I do—it will still need to be approved by the King."
"The King will approve any decision you make regarding your admission to the Musketeers, because he trusts you," Porthos said carelessly. "So it's up to you."
"Why do you think the King trusts me so completely?" de Treville asked incredulously.
"Does someone who isn't trusted actually become captain of the king's musketeers?" Porthos asked naively.
"You're right, damn it!" exclaimed de Treville. "Of course, His Majesty will approve my decision, but I haven't made it yet!"
"Then accept it," said Porthos. "Why put off such a good deed for later?"
“But you don’t have any recommendations,” de Treville said doubtfully.
“It will be there in five minutes,” Porthos answered serenely.
"Who will write it?" de Treville asked in surprise.
"Aramis!" replied Porthos.
De Treville looked at me in surprise. I nodded.
"Damn it, you've got me covered!" he exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "And it had to happen just when I had a vacancy."
It must be said that de Treville lied without blinking an eye. Of course, vacancies arise from time to time, but I knew for a fact that at that moment de Treville had no vacancy. Apparently, he had decided to hire Porthos beyond his current staff, rightly believing that a vacancy might arise soon.
So Porthos became a musketeer.
 
Chapter 16

As I've already said, Marie's first husband, the Chevalier de Luynes, taught her how to conspire. Yes, yes, at first a simple chevalier, from the humble Tuscan family of Alberti. He was quite handsome, and for this reason served as a page to Henry IV , who was also his godfather. After his marriage, Henry IV's court was teeming with Tuscans who had arrived in France with his bride, Marie de Medici. As I've already said, one of these Tuscans greatly helped the future Queen fulfill her most important duty as a Queen, namely, to bear an heir to the French throne. And the Tuscan de Luynes helped rid France of its most intolerable Tuscan, Concino Concini.
I must say that the Dauphin Louis XIII, unlike his nominal father, Henry IV , not only disliked women, as I've already mentioned, but he also loved handsome men. In this, his preferences were very similar to those of Henry III , which could have led to the same unfortunate outcome that befell that monarch, since Henry III left no heir. Louis also avoided not only close contact with women but generally disliked contact with them, even casually. He made an exception for a few ladies, such as Mademoiselle d'Hautefort, with whom he maintained purely platonic relationships. He wasted his masculine passion on men, none of whom, frankly, were worthy of his love, let alone friendship.
Neither the King Father nor the Queen Mother took the Dauphin's education seriously. The King apparently understood that he was not his son, while the Queen favored his younger brother, Gaston, later Duke of Orleans, or Monsieur. Furthermore, Queen Marie de' Medici preferred to rule herself, so she had no intention of instilling in the Dauphin a love or habit of state affairs, but rather an aversion to such activities. The Dauphin's tutor didn't even notice that Louis misspelled his name, missing a letter—he signed it Loys , not Louys . If Malherbe hadn't pointed out the error, it might never have been noticed.
It's no coincidence that Queen Marie de' Medici was suspected of complicity in the King's assassination, or at least accused of knowing about the assassination attempt but failing to act, or acting deliberately slowly and hesitantly. Another serious reason to believe she was involved is the fact that the King was assassinated almost immediately after he crowned his wife, which was entirely unnecessary—I'm referring, of course, to the Queen's coronation. Incidentally, the Queen convinced Henry to crown her because he was preparing to go to war, so this coronation automatically made her regent in the event of Henry's death. Indeed, after her coronation, she gained compelling grounds to become regent for the underage Dauphin, so that Henry IV, as a result of this action, turned from a means to her ends into an obstacle. If he had died in the war, she would have remained queen, but if he hadn't, the coronation would have gained her nothing. Henry IV failed to take into account that the coronation had created a situation in which the Queen desired his death, and she didn't wait for such a military outcome. Enemy bullets spared Henry, unlike Ravaillac's treacherous dagger. Despite Henry's courage and even occasional recklessness in battle, he had so far been lucky, emerging from them alive and virtually unharmed. Thus, the Queen can be suspected, at the very least, of inaction, since the Marquise de l'Escomant attempted to warn Henry of the impending assassination attempt through her, but her warning had no effect. According to the Queen, she conveyed this warning to the King, but he paid no attention. But this is only the Queen's testimony, made only after the assassination attempt had taken place and Henry was dead. Who can verify whether she actually conveyed this warning to the King or not? It's not for nothing that they say, "Look who benefits." Certainly, it was to the Queen's advantage to rid herself of the King, become the de facto ruler of France, elevate her lover Concini, and, with regard to the young heir, Louis XIII, implement a policy that King Henry IV, had he lived, would never have permitted. Contrary to his clear intention to intermarry with the House of Lorraine, which would have strengthened France, she linked the House of France with the House of Spain in a double marriage, marrying the young Louis XIII to the daughter of the Spanish King and giving her daughter in marriage to his son. This double marriage between two sets of children had nothing at its core but policy, which led nowhere: France never achieved peace with Spain. Louis, of course, could not have felt any feelings for Anne of Austria. However, he was curious, so he sent his own coachman to look at the Spanish princess's build and report to him, as if it were not a question of female beauty, but of examining a mare.
But the explanation is simpler: the young King already regarded his own coachman, the telling name of Saint-Amour, not as a coachman at all, but as a close friend, displaying genuine feelings of love for him. He later developed similar feelings for his own kennel master, Aran. The list of men he favored excessively included the Grand Prior of Vend;me, the Commander de Souvray, and Montpuyant-La-Force. Thus, his father's former page, the Chevalier de Luynes, did not appear as a lover out of nowhere. Among this list of favorites, one can also recall the captain of the guard at the King's Doors of Nogent, Beautru. He managed, incidentally, to be on good terms with de Richelieu, so he greatly benefited from Richelieu's rise. Looking ahead, I will say that he was not the last in this series of lovers; already in his old age, Louis XIII took de Saint-Mars as his favorite, a young man whom Richelieu introduced to him, hoping through him to strengthen his influence on the King, but de Saint-Mars was a man of a completely different kind to allow someone else to use what he preferred to use only personally.
However, I will get to the story of the de Cinq-Mars conspiracy later, God willing, but for now I am writing about the time when Louis was ruled by de Luynes. Perhaps Louis was also shy around women because of his stutter. Everyone around him pretended this flaw did not exist. However, one day, when Louis first saw Monsieur d'Alambon, who also stuttered badly, and asked him a question, to which he heard the same stutter in response, he decided that the impudent courtier had dared to imitate him. If he had not been assured that Monsieur d'Alambon was a stutterer, he would have been in trouble; at best, he would have been exiled. To complete the portrait of Louis, it remains only to add that he often behaved extremely timidly and hesitantly, which was unbecoming of his high rank, and at times he became irritated and unnecessarily abrupt. He had trained in dancing and horseback riding, so he was quite slender, danced well, and rode easily. He knew how to marshal an army into battle formation. He seemed tireless on campaigns and hunts. However, he lacked the basics of strategy and tactics, as indeed almost no one else in his time did. Generals, marshals, and princes acquired this knowledge only through hard combat experience.
Louis didn't shy away from performing not only in ballet but also in private theatrical productions, preferring comic roles or roles without lines, which was natural, given his stutter. However, I think if he had dared to play tragic or sublime roles, no one would have dared to say he was a poor actor in portraying Titus Andronicus or Julius Caesar.
Thus, taking advantage of the King's affection for him, de Luynes instructed him as he saw fit. He believed it was necessary to make him a true King and a true sovereign, not a nominal one, as he had been while the country was ruled by his mother, Queen Marie de' Medici, and her lover, Concino Concini, who had been made a marshal and given the titles of Count della Penna and Marquis d'Ancre. De Luynes strengthened his position by introducing the Bishop of Lu;on, Jean Armand du Plessis de Richelieu, to the King. Richelieu had previously risen to power through the recommendation of Father Joseph, and was favored by Queen Marie de' Medici and Marshal d'Ancre, so Louis initially shunned Richelieu. But de Luynes convinced him that Richelieu could be useful in establishing peace between himself and the Queen. Thus, Louis strengthened his position, after which he finally decided to follow de Luynes's advice to eliminate Marshal d'Ancre, and then to take from the Queen Mother the power she would have already ceded to him upon Louis's coming of age. Let me remind you that Louis was born on September 27, 1601. Therefore, on September 27, 1617, he would have become a full-fledged King, receiving full power. He was no longer obligated to obey his mother, who would have transformed from Queen Regent into merely Queen Mother during the King's coming of age, that is, one of his subjects. Louis waited almost two months. Having failed to receive the transfer of power, he finally decided, at de Luynes's instigation, to seize it himself. To seize power, he had to take it from the one who wielded it—that is, to crush Marshal d'Ancre. The simplest and most reliable way to crush an enemy is to destroy them physically. This was proposed to finally convince Louis, and de Luynes enlisted another of the King's closest friends, Charles d'Albert. On the morning of April 24, 1617, Marshal d'Ancre, accompanied by 50-60 men, entered the Louvre. Captain Vitry of the Guard shot him dead on the spot.
"From now on, I will rule France myself," Louis declared after this. "From now on, I am the King."
He ordered the execution of the dwarf Leonora Dori Galigay, Catherine de' Medici's favorite, whom she had married to Marshal d'Ancre even against his wishes (since she was not jealous of such a wife, and he had no choice but to receive everything a man needed from a woman—not from this nominal wife, but from the Queen). The dwarf was executed, and the Queen was exiled to Blois.
Concini was immediately replaced by de Luynes, who became a duke and quickly began to acquire all sorts of titles and ranks. He even had the title of Constable of France restored, a rank higher than that of Marshal of France, surpassed only by the King himself. Naturally, there were those dissatisfied with this rapid rise of de Luynes's influence, which gave rise to the first plots against the King. It was even rumored that the King's favorite was a poor statesman. Be that as it may, he was an excellent intriguer, and at the same time he married a member of one of France's highest families, Marie de Rohan, the same Marie Michon. For Marie, this would have been a misalliance, had she considered his birth and pedigree. But given his current position, it was a misalliance for him, Constable, Duke, and Marquis, the second man after the King in all of France, and in fact, even the first. So Marie was absolutely right when she told me that France was actually ruled by four people, two of whom, King Louis and Queen Anne, ruled only nominally, while its real masters at that time were de Luynes and she, his wife.
That year, Richelieu's star began to rise. Two actions by de Luynes significantly contributed to this rise. The first, as I've already written, was his excellent recommendation of Richelieu to the King. The second was that less than a year after I met Marie, de Luynes died.
To ensure that no one doubted the legality of the reprisal against the marshal, Louis tried in the first year to confirm the name Louis the Just, given to him at birth.
Since Louis was born under the sign of Libra, he was nicknamed Louis the Just as a child. However, many courtiers sought an opportunity to confirm this unofficial title with some incident. Richelieu succeeded in this. When one of the most attractive women, Madame Gu;madec, wife of the Governor of Foug;res in Brittany, stood up for her husband, she looked so charming that she evoked the sympathy of everyone present. The fact was that her husband, Baron Thomas de Gu;madec, had murdered Baron de Neve in 1616, for which he was sentenced to death. The baron's wife hoped to soften Louis XIII's heart, but he was not given to feminine charms, no matter how young and charming the petitioners, so he refused her request for clemency. Who knows, if the baron had had a charming son, perhaps he would have been able to beg the king to forgive his father? The baron attempted to save himself by turning the city of Foug;res, where he was governor, into the rebellious fortress of Foug;res, hoping that the residents would not hand him over to the king. However, he was forced to surrender, was arrested, and executed in Paris on September 27, 1617. Richelieu subsequently put an end to the vile practice of separatism, when individual fortresses, cities, or provinces resisted the will of the king. To this end, he abolished the election of governors, replacing them with appointments by the king, i.e., in effect, Richelieu's appointment as prime minister. This made it possible to place his own people at the head of all the provinces. Furthermore, Richelieu ordered the demolition of all fortresses facing France in all the provinces, leaving only castles of historical value and border fortresses. This order, however, was not fully carried out, since Monsieur Fouquet not only retained the border island of Belle-;le, but also, with my active assistance, erected a fortress there, protecting the island not only from the ocean but also from the coast, thereby transforming it into an island fortress capable of maintaining a perimeter defense . Thus, separatism was finally dealt with by Richelieu's successors, first Mazarin, then Colbert. However, I will not get ahead of myself. Thus, Louis XIII refused the Baroness's request to pardon her husband, Baron de Gu;madec, while all the courtiers who saw the Baroness were convinced that her beauty and youth would touch the King and already considered her case decided. Richelieu was the first to realize that this episode could be used to proclaim that Louis had once again confirmed that he was not in vain called Louis the Just. He subsequently resorted to this technique many times when Louis had to make decisions about punishing Richelieu’s enemies, whom the cunning cardinal convinced him were, first and foremost, enemies of the King and France.
"Your Majesty!" said Richelieu. "This is a wonderful opportunity to remind the people of France that it is not for nothing that you are called Louis the Just!"
After this, he gave orders for the execution of the guilty or for the pardon of the King's closest relatives, which included only the Queen and Monsieur, for signature, and Louis, touched and flattered, signed such orders that he would never have signed if Richelieu had not had such a magnificent argument.
 
Chapter 17

After two years in Blois, in 1619, the Queen Mother, Marie de' Medici, fled her place of forced confinement. Enlisting the support of the Duke of ;pernon, a former minion of Henry III and later a highly skilled military leader, the Queen raised an army against her son, Louis. It was a rebellion, a state crime that could have cost anyone their head, except, of course, the Queen herself. But the King was still weak, so he was forced to compromise, for which he desperately needed Richelieu. As a result of the negotiations, the Treaty of Angoul;me was concluded on April 30, 1619. The King ceded the cities of Angers and Chinon to his mother, but forbade her from returning to the Council. In 1620, Marie de' Medici unleashed a civil war, which ended in her complete defeat following the Battle of Pont-de-C; on April 7, 1620. King Louis personally commanded this battle. I fought on the King's side, of course, but we, the King's Musketeers, were forced to remain in reserve for most of the time, forming His Majesty's personal guard in case things went too badly. Nevertheless, in the finale and outcome of this battle, our contribution was quite significant, something I would still look back on with pride if it weren't for the realization that I was forced to fight my own compatriots, whose only crime was being forced to obey the Duc d';pernon simply because they had been assigned to his unit. We fought against them, we who belonged to the side we called right because that's how it happened. Are soldiers supposed to talk about who is right and who is wrong? And after a battle, the victor is right. If the Queen and d';pernon had won, everything would have turned out differently, and all of France would have glorified her and condemned Louis. However, in France, the Queen could not have legitimate supreme power if there was a legitimate adult heir, but the gap between "should not" and "does not" can sometimes be enormous.
Fearing that the Queen Mother would continue her plots, the King agreed to her return to court. Indeed, it is better to keep a powerful enemy close and under surveillance than to remove him to a place where he can rebuild his strength and resume open hostilities. The King had learned this from the wise Richelieu, who had gained the favor of both sides through these negotiations. When I described how France's fate would have unfolded had the Queen prevailed, it should be added that Richelieu would not have lost in any case. This cunning courtier preferred to serve the stronger side, and during a period when the two sides were roughly equal in power, he managed to openly serve both, if only as a peacemaker. Looking ahead, I will say that when the Queen Mother finally lost her power and strength, Richelieu was the first to disavow any involvement with her and even recommended that the King reduce her to an even more insignificant state as quickly as possible. Naturally, the Queen eventually learned of this and hated him even more, so while she was alive, she invariably participated in every plot against Richelieu, and therefore against King Louis, her son. All plots were hatched with the aim of bringing Gaston d'Orl;ans, her second son, to power.
So, no one knows about the first conspiracy, but this does not mean that it did not happen.
I have already described how I unwittingly assisted him.
Mary decided to introduce Queen Anne to Antoine de Bourbon, Count of Moret, son of Henry IV . Her plan was this: first, she wanted to test the bastard's adulterous tendencies. Mary hoped to persuade him to an incognito rendezvous, to take place in the dark, so that C;sar de Vend;me would have no way of discovering the identity of the woman who had bestowed upon him the marks of his highest favor. Afterward, Mary intended to inform Anne of his masculine talents, which she expected him to display, as his father likely possessed similar talents, given the number of his mistresses that defied even a rough estimate. She hoped to captivate Anne with a captivating tale of this fairytale prince, and then to convince the Queen to repeat Mary's daring experiment at least once, which would be sufficient to produce a Dauphin and, consequently, to confirm Anne's position as Queen Mother.
Marie arranged a secret meeting with Count de Moret in an anonymous letter and set about executing her plan. Richelieu suspected something was wrong and sent his men to follow her. She spotted one of them and asked me for help. I've already written about how this episode ended.
The great danger for me was that Richelieu might realize I was involved in the death of his spy, since he might have already informed him of my name. Fortunately for me, Richelieu was so busy with many other matters related to consolidating his power that he didn't pay due attention to this event and didn't order a further investigation, limiting himself to simply securing the signing of an edict banning duels.
Maria decided that Count de Moret had ignored her letter, and so the whole intrigue had failed.
"Well then!" Mary said to herself. "Let's leave that option for later, and for now let's turn our attention to other possible contenders to help the Queen give birth to the Dauphin!"
Her choice fell on the Duke of Buckingham, since this handsome and rich man was to arrive at court on the occasion of the marriage of the King's sister to the King of England, Charles I.
I have already described how Anne of Austria's innocence was attacked by Roger de Bellegarde. The Queen refused him, and he cried out, "I am lost!" But he did not abandon his hopes.
After Queen Anne failed to kill the Duke of Buckingham, who had pushed Roger de Bellegarde back on all fronts, Voiture wrote the following poem about it:

"Flashing like a falling star,
Bellegarde was shattered into pieces:
Peacock from the Louvre cliff,
"Zamorsky knocked down Rooster."

Thus, Buckingham's success lay in the fact that he unequivocally and repeatedly declared his love to the Queen, and was not only not killed, but not even completely rejected. However, Anne tried to remain firm and modest, and perhaps, had Buckingham had another opportunity, her resistance would have been less resolute. But a second opportunity never presented itself, since, at Richelieu's instigation, Buckingham was immediately expelled from France, which angered him so much that he went to war against France, making no secret of the fact that his goal was not the conquest of France, but the conquest of the French Queen.
 
Chapter 18

“I want to tell you my story,” Maria said. “Are you ready to listen to me?”
“Do you want to make me your confessor?” I inquired.
“Confessor?” Maria exclaimed. “What a strange fantasy! But I haven’t confessed for a long time, an unacceptably long time. And you are an abbot. My confessor, de Richelieu, who is also Queen Anne’s confessor, I swear he will never hear my confession again. Our paths diverged after those vile proposals he made to the Queen. And he made them while he was her confessor! Not to mention that he made them to me too. Can a confessor be anything other than a confessor for a woman? Never! As soon as a woman begins to see a man as a confessor, she ceases to see a confessor as a man. If he himself didn’t consider this vile proposal blasphemous, then, knowing Anne, I am convinced that any connection between her and Richelieu was impossible from the very moment she uttered the first word of her first confession. Yes, I truly do need a spiritual father, but if I were to take you as my spiritual father, then never again, under any circumstances, would anything other than what happened during our last meeting be possible between us. No, no, I don't want to confess to you! Perhaps in your eyes, in the eyes of men, the kind of relationship that develops between a spiritual father and a woman confessing to him poses no obstacle to intimacy of a different kind, but believe me, for every woman, this constitutes an insurmountable taboo!
"Well, for everyone!" I thought with an inward grin. "If you only knew, madam, how many people in Paris aren't as 'everyone' as you think, your self-confidence would be blown away like the wind!"
“You are obviously right, Duchess,” I said with a submissive air.
"Maria," the one I addressed so respectfully, despite the closeness that had developed between us at our last meeting, corrected me. "Didn't we agree that from now on I'm Maria to you, and you're Henri to me?"
“Obviously, you’re right, Maria,” I corrected myself.
"To put it simply, Henri, I don't want you to be my confessor," Maria snapped. "But I will tell you my story as a dear friend. I hope that title doesn't offend you?"
Instead of answering, I kissed both of Maria's hands, after which I imprinted a kiss on her lips.
"That's better," she replied with a lively laugh. "Just don't overdo it, or we'll have a completely different conversation!"
“I don’t mind at all,” I whispered.
“Me too,” she answered in the same tone. “But later. First, let’s talk.”
“As you say,” I agreed.
"You've probably realized that, despite being married, I'm not particularly experienced when it comes to intimacy with men?" she asked.
“I can’t ask about it, but there is truly something surprising in the fact that, as it seemed to me…” I muttered.
"Don't go on!" Maria interrupted me. "The thing is, it's true. I had some rather frivolous relationships and even affectionate encounters with men before marriage, but never anything as intimate as the one we had. As for my husband, aside from our wedding night, we've had so few truly marital encounters that you could count them on your fingers."
"Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "I had no idea that..."
“Yes, that’s true, and don’t interrupt me,” Maria continued impatiently. “You will hear from me everything you need to know, and perhaps even what you absolutely shouldn’t know. My husband, the Duke of Luynes, was a page for so long… I’m not sure you understand the double meaning of that word… In other words, he no longer needed women. Or perhaps he never needed them. Marriage is what every man must do if he aspires to a worthy position in society. A page elevated to the rank of constable, marquis, or even duke remains a former page until he marries into a truly noble family. My family is quite suitable to leave no one in any doubt about the nobility of the de Luynes family. De Rohan! What could be more noble?! Perhaps only Bourbon? Or Cond;? Conti? But Luynes is not so crazy as to aspire to be a prince. A duchy was quite enough for him. So, marriage was a career matter for de Luynes, as it was for me. It was concluded by mutual convenience, and therefore this marriage is very happy, because the calculation was correct. At least until now. A man who has learned that the joys of love can be found not necessarily in association with a person of the opposite sex most often makes a choice in one direction or another. Either he will associate only with members of the opposite sex, or only with members of his own sex. Rarely does anyone maintain a truly profound interest in both types of relationships. I must admit that there are reasons for this choice, which I would call non-trivial. Indeed, a man sometimes knows better than a woman what another man wants and how to give him the best pleasure. The same, as I have personally seen, can be said about women. One woman understands another better; she is more tender, gentler, more affectionate. However, society condemns such relationships for good reason, and I would condemn them too, if not for my special feeling for the Queen, which combined respect and adoration. No, don't think I've crossed over to that other side! After all, you've seen for yourself that I'm a perfectly normal woman, capable of appreciating a man's love. But you must understand that there are others, too. And I've partially tapped into that realm.
Here I'm missing a certain lyrical digression Maria allowed herself in this unusual conversation. I must say that Maria simultaneously justified and condemned herself and everyone else in the conversation, which was perfectly understandable to me. Some details, which she mentioned rather casually, were repulsive to me. However, we men easily forgive women for their relationships with other women; I suppose there's no reason for jealousy here. This, I believe, isn't love at all, but rather a silly pastime indulged in by women who lack truly tender male affection.
"So, I must admit that there are motives for very intimate associations between men who like each other, as well as between women who understand each other too well to resist the temptation to be more than just friends in the traditional sense of the word. However, it must be said that such things happen far less frequently than one might expect, and I believe that only those who are sufficiently uninhibited, free from prejudices and superstitions, who have made pleasure the highest ethical value and the measure of any morality, can afford to follow this path without stumbling, enjoying all the delights of such intimacy without falling into the abomination of debauchery. Of course, only persons belonging to the highest strata of society have access to all the joys of such forms of communication, without fear, without the fear of excommunication, without agonizing introspection and self-condemnation. Such is de Luynes, such am I, such are the King and Queen."
“I will never be like that,” I said.
"Oh, my friend!" laughed Marie. "Don't say you won't, after all, you are an abbot, and among the clergy, such indulgences are more widespread than anywhere else! Richelieu, while he was still my confessor, told me what was going on in the monasteries, not only the men's monasteries, but the women's ones as well! Thus he argued his opinion that I could allow myself to be close to the Queen for the good purpose of exerting influence over her. Naturally, Richelieu was confident that he himself would forever exert a guiding influence over me, and I over the Queen. He also had no objection to de Luynes influencing the King, being, to a large extent, de Luynes's prot;g;. Showered with favors from my husband, Richelieu is pleased that these favors come from the hands of His Majesty Louis XIII , and the methods by which de Luynes maintains his influence over the King are beyond reproach.
“But you, Maria, said that all four of you are quite close,” I said.
“Then I wasn’t quite clear,” Maria objected. “De Luynes is close to the King, I am close to the Queen, the King and Queen are married, and so are I. But that doesn’t mean de Luynes is close to the Queen, or I am close to the King. In this love square, there are no diagonal connections. We don’t all sleep together, the four of us. Although, sometimes we had fun… And how! But these were ordinary pranks! So to speak, acceptable. Considering everything I’ve said. But the important thing here is that Charles’s connection with Louis and my connection with Anne are much stronger than the connection between the King and Queen, or the connection between me and Charles. I hope it doesn’t bother you that I call my husband by his first name?”
“I am not embarrassed by anything that comes from you,” I replied and kissed Maria’s hands again.
"Wait, Henri, we'll get to that too," Maria replied slyly, gently disengaging her hands from mine. "I'll continue my story, and don't interrupt me. I must tell you that, while a marriage like mine, or like the one between the King and Queen, cannot simply be two people living in a shared palace, sharing titles and holdings. Such a marriage is expected to produce heirs. Therefore, I too must someday give my husband an heir, and such a duty falls even more so on the Queen's shoulders. Otherwise, such a marriage could be dissolved. Therefore, even a husband who is completely uninterested in his wife must at least occasionally show her the attention that is sufficient to produce heirs. Not all spouses are so flighty that they leave their wives to resolve this issue themselves, as Henry IV was . Therefore, they sometimes deign to visit their wives. Perhaps some of them are in no hurry with such visits, or perhaps the first visits don't result in conception, and subsequently the spouse's sense of novelty wears off, quickly replaced by indifference. I won't deny that two healthy people of the opposite sex, under certain circumstances, can enter into such a relationship even if they hadn't planned it an hour before. Or, at least, one party hadn't even considered the possibility. This is the art of the other party. Men are considered masters in this area. They crush all bastions of resistance to female virtue and achieve their goals. Perhaps this is true. But believe me, women are capable of this too. If a woman decides that tonight she will have sex with the man she has her eye on, even the devil himself won't be able to stop her.
“I’ve learned this from experience,” I thought. “But then, I didn’t object!”
"Every woman should be able to do three things," Maria said decisively. "First, she should be able to say 'No' in such a way that the man who hears it has no further desire to argue with her. Second, she should be able to conduct herself in such a way that the man she chooses will pursue and achieve her saying 'Yes.'"
“I can’t help but admit the justice of this,” I said. “What’s the third thing?”
"Thirdly, she must be able to say 'No' in a way that sounds like 'Maybe another time,' or 'Yes, if only...' A woman's 'No' must have many nuances. Mastering them all so that even such a dull animal as a man understands that one should hear not the word itself, but the music within it, that there are 'Nos' that don't mean that at all—that is the supreme art of a woman of high society."
"More precisely, this is the art of a woman of the demimonde," I thought. "However, perhaps even the most noble lady contains something of a woman with the lowest social responsibility."
"Do you understand what I'm getting at?" Maria finally asked.
"I'm not sure I've reached the conclusions you expect, Maria, so I'd be grateful if you could clarify, if possible, what conclusions I should draw from your frank account?" I asked.
"The conclusion you must have drawn, my slow-witted cavalier, is that, unlike the unnatural encounters of lovers of the same sex, the most natural encounters of lovers of different sexes sometimes produce consequences that, after a while, become quite difficult to conceal," Maria said with a laugh. "And in this case, a married woman, but deprived of healthy attention from her husband, can get into trouble if she doesn't take care in advance to ensure that changes for the better occur in her married life."
"You mean you might soon become a mother?" I asked, surprised and almost overjoyed.
"I simply want to say that this now depends solely on God's will, since everything within human will, you and I, Henri, have already accomplished for this," Maria replied. "And in this case, every married woman must ensure that, should the Lord bless such a loving union with the birth of a child, the husband must have every reason to attribute this divine blessing to his own efforts, so that he does not seek helpers around his wife who, without his consent, fulfill his marital duty for him."
"So, you need to renew your intimate relationship with your husband in the near future?" I asked.
"No, silly!" Maria said with a laugh. "There's no need to do that now, because I've already done it! And for that reason, we're completely safe. Whatever happens between us now, and whatever consequences it may lead to, Charles has every reason to accept those consequences personally, and so our meetings can proceed without fear."
I was so confused that I could only kiss Maria’s hands again.
"How good it is that I'm not married!" I thought at that moment. "After all, just as Maria and I are now cheating on her dear Charles, perhaps someday some other sister of Eve's will cheat on you, my dear Aramis!"
"Henri, you must promise me something!" Maria exclaimed.
"Anything you like, my dear!" I replied carelessly.
“First, swear that you will do this,” she said capriciously, freeing her hands from mine.
“I swear to God!” I replied.
“No, that’s not reliable,” Maria objected, pouting. “Is your mother alive?”
“Yes, thank God!” I replied.
“Then swear by the life and health of your mother while she is alive and by her bright memory after she is gone that you will fulfill my request,” said Maria.
"Before I make such a vow, I must know what your request is, my dear," I replied, thinking she would ask me to challenge de Luynes to a duel and make her a widow. This, however, didn't frighten me. What frightened me was the uncertainty and the possibility of some extravagance that went beyond the usual norms, like her theory about unconventional relationships between people of the same sex.
"Very well," Maria agreed. "I ask you to swear that if I have a child, you will never inquire who it is from, and you will never dare to consider it your own."
“This is, however, strange, Maria,” I said. “After all, if you have a child from me…”
"Don't continue!" Maria exclaimed sharply. "Either you give the oath I ask, no, demand, of you, or you will leave me immediately and never see me again. And if we meet by chance somewhere, I will pretend I don't know you."
I was taken aback because I wasn't prepared for this turn of events. I must admit, Maria was wonderful. I didn't want to lose her.
"My dear, if you insist on it, I give you this oath," I said. "I swear by my mother that I will never consider your children, no matter how many there are, as my own, and I will never inquire into whether they could have had any other father than your lawful husband. Just tell me, must I keep this oath for life?"
"Even if we quarrel, even if we part forever," Maria replied. "Even if my husband dies, you must not defame my honor or contribute to anything that would cast a shadow on my children. My children are my children alone, not yours."
“You speak as if we already have children together,” I tried to joke.
"Henri! Be careful!" Maria cried. "You're already breaking our oath by saying 'our children'!"
"I'm sorry, Maria, I won't do it again!" I said.
I must admit that at that moment I believed I had made a very easy vow, one that would be completely easy to keep. How wrong I was! If there had been even the slightest chance that my manuscript would be read by a stranger, I would not have written about this conversation and this vow. Now this vow has almost completely lost its force, because now, as I write this, Marie has already passed on to another world. She passed away on August 12, 1679. But less than a year after our conversation, in 1620, she gave birth to a son, who was named Louis-Charles, now Louis-Charles d'Albert, Duke of Luynes. I wish him as long health as possible. He and his children. Less than six months after the death of her husband, de Luynes, Marie gave birth to a girl. This happened in 1622. The girl was named Anne-Marie. She was a beauty. Unfortunately, at the age of twenty-four, illness took her suddenly. For me, 1646 is the most miserable year of my life.
Our meeting ended as we had both planned, with the most tender expressions of love. I was young and passionate, and although I confess I was somewhat upset by her confessions—which even I, a seasoned musketeer, I thought then, should have accepted lightly and cheerfully—they left me quite perplexed. Why this disgusting relationship between people of the same sex? I recalled what Marie had said: "My special feeling for the Queen, which combined respect and adoration." Well! Any abomination can be justified by two considerations. For the King, this consideration is that he himself is the law for his subjects. And for others, this consideration is that subjects should not oppose the will of their monarch.
So I vowed to stay as far away from the King as possible, or at least to avoid de Luynes's position at all costs. No allure of power or wealth would make me betray my sex. Musketeers aren't pages, or bishops! Let Marie play those games without me. For me, she's a woman, and only a woman. I even thought I loved her. In those years, I was absolutely certain of it. However, even now I don't know how to evaluate the feelings that possessed me then. I couldn't have given her up even if I'd learned something even more vile about her. This lady made me what I am. I bear her no grudge, though at times she caused me unbearable pain. Especially when the Duke de La Rochefoucauld came to Paris in 1630. But that's another story entirely.
I forgot to mention the most important thing: my relationship with Mary and her deception of her husband—all of this was just a rehearsal for the plan she had prepared for Queen Anne.

Chapter 19

One day, in my presence, Maria took out a cambric handkerchief, decorated with a gold monogram in the form of two intertwined letters “M”.
"Maria, what does the second 'M' on this monogram mean?" I asked.
"Oh, that..." Maria said absentmindedly. "It's all unimportant, don't pay any attention to it."
"Are you hiding something from me?" I asked. "Do you really have secrets from me?"
"Okay, so you don't make up anything extra, I'll tell you," she reluctantly agreed. "But I assure you, there's nothing interesting about it."
“In that case there is nothing mysterious,” I replied.
"Judge for yourself," she said, shrugging. "I had a friend named Michonne when I was a kid. We had a lot of fun together, and we were very close."
"So that's where you get your talent for female friendship?" I tried to joke.
"Nothing of the sort!" Maria protested. "We were just kids! Well, of course, we kissed and sometimes caressed each other, but in a completely childish way."
“I don’t blame you,” I encouraged my storyteller.
"You should just try it!" she replied with a laugh. "Nothing that would interest you."
"Or maybe it wasn't Michonne, but Michelle?" I asked jokingly.
"I'll shut up and say nothing more to you, you nasty thing!" Maria flared up, pouting.
“You are so charming when you are angry, dear Maria, that I allowed myself an innocent joke,” I said quickly in such a tender voice that Maria melted, especially after I kissed her tenderly.
“Okay, I’ll continue, but on the condition that you don’t make such nasty jokes,” Maria said in a tone that was more playful than condescending.
“I promise to be absolutely serious,” I said in my most serious voice, deciding for myself that I had hit the nail on the head both times; the notorious Michonne was male, and the friendship between him and my Maria was not so childish, which, however, did not upset me at all.
"So, I'll continue," said Maria. "Remember, Michonne was a girl, like me, and we were very close, very close. Poor Michonne!"
“Is she dead?” I asked.
"She drowned while swimming in the pond," Maria said with a nod. "They say she got her foot tangled in some underwater weeds, got scared, and swallowed too much water. I wasn't there, otherwise I would have done everything I could to save her, or I would have drowned with her. After that, I decided that, so that my dear Michonne would always be with me, I would make her name my second secret name. But no one knows that, not even my husband. For you, I can always be Marie Michonne, and you will know that a letter signed with that name is from me."
"Didn't your husband ask the same question I did about what the two 'M's on your scarves mean?" I asked.
"Sometimes I feel like my husband doesn't care about me at all," Maria replied. "Even if my scarves had letters on them that weren't in my name, he wouldn't be surprised."
"What if he had asked anyway?" I asked.
“Oh, in that case, any answer would do,” Maria waved her hand dismissively. “For example, I could say that two ‘M’s’ are better than one. That would satisfy him. Or I could say that it’s in honor of my mother. What difference does it make? He doesn’t care at all. But an incredible thing happened with these scarves. Or rather, not with these scarves, but with other scarves that also have a double ‘M’ on them. For this reason, I am forced not to show my scarves in public.”
"What kind of incident is this?" I asked.
"Richelieu's vile intrigue, like all his intrigues!" exclaimed Maria. "This example shows you how easily a man can be disgraced."
“For this it is necessary that you tell me everything about this case,” I said.
“It’s very simple,” Marie replied. “Richelieu had accidentally gotten hold of some women’s cambric handkerchiefs with two ‘Ms’ on them. Perhaps someone had given them to him as a gift, which I think is most likely. And that vile Richelieu decided to stage his next provocation. He ordered one of his spies to soak the handkerchiefs in horse sweat or something even more vile, then lay them out in one of the Louvre’s rooms, the one most frequented by the King, and arrange them so that the two ‘Ms’ were clearly visible. I believe it was the Lilac Room. Naturally, as soon as the King entered the room, he immediately noticed an unpleasant odor, and identifying the cause and source of the stench was not difficult. Louis immediately left the room, despite the fact that he loved hunting and such odors were nothing new to him, but he naturally did not wish to tolerate such things in the palace.” He asked Richelieu if he knew the cause of the stench and who had placed those handkerchiefs in the Lilac Room. Richelieu, as if nothing had happened, declared that it would be better to ask the Master of the House, that same Bellegarde who had dared to flirt with Queen Anne. After all, he wasn't just the Master of the House, but also the Master of the Horse, the Master of the Huntsman, the Master of the Falconers, and the Master of the Huntsmen, so any sources of odors from domestic animals fell under his purview.
“Then invite him to me,” said Louis.
The King smiled at the Lord Chief who entered his presence much less welcomingly than usual.
"Monsieur de Bellegarde," said the King, "I beg you to ensure that from now on there is no trace of these vile MMs in the Louvre!"
After this, the King waved his hand, making it clear that the conversation was over.
De Bellegarde bowed and left the hall in amazement where the King had received him; the cunning Richelieu also bowed to the King and with the softest cat-like gait followed him out.
"Do you understand anything about all this?" asked de Bellegarde, who was at a loss to understand what was being discussed, since the foul-smelling handkerchiefs had already been carried away and burned, and the lilac-colored room had been thoroughly aired.
"I can't begin to solve such a complex riddle," Richelieu muttered with the utmost innocence. "The only two 'M's' that come to mind are, excuse me, Her Majesty Queen Marie de Medici. But I don't understand why that would be mentioned."
"But I think I understand!" exclaimed de Bellegarde.
He decided the King was ordering him to forbid the Queen Mother from appearing in the Louvre. Of course, if the King had made such a decision, he would most likely have entrusted it to Monsieur le Guerre, as a man of appropriate rank and dignity, as well as one extremely skilled and courteous with ladies, who would be able to do so with the utmost tact. Furthermore, de Bellegarde had been elevated to all his ranks by Henri IV himself , so his positions seemed immutable to everyone.
"And yet I think I'm wrong," Richelieu added quickly. "In any case, I ask you not to quote me if my assumption turns out to be wrong, for it is only an assumption!"
Richelieu knew de Bellegarde's character well. Such a request was equivalent to a sworn promise received from de Bellegarde himself.
Richelieu's calculations were spot-on. Either the Queen Mother would fall into disgrace, or de Bellegarde would fall into disgrace. In either case, this offered excellent opportunities for further career advancement for Richelieu himself. And so it happened. De Bellegarde hinted to the Queen as delicately as possible that her presence in the Louvre was no longer welcome to the King, to which the Queen responded with an angry tirade, followed by a scandalous outburst at her son. Fortunately for Richelieu, this scandal took place without witnesses, so it was more a matter of passion on both sides than a desire to clarify the cause of this misunderstanding.
Later, when everything was clarified, except for the question of where the ill-fated handkerchiefs came from and who gave de Bellegarde the idea of interpreting the King’s order in this way, Louis even deigned to laugh at this incident.
"What of it!" he said. "By the way, it's not such a bad idea to evict my mother from the Louvre! With her around, I constantly feel under her tiresome tutelage!"
Two days later, Louis did indeed order the Queen Mother to retire to Blois. The King, meanwhile, had cooled somewhat toward Monsieur de Bellegarde, so his departure from court was likely imminent. In this way, the wily Richelieu achieved two goals at once—that is, as the saying goes, he killed two partridges with one shot.

At this point, Maria finished her story, but the story of handkerchiefs with two “M”s does not end there.

Chapter 20

Something as trivial as a woman's scarf can have significant consequences. The story of the scarf, embroidered with two intertwined letters "M" in gold, didn't end there.
About a week after this conversation, she asked me if I knew a good perfumer.
"The abbey I visit a couple of times a week has a perfumer who makes incense," I replied. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, I've broken a bottle of that wonderful Cologne water with its indescribable aroma!" Maria exclaimed. "I've never encountered that scent of fresh lilac anywhere else."
“You can visit him and order any perfume, I’ll arrange a meeting,” I replied.
“No, that would be inconvenient,” Maria objected.
"Do you want me to talk to him myself?" I asked. "Okay, I'll do that, but how will I explain to him exactly what scent you need?"
"My handkerchiefs still retain the scent of this perfume," said Maria. "I'll give you one of them."
After these words, she went to her dressing table, took out a box and took out from it exactly the same handkerchief with two letters “M”, which gave rise to the conversation I described above.
"Two M's?" I said with a smile.
"Yes, this is your Marie Michon," Maria replied, returning my smile with an even more tender gaze. "After you get me a similar perfume, you can keep the handkerchief as a souvenir. Just don't show it to anyone because of the story I told you."
"It truly is a wonderful smell!" I exclaimed, pressing my handkerchief to my face. "I never imagined such a scent was possible!"
“That’s why I’m saddened by my loss,” Maria agreed.
"I promise to get you such perfume, if only there is even one bottle in all of France!" I said, meaning that I would fulfill this promise if the perfumer Roger would help me.

Luckily, the perfumer managed to concoct the exact scent I needed, which I ceremoniously presented to Maria. Afterward, her handkerchief remained with me as a memento of our relationship. For some time, it retained the wonderful aroma it was intended to convey during my interactions with the perfumer. Naturally, I didn't use it for its intended purpose; I carried it only as a souvenir. I also carried my own handkerchief in the same pocket.
One hot day, I pulled my own handkerchief out of my pocket to wipe away the sweat. In the process, Maria's handkerchief fell out of my pocket without my noticing.
"Mr. Musketeer!" someone exclaimed behind me. "You seem to have dropped your handkerchief!"
I turned around and saw that Marie's handkerchief had indeed fallen out of my pocket. I was about to pick it up, but the man in the Richelieu Guards uniform who had called out to me was much closer, so he picked it up and, before handing it to me, noticed the two "M"s.
We called Richelieu's musketeers "guardsmen" to avoid confusion and for brevity, although they were musketeers just like us, distinguished by the color of their cloaks and their chain of command. From now on, I will refer to them simply as guardsmen, since the word "musketeer," without further ado, eventually became synonymous with "musketeer of the King." It should be noted that Richelieu's musketeers themselves sometimes called themselves guardsmen.
"What a beautiful handkerchief!" he exclaimed. "And what a remarkable monogram it has! Two intertwined 'M's, embroidered in gold! It seems to me that a handkerchief like this could have belonged to the Queen herself! And by the way, this monogram is so similar to the Queen Mother's monogram! And the letters fit perfectly!"
It seemed to me that the stranger was being overly attentive to something that didn't belong to him, and besides, he was delaying me. It would have been more appropriate to simply return the handkerchief and leave. Nevertheless, I felt a certain gratitude to this stranger for not allowing me to suffer this loss, which I would later regret, for I was so sentimental in those days! So I tried to be as patient as possible.
“Yes, sir, thank you, this handkerchief is truly beautiful, and I am grateful to you for pointing out my loss,” I replied and extended my hand to receive the handkerchief back.
"Do you know, sir, that a musketeer like yourself cannot possibly have the Queen Mother's handkerchief in his possession?" the stranger asked, this time in a rather stern tone. "You know that, of course!"
"Listen, sir, this is too much!" I cried. "Will you please return my loss to me? And let's leave it at that!"
"Don't rush, sir!" the stranger replied. "I am Philippe de Joncieux, lieutenant of Richelieu's personal guard. I have the authority to detain anyone suspected of plotting against His Eminence."
“In my opinion, having a handkerchief in your pocket, or accidentally dropping it on the pavement, does not mean you are participating in a conspiracy,” I replied, beginning to lose patience, but still maintaining a calm and polite tone, which, however, I intended to discard if it came to a duel.
"All of this would be true, of course, if it weren't for one small circumstance," Joncieux replied. "I find it hard to believe you don't know that the conspirators used exactly the same handkerchiefs as an identifying symbol for their supporters."
"You seem to have called me a conspirator?" I asked. "Very well! In that case, I will call you a liar, and if you refuse to draw your sword here and now, I will add the word 'coward' to that title!"
“Your words about challenging me to a duel are enough to have you arrested and tried for violating the edict prohibiting duels,” Joncieux said, it seemed to me, with joy.
“Then arrest me!” I replied, drawing my sword from its sheath.
"To me, guards!" cried Joncieux.
After these words, two guardsmen, apparently just casually strolling by, appeared from around the corner of the nearest house. They ran resolutely in our direction.
"To me, the King's musketeers!" I cried without much hope of success.
The doors of the nearest tavern swung open and four musketeers, who had just started eating, jumped out.
"What happened?" asked one of the approaching guards.
"I call you to witness that this musketeer intended to violate the royal edict," Joncieux said in a conciliatory tone, realizing the full disadvantage of his position. "This time I will yield to force and not arrest him, but next time..."
"Next time, go in groups of no less than four, Monsieur de Joncieux," I said. "And don't pick up anything from the ground that doesn't belong to you. But why put it off until next time? Shall we continue this conversation one-on-one, or three-on-three, as you prefer?"
Joncieux angrily threw the handkerchief on the ground, turned around and left.
"You won't catch up with him?" asked one of the musketeers who came to my rescue, a man named de Besmo.
"Thank you, friends!" I said. "Instead of chasing cowards, wouldn't it be better for us all to drink a glass of Burgundy to the King's health, and another to de Treville's? I'll treat you."
"That's true," de Bezmo agreed. "And you'll meet that coward again! You really can't chase after him!"
The other two guards, whom I later learned were named Kayuzak and Bikara, shrugged and went their separate ways.
I picked up Marie's handkerchief and wondered if perhaps such handkerchiefs had once served as symbols for the conspirators against Richelieu. The double "M" indicated that they were supporters of the Queen Mother, who in those years had supported Queen Anne and Monsieur against Richelieu. This wouldn't have surprised me in the least, especially since I knew Marie possessed a large number of such handkerchiefs.
"I must keep a better eye on my handkerchiefs," I said to myself. "Next time, if some upstart tries to point out a handkerchief I dropped, I must challenge him to a duel and kill him, since only a spy of Richelieu could do such a thing."
I didn't yet know then that I would only half-fulfill the promise I made to myself that day. The next person to try to return the handkerchief that had fallen from my pocket turned out, by chance, to be d'Artagnan. I did, indeed, challenge him to a duel, but I didn't kill him. And I am very glad that things turned out this way, and that I only half-fulfilled that promise to myself.
When I told Maria about this event and asked for an explanation, she answered with the most innocent expression on her face:
"I do recall, once upon a time, I suggested using such scarves to distinguish the Queen Mother's supporters from Richelieu's. But that was a long time ago. A very long time ago."
"More than six weeks ago?" I asked ironically. "You call that a long time ago?"
Maria blushed deeply.
“A little more than two months,” Maria corrected, realizing the insignificance of this clarification.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this beforehand?” I asked.
"But I asked you not to show this scarf to anyone!" Maria objected heatedly, moving from justification to accusations. "Why were you so careless that our enemy saw it?"
"I don't divide the soldiers and officers of France into friends and enemies," I countered. "Each of them does his duty and is true to his oath. Although, it seems, thanks to my acquaintance with you, the world of musketeers around me has become bipolar, and I find myself on one side of this polar world, which means I'll be forced to confront the other side."
"There's still a lot you don't understand, Henri!" Maria replied. "The world was bipolar long before we were born. Here in Paris, and throughout France. You would have had to side with one side against the other anyway. But if meeting me bothers you so much, we can end it."
"I had no intention of ending our relationship, Maria," I replied. "But I would like to see and have more trust on your part, especially in matters that could draw me into some kind of intrigue."
"Intrigue, huh?" Maria exclaimed. "Are you saying I'm an intriguer?"
"That's exactly what I wanted to say," I thought, but kept silent. "With you, beauty, one must keep one's ears open!"
“Maria, your closeness to the King and Queen probably draws you into matters that force me to apply this word, not in relation to you, believe me, but in relation to what may happen to you and me,” I said as gently as possible.
"You have no idea what the royal court is like!" Maria exclaimed. "A terrarium filled with poisonous snakes, spiders, and scorpions! Everyone's trying to kill everyone else. I don't mean physically destroy them, but push them from their position."
“Why don’t you leave the yard if it’s so bad here?” I asked.
“I belong to my husband, where he goes, I go,” Maria lied to me with a modest look.
"Good," I replied. "You wanted to find out if Richelieu's spies knew about your secret symbol without telling me the details. You've found out. Now I'm returning your handkerchief to you."
With these words, I took out Maria’s handkerchief with two golden letters “M” and placed it on the table next to her.
"You're leaving me, Henri!" Maria said.
"No, as I already said, I have no intention of parting with you," I replied. "But I am not part of the conspirators' circle, so I have no need to carry a symbol of my membership."
"Do you also consider me a conspirator?" asked Maria. "But I have plenty of such scarves! They only have my initials on them!"
“You see for yourself how easy it is for you to explain that you have such scarves, and how difficult it is for me to explain that I have one such scarf,” I chuckled.
"Who are you going to explain this to, Henri?" Maria asked.
“First of all, to myself,” I answered coldly.
"Didn't we agree that this scarf symbolizes your possession of me?" Maria asked playfully with a coquettish smile.
“This symbol is not sufficient,” I replied.
"What symbol of your power over me would you like to receive from me?" Maria asked even more playfully.
"Trust and truth, Maria," I replied. "That's the symbol I need."
"Have I ever deceived you, Henri?" Maria asked in a tone of surprised innocence. "Name at least one example."
"Oh, yes, and more than once!" I thought. "And in the story about Michonne, and perhaps in the tale about the handkerchiefs!"
"You were leaving out a great deal when you convinced me you'd told me everything," I replied. "I prefer either to know nothing or to know everything. Knowing only a few things about something means not knowing the truth about it. From now on, I ask that if you don't intend to tell me the whole truth, then tell me nothing. If you do decide to tell me something, then tell me everything you know, completely and immediately. On these terms, we will remain friends."
"And if I break the terms, then what will we be to each other?" asked Maria. "Enemies?"
"We won't be enemies," I replied. "We won't be enemies, nor friends, but only lovers."
"Lovers?!" Maria exclaimed playfully. "Please explain, sir! What do you mean?"
"That's it!" I replied, scooping Maria up in my arms.
Out of modesty, I will omit the description of the further events of this meeting.

Chapter 21

One of the most important conclusions I drew from my conversations with Maria is that if a woman has treated another man unfairly, she might do the same to you. This thought occurred to me when Maria was telling me how she planned to deceive her husband. So, listening to her story about how she used one of her admirers, I vowed never to give in to such provocations, and not to take seriously every request Maria deigns to make.
Judge for yourself how decently she acted.
Maria, as I understood it, had many admirers who, even if they didn't achieve from her what every young man seeks from a young and attractive woman who interests him in this way, nevertheless fell under her influence. That is, they tried to please her in the hopes of gaining her complete favor, did so, and ended up with nothing. At least, that's how Maria described the endings of such episodes to me.
One of these young, helpful and simple-minded admirers of Maria agreed to help her in a story that I could call “The Story of the Coin Exchange.”
Maria asked him to exchange a bag of gold, which he was supposed to find in a designated location, for another, much larger bag filled with silver. She presented this transaction as a money exchange.
The bag of gold coins, she said, would be brought and left at a designated location where no one would think to look. The young man was to take it discreetly from prying eyes and leave a much larger bag of silver in its place. Maria explained that, by agreement with a kind person connected to the church who wished to remain anonymous, the money collected at his direction at the entrances of various churches and monasteries was to be used for the construction of a new temple, which would require transporting it to the construction site. Transporting money in bags is inconvenient, so the copper coins had already been exchanged for silver, resulting in a stockpile of about half a pood of silver coins. Now they needed to be exchanged for gold. This had to be done secretly, as the temple was intended to be presented to the King as a gift. Maria explained that something similar had been done many times before, but those who had helped her were currently far away, so she needed a new assistant. She assured the young man that this was a foolproof arrangement, one that had been done many times before, so there was no need to devise any other means of exchange. The young man was not to use any servants; everything was to be done by himself.
You can imagine the means a young nobleman had to use to secretly deliver half a pood of silver. He had to invent a special sturdy leather bag with straps, which he carried on his back while disguised as a city dweller.
Upon reaching the secret spot, he indeed found a small bag of gold in a niche two meters above ground, covered with leaves and other debris. The bag weighed about half a pound. Retrieving the bag wasn't difficult, but throwing the half-pound of silver up to that height required considerable effort. He even had to buy a small ladder from a gardener near the secret spot, after which he wandered in circles for a long time to make sure no one was watching him.
According to Maria, she thanked him only by allowing him to kiss her on the cheek, after which the young man, according to her assurances, was very pleased and ready for further similar assignments, confirming the seriousness of his intentions.
It turned out that by leaving the gold in a hiding place, Richelieu was actually paying his spy-informant. I know his name, but I believe there's no need to record it here in these memoirs. This man is truly very noble, and the thought of his collaboration with Richelieu now, after the death of both, doesn't offend me in the least. Marie accidentally learned of this collaboration, the method of payment, and the amount that would be transferred from some of her informants.
Her first plan was to steal the money. Not for enrichment, of course, but simply to spite Richelieu. However, upon reflection, she realized that if the informant reported the money missing, an investigation would begin, and the culprits might be found. Besides, stealing money was, after all, a clear crime. So she decided to exchange the money for another, one of equal value. She reasoned that if the money, when found by its intended recipient, was in silver rather than gold, yet exactly the amount promised by Richelieu, this would greatly anger the informant, but he would never suspect that someone had exchanged it against Richelieu's will. He would assume Richelieu had decided to mock the recipient by handing over the money in such an inconvenient form. The informant, as Maria judged, would not condescend to complain to Richelieu or otherwise express his dissatisfaction, but, being offended, would stop supplying information to Richelieu.
It was a clever idea, and it was executed with the greatest skill.
Mary told this story to the Queen, and they had a great time imagining how the noble person, having reached the hiding place, would be disappointed and angry, finding instead of a bag of gold a huge bag of silver, how she would have difficulty getting this bag from a height, how difficult it would be for her to carry away this silver.
However, Maria was mistaken. The informant in question, having found a much larger sack in the agreed-upon hiding place, didn't even bother to untie it. He left without taking anything. He then informed Richelieu in a coded letter that there had been a mistake, and the sum he had found was apparently intended not for him, but for someone else, since the weight and volume of the sack didn't match the agreement.
Richelieu dispatched one of his lieutenants to investigate the matter and retrieve the bag of money so that he, Richelieu, could personally count the money and verify that the amount matched the agreed upon amount. Imagine his astonishment when, instead of a small bag of gold, his lieutenant delivered a huge sack of silver!
He appointed another place for the transfer of money, ordered that another bag of gold be brought to this place, and ordered that it be secretly and closely watched so that no one would replace it.
The informant was satisfied and continued to supply Richelieu with the necessary information, but Richelieu suspected that the method of payment and the location of the hiding place had become known to one of his ill-wishers.
He already had a considerable staff of servants and spies, so the interrogation he carried out on everyone in the area allowed him to establish the appearance of the young man who had bought the ladder from the gardener the day before.
Fortunately, Marie was warned of Richelieu's actions and managed to inform the young man that he was in danger, forcing him to leave Paris for a long time. His career was ruined forever, and he was also lucky to be alive and free. He was only saved by the fact that there had been no theft, only a so-called exchange, so even if he had been caught, he would likely have survived, but he most likely would not have avoided prison.
This is an insignificant episode for me, and I wouldn't bother citing it at all, but it's important for explaining that my relationship with Maria, even if it could be called friendly, was no stronger than that of two lions: each of us was always aware of danger, yet we continued to keep an eye on the other's actions, and sometimes we would unite to achieve common goals. Sometimes I forgot myself, succumbing to romantic moods, but each time I later scolded myself for it, becoming increasingly less trusting and naive.

Chapter 22

Louis-Charles, as I already wrote, was born to Marie in 1620. He was baptized by King Louis XIII himself . Therefore, his first name is Louis. His second name, after his nominal father, de Luynes, is Charles. He has nothing of Aramis. If only it had been Henri, or my second, rarely used name, Ren;. But no. Marie forbade me to consider this child my own!
That year and the following, France fought on the side of the Holy Roman Emperor. We supported the Catholic entourage because it made sense given the shared values of Catholicism. However, this was completely inappropriate from the standpoint of state values. In this case, state interests conflicted with spiritual values. With Richelieu's rise to power, everything changed; state interests prevailed. By 1620, France had already ceased supporting the Holy Roman Empire, and by 1630, it had become one of the Empire's main adversaries—or, more accurately, its most implacable and powerful adversary. Based on this, in retrospect, France's military actions during those two years, from 1620 to 1621, must be considered utterly pointless.
It all began with the death of Holy Roman Emperor Matthias on March 20, 1619. Louis, on the advice of de Luynes, supported Ferdinand's election as the new emperor. Ferdinand also received the support of the Catholic League. Louis also used his influence with the Elector of Trier to mobilize him to support Ferdinand, but Bohemia, Lusatia, Silesia, and Moravia refused to recognize him. This did not prevent Ferdinand from becoming Emperor nonetheless. The childlessness of his two older brothers, Rudolf II and Matthias, greatly contributed to this.
Upon assuming power, the young Emperor Ferdinand zealously defended Catholicism with all the passion he could muster. This forced establishment of Catholicism as the only acceptable religion effectively became an active persecution of all other religions. Ferdinand launched a persecution of Protestants with the goal of restoring the ultimate hegemony of the Roman Catholic Church. Ferdinand ordered all non-believers to leave the Empire. He loved to repeat the words of his uncle, Philip II of Spain: "Better a desert than a country inhabited by heretics." As a result of this active religious policy, within a few years not a single Protestant church remained in the Austrian dominions, although previously almost half the population of these dominions consisted of Lutherans and Calvinists.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to remind myself and any potential readers (who I hope will never exist) of some important dates in the life of France. However, by this time, the life of France had already become intimately dependent on the stages of the great Richelieu's career.
For convenience, I'll start with his temporary fall.
In early April 1618, de Luynes exiled Richelieu, along with his older brother, the Marquis, and several other close associates, to Avignon. These lands did not belong to France; they were the domain of the Pope. I still hope that they will one day be part of France. In May of that year, the war we now call the Thirty Years' War began. It began with imperial advisers being thrown out a window in Prague by rebellious Czechs. This war always remained a focus for the great Richelieu; it contributed to his rise, providing him with a reason and a pretext for his tireless work. Finally, that same year, Richelieu published a revised version of his long-standing work, "The Christian Instructions," in which he outlined his fundamental religious and political views. This literary and religious work greatly advanced his career, but, of course, it was primarily his personal relationships—first with Marshal d'Ancre, with Father Joseph, with the Queen Mother, then with de Luynes, with the King, and even with Marie. He maintained a warm relationship only with Father Joseph. I cannot say that the relationship between Richelieu and Louis was warm. They both needed each other, but it seems to me that the King, if he did not hate Richelieu, at least rejoiced, like a child, at any misfortune that befell him, and especially his death. Fate, however, decreed that during the eighteen months by which Louis XIII outlived Richelieu, he more than once regretted his absence, for there was no one by his side to whom he could delegate the affairs of state he hated. Mazarin, however, was a perfectly acceptable successor to the state concerns he inherited from Richelieu, as well as the family concerns he inherited from Louis. More on that later.
The year 1918 was marked by many interesting events. That winter, Richelieu, who was only 33 years old, fell so ill that he wrote a will and seriously prepared for death. In early February, the marriage of Marie de' Medici's youngest daughter to Prince Victor Amadeus, heir to the Duchy of Savoy, took place. This marriage was purely political. For the first time, the decision to marry was made against the wishes of the Queen Mother, who was already in exile in Blois. She was not even invited to the wedding celebrations. Thus, Louis's victory over the Queen Mother was marked by a significant political event, although it was not yet final. Just ten days after the marriage, at the end of February, the Queen Mother left Blois. She fled to Angoul;me with the help of her conspiratorial supporters. This event contributed to Richelieu's rise, as Louis sent a courier to him, instructing him to arrange a reconciliation with the Queen Mother. Negotiations were necessary to avoid a rebellion that could have cost Louis his life. Louis's decision to seek Richelieu's help was largely due to the recommendation of Father Joseph, who enjoyed the King's trust and respect and was close to him. The choice was auspicious, as the Queen Mother still saw Richelieu as a brilliant man, and he, in turn, had yet to upset her. Moreover, he and his friends and family had suffered as a result of their closeness to the Queen Mother, and it was for this reason that they were exiled to Avignon.
At the end of March, Richelieu arrived in Angoul;me, and within a month he had prepared and secured the signing of an agreement between the King and the Queen Mother. As a result, Richelieu became the Queen Mother's confidant and also gained some authority in the eyes of the King, having successfully carried out a crucial task. According to the Angoul;me agreement, the Queen was given control of Angers and the province of Anjou, where Marie de Medici arrived in October of that year. What else can be said about 1619? Perhaps this: on July 8, Richelieu's elder brother, Marquis Henri de Richelieu, died in a duel. As a result, the Richelieu family lost a male heir in the direct line, strengthening Armand's position as heir apparent. For this reason, Armand Richelieu's hatred of noble duels deepened. He had already expressed this aversion in one of his speeches, but now life itself confirmed his correctness. Richelieu tried to instill this hatred in the King as well. However, although Louis supported this opinion and, as I already mentioned, signed an edict banning duels and making their violation punishable by death, he did not inwardly condemn duelists as strongly as Richelieu. Thanks to this attitude of the King and the intercession of de Tr;ville, we were several times spared the terrible fate that subsequently befell several high-ranking duelists.

Chapter 23

In 1620, the year in which I began my memoirs, the second stage of the confrontation between Louis XIII and his mother, Queen Marie de Medici, began.
This real war began with an active protest by the Queen's supporters against the omnipotence of Louis XIII's favorite , the Duke of Luynes. He was considered incompetent in the matters he handled. The Queen's supporters, afraid to express their displeasure directly, recognized each other by handkerchiefs embroidered with two "Ms." The combined military success of the two united Habsburg dynasties provided additional incentive for the Queen Mother's renewed ambitions. Spanish troops occupied the Valtelina, a valley located between Tyrol, owned by the Austrian Habsburgs, and Lombardy, owned by the Spanish Habsburgs. Thus, the two Habsburg empires united, gaining a magnificent opportunity to maneuver and pool their military forces. The Queen Mother, supporting the Habsburgs, hoped for their reciprocal support in the confrontation with her own son. She appealed to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the Duke of Savoy, and the King of Spain for financial and military assistance. She had thirty thousand infantry and three thousand mounted cavalry at her disposal. Thus, by summer, the King's situation had become threatening. On her side were Longueville, holding Normandy; Vend;me, holding Brittany; Rohan with his Poitou; d';pernon with his Angoul;me , Aunis, Saintonge, and Limousin; the Dukes of Mayenne and Roquelaure, holding Guyenne; the Duke of Montmorency and his Languedoc; and La Valette, who was firmly established in Metz, where he could easily call on troops from Germany. Marie de' Medici was able to secure such support because she had been crowned shortly before the death of King Henry IV , so many nobles considered her a more legitimate ruler than her son, King Louis XIII . Of course, the motives for recognizing or not recognizing a particular ruler are never rooted in considerations that merely serve as a screen to conceal intentions. Any such military alliances are concluded solely on the basis of military interests, which depend on the geopolitical situation and on military and political ambitions regarding particular lands. The greater the value of a particular piece of land, coastline, island, or isthmus—politically, strategically, or otherwise—the more fiercely the nearby countries strive to appropriate it, and the more compelling their arguments, appealing to considerations of morality, religion, justice, or other ethical or spiritual values, justifying military action or military assistance, or the formation or rupture of alliances.
At the very beginning of July in that pivotal year of 1620, at the King's behest, the Royal Council convened in the Louvre. The old guard of advisers was represented by de Luynes, as well as the Bourbons and other former allies of the late Henry IV . They urged the King to make greater concessions and conclude peace with the Queen Mother. Prince Cond; and his supporters opposed their opinion, advocating immediate and decisive military action. Cond; assured the King that he would encounter more and more of his supporters on the way to Normandy, so that his army would grow like a snowball. Henry IV's former ministers, however, insisted that the King's forces were weak, that a direct military confrontation with the Queen Mother would be fraught with defeat, and, furthermore, that during the King's absence from Paris, a riot could break out in the capital. This discussion presented a pitiful spectacle. Henry IV's former ministers displayed a degree of caution that the late King, always distinguished by his inordinate courage and desperate determination, would not have tolerated. As I have already said, Louis XIII , while not particularly fond of dealing with affairs of state, was nevertheless a fierce hunter and an equally determined warrior. He decided to give battle. To the feeble objections that the enemies were too numerous and on practically all sides, he replied that in that case, it would be necessary to attack those who were the most dangerous—that is, those who were numerous and closest.
With troops ten times smaller than those of the Queen Mother, Louis left Paris dressed in a white doublet, also wearing the white sash of a commander in chief and a hat with a white feather—that is, dressed exactly as Henry IV had dressed on similar occasions. I had the chance to see him, and I must say that if anyone had told me at that moment that Louis XIII was not the son of Henry IV, I would have killed them on the spot.
Louis XIII's victory over his mother was not only, or even primarily, a military one, but a moral one. Seeing the King in white leading his army, the noble French commanders hesitated to offer fierce resistance, recognizing their injustice, though fighting ensued.
Rouen was taken without a single shot, as the Duke of Longueville, hesitant to fight the King, decided to retreat. Louis entered Rouen to the roars of jubilation from the inhabitants and announced that he was stripping the Duke of Longueville of all rights, including his claim to the city.
That part of the entourage that had tried to dissuade the King from military action now began to congratulate him on his victory and persuade him to limit himself to this achievement, so as not to lose what had been achieved.
But Louis was adamant.
"More danger, less danger!" he said. "We're heading straight for Caen!"
It must be said that Louis X III was far from a brilliant commander, but he was an excellent warrior. Where military knowledge was lacking, he inspired his troops by personal example. Soldiers, admiring his endurance and disregard for inclement weather, his determination bordering on stubbornness, and his tenacity in achieving his goals, followed him, marched ahead of him, to conquer or die for the King.
Arriving in Escoville, near Caen, he ordered scouts to be dispatched to survey the area and find the best approaches for cavalry and infantry. This task was entrusted to us—Athos, Porthos, and me.
The information we obtained was complete and accurate, for, acting cautiously but decisively, we not only saw everything we needed to see with our own eyes, but Porthos also captured an officer, I sketched several very accurate maps and sketches of the fortress walls and their defenses, and Athos offered a couple of excellent ideas for a future operation to capture the city. The King was so pleased that he asked our names and promised to remember them. He had an excellent memory for names, however, and knew many officers by name. The King's musketeers were all noblemen; the rank of a simple musketeer was no less honorable than that of an army officer, officially equivalent to that of a lieutenant in the army. The attack was swift and victorious, and the defenders of Caen surrendered.
At this moment, Louis was able to show the mercy that was still characteristic of him towards the vanquished.
"I desire no ceremony," he said to the commandant of the surrendered city. "Become my obedient subjects and fulfill your duty, and then you can be assured that I will be a good and just King to you. May God preserve you from a second rebellion."
Two days later, the troops led by the King moved to Perche, not encountering any resistance on its approaches, occupied it and moved on to Anjou.
The Queen Mother was, of course, a weak military leader, or rather, a nonentity, but she had experienced commanders at her side, such as the Duke of ;pernon, the Duke of Rohan, and the Duke of Mayenne. However, they led and defended the rebellious provinces that supported the Queen, while her troops, stationed directly with her, included inexperienced but ambitious young commanders, such as Soissons and the Duke of Nemours, or not so young but still incompetent, such as Marshal de Bois-Dauphin. Therefore, the actions of her troops were sometimes quite sensible, while her royal decrees sometimes brought only harm. For example, the Queen Mother, protected by the walls of Angers, managed to turn the city against herself by ordering a rise in taxes, driving the peasants to dig a ditch and trenches, and ordering the townspeople to arm the army at their own expense.
Under these circumstances, the King could easily have taken Angers, but he feared a direct confrontation with the Queen. It's difficult to say what he feared more: his own defeat or his mother's humiliation, but he preferred to create conditions for her troops that would force them to surrender. Therefore, he ordered all military forces to be thrown at the Pont de C; crossing. This crossing consisted of two half-destroyed bridges, nonetheless protected by tolerable redoubts. The defense of this position was held by troops under the command of the Duke of Retz.
Captain de Treville, who was present at the King's headquarters, later recounted that His Majesty was very relaxed and, it seemed to him, no more excited before the dangerous battle than he had been the evening before the hunt. This excitement for the upcoming battle robbed him of any fear. During these few victorious military actions, he had learned to better understand maps and grasped the science of war through actual combat. On the evening before the battle, the King once again decided to thoroughly examine the map of the upcoming military operations, and while checking the troop dispositions, he discovered that the cavalry was poorly positioned. He ordered it moved to a more favorable location. With five thousand infantry and six hundred cavalry, as well as two cannons, he was confident of victory, but he delayed, hoping that the Queen would send envoys with peace proposals. Perhaps this would have been the case, but Marie de' Medici, not one to change her ways even in the face of impending battle, slept, as usual, until almost noon. Her young commanders were timid and did not dare awaken her, so the King, without waiting for peace proposals, ordered an attack on Angers. De Luynes begged him to wait a little longer. I believe this double hesitation on de Luynes's part marked the beginning of the King's cooling towards him. Many believe that if de Luynes had not died of illness, he would have governed the King for a long time—that is, effectively ruled France. I don't think so. The coolness that begins in the heart of a monarch very quickly fills his entire being. The same thing happened later in his attitude toward de Cinq-Mars, but more on that later. I will return, however, to the description of the King's campaign against the Queen Mother.
The Queen, desperate in her situation, generously handed out positions and promises, as her real power and real wealth dwindled. Thus, on the eve of battle, her confidant Louis de Marillac, brother of the Intendant of Justice of Anjou, received from her the title of Grand Marshal of France. Perhaps he would have justified this title with great victories, had he not been forced to spend all his time arguing with his envious enemies and rivals, leaving him with virtually no time for the deployment and command of his military forces.
The Duke of Retz, intending to defend Pont-de-C; with 1,200 infantry and 300 cavalry, received orders from the Queen to defend himself only and not to attack the King's troops under any circumstances. De Retz then declared that he would either follow the dictates of military science or be held responsible for nothing. Unable to find understanding with the Queen Mother, he abandoned her and his men. While the Queen had previously hoped for victory, or at least a peace with favorable terms, de Retz's departure was a true disaster for her and all the rebels who supported her. The Queen was left with a measly 2,000 infantry, 100 cavalry, and three cannons.
In this confrontation between Catherine de' Medici and her son, the heroes who sided with the Queen looked like cowards, the cowards who abandoned her looked like wise men, and the wise men who sided with the King looked like heroes. Thus, covered in dust, blood, and gunpowder, de Vend;me, returning to the Queen's headquarters in Bordeaux for reinforcements and receiving none, exclaimed:
- Your Majesty, I would like to die for you!
To this one of the Queen's foolish maids of honor replied:
— To fulfill your wish, you only had to remain on the battlefield.
Taking the Queen's silence as approval of these words, Vend;me returned to the battlefield to die, but, seeing the futility of it, he still saved himself by swimming across the Laura.
The commander of the light cavalry, de Saint-Aignan, resisted the King's troops with all his might but was eventually captured. The three-hour battle resulted in the Queen's complete defeat, costing France several hundred dead and dozens drowned as they vainly tried to save themselves by swimming. Some attempted to hide in the overgrown banks of the Loire, but fell prey to local peasants eager for revenge for their raids and the high taxes they had imposed—another consequence of the Queen's foolish actions.
The result of the defeat of the Queen's troops was her escape with a handful of bodyguards further south, while the King rode on his horse into Angers as a winner.
Ultimately, the Queen was forced to admit defeat and surrender to her son's mercy. Peace was soon signed, thanks in large part to Richelieu's diplomacy and cunning. The Treaty of Angoul;me was partially restored, and all the nobles involved in the rebellion were pardoned. Even the captured Saint-Aignan escaped execution despite fighting against the King in full view. The King was so gracious that he even paid off the Queen Mother's debts, which required three hundred thousand livres. The Queen was promised a future seat on the royal council. Richelieu, who had been lobbying for peace, negotiated concessions for himself and his relatives. The margins of the treaty stated that Richelieu was marrying his young and lovely niece, Marie-Madeleine de Vignerot, Mademoiselle de Pont-Courlay, the daughter of his sister Fran;oise du Plessis, to Antoine de Rour de Combalet, the nephew of the king's favorite.
This idea was suggested by Father Joseph, a constant supporter of Richelieu.
Richelieu was also promised a cardinal's cap, something the Queen, still in love with him, insisted on. This unconditional love was apparently a continuation of her love for his older brother, who had died in a duel. Louis reluctantly signed an official petition to the Pope in August 1620, enclosing a note asking the Pope not to rush to grant this request. Consequently, Richelieu's name was not found in the latest lists of cardinals published by the Pope.
De Luynes, who seemed to strongly recommend Richelieu to the King, in fact accompanied these recommendations with comments that made Louis reluctant to support his elevation to the cardinalate, since this would inevitably have seen Richelieu appointed to the royal council, and Louis still considered him a supporter of the Queen Mother. Therefore, de Luynes and de Richelieu demonstrated complete affection and mutual understanding, vowing eternal friendship and sincere love, something neither believed. Secretly, de Luynes and de Puisieux persuaded the King to support the candidacy of La Valette, Archbishop of Toulouse and son of the Duke of ;pernon. Consequently, in January 1621, it was he who became a cardinal. I explain the disagreement between de Luynes and de Richelieu by the fact that de Richelieu had greatly endeared himself to the King as a result of this campaign, while de Luynes, proposing a more cautious policy, demonstrated to Louis that he should not always heed the advice of this favorite, who held the highest military title possible, while the bet on the Prince de Cond; had fully paid off. Both Richelieu and Luynes sensed that the former was beginning his ascension, while the latter was in danger of losing his luster and glory. Therefore, Richelieu, sensitive to such changes, prepared to distance himself from his former patron, while de Luynes sought to strike a subtle blow at his former prot;g;.
In mid-August 1620, Marie reunited with her son at the Ch;teau de Brissac near Angers. She emerged from her litter forty paces from the dismounted King. The Queen Mother and the King approached each other without showing any emotion, feigned a kiss without touching, and then silently parted, the Queen in her litter, the King on his horse. They then proceeded to one of the rooms of the castle, where they exchanged a few meaningless words. The Queen understood that any requests to her son were futile; she would receive nothing beyond what had been previously agreed upon. Louis, however, believed he no longer had any fear of his mother, and so she became a thing of the past. All that remained was to maintain the politeness and ostentatious fairness that Louis would later habitually display. The Queen moved into the Ch;teau de Fontainebleau, which had been given to her, awaiting her return to Paris. Louis XIII signed a document entitled "Declaration of Innocence of My Most Esteemed Lady and Mother." This time, Marie decided not to engage in intrigue and to follow the advice of de Richelieu, still Bishop of Lu;on, who had once again saved her from complete defeat.
Meanwhile, Mary gave birth to a boy, who, as I said, was baptized by the King himself and named Louis-Charles. According to custom, the boy had two godfathers and one godmother.
In his joy, Charles de Luynes presented Marie with a magnificent ring, its centerpiece a huge, pure blue diamond weighing ten carats, and its band set with half-carat colorless diamonds of the same hue. He still drew wealth by the handful from the state treasury as if it were his own.
Mary showed the ring to Queen Anne and boasted that she would receive the same one with a pink tint after the birth of her daughter, whose birth she had no doubt about, having at her disposal all the means for this.
"You see, Your Majesty, this is proof that my dear husband has taken this child entirely personally, although, frankly, he did nothing to bring him into the world, but I did everything to make him consider himself the cause of this addition to our family!" she said cheerfully.
"Tell me everything in detail, dear Mary!" the Queen replied, just as cheerfully, it seemed, noting to herself that the King hadn't given her any reason for such an event to happen to her in a long time, realizing that to conceive the long-awaited Dauphin, she would have to literally drag the King to bed by force.
At that very moment, a drop of coldness toward her "best friend" seemed to have first appeared in the Queen's heart. Rarely does a woman not feel envy toward her best friend. Even, oddly enough, the Queen is capable of envying a mere duchess who has preceded her in the birth of an heir, and even boasts of a ring the Queen never had.
I believe the frivolous verse I've heard recited several times was composed by some court writer based on a prose sketch devised by Queen Anne herself. It went like this:

"Our constable is infallible,
Just like his wife.
He is tireless in bed,
As, incidentally, does she.

This marriage was blessed
     Offspring, finally.
Even a fool can figure it out,
Who is the child's father?

But the Duke decided to prove it:
He is not a grump at all.
He gave his wife a ring
"As a reward for the horns."

However, Mary was a smart woman; she quickly realized the indelicacy of her actions and hastened to explain it to the Queen as a desire to make sure that if a woman gives birth in marriage, then her husband is the father of her child, no matter what and whoever says about it, and, besides, as she herself was able to verify, it is not difficult for an intelligent woman to convince her husband of the paternity of her child.

"Don't be upset, my dear Anne!" said Mary tenderly, who sometimes allowed herself the most casual familiarity with the Queen. "I'll ask Charles to bring the King to your bedroom!"

Indeed, at one opportune moment, de Luynes, who had long and unsuccessfully tried to persuade the King to spend the night with his lawful wife and try to conceive an heir, unable to bear Louis's excuses, simply scooped him up and dragged him into the Queen's bedroom, laid him on the bed next to Anne, and then, wishing them a restless night, departed, expecting to be sent to the Bastille the next morning for such insolence. Indeed, after several failed attempts to ensure the birth of an heir, which had not earned Louis the reputation of a powerful lover in the eyes of the Queen, Louis hastened to blame his failure on the Queen, finding her unattractive, or lacking passion, or who knows what else. The birth of an heir required drastic measures, which de Luynes took the liberty of employing.
Nevertheless, the King, forced to spend the night in the Queen's bed, was not angry with de Luynes, since he had twice fulfilled a good intention he would never have dreamed of if not for the decisive actions of his favorite. These attempts nearly succeeded, but de Luynes never reaped the fruits of his efforts. The Queen did indeed become pregnant, but she did not abandon her wild and childish dalliances with her friend Marie. This led to a miscarriage, and the King was so enraged at Marie that he intended to send her into exile. The Queen interceded on her behalf, taking the blame. However, this occurred after de Luynes's death, and Marie had already married the Duke of Chevreuse, not bothering much with mourning for her first husband. But before his death, de Luynes managed to commit acts that he believed led to Marie's second pregnancy. I can't and don't want to write about who I believe is the cause of this second pregnancy. My eyes are tired and watering... Marie's daughter, born after de Luynes' death, was named Anne-Marie... The first name is in honor of Queen Anne of Austria's best friend. The second name is in honor of her mother, Marie herself. And again, nothing from the Abb; d'Herblay.

Chapter 24

I wrote above that the King had commissioned us to survey the terrain and find the best approaches for cavalry and infantry. I reported that, acting cautiously but decisively, we not only saw everything we needed to see with our own eyes, but Porthos also captured an officer, I sketched several very accurate maps and sketches of the fortress walls and their fortifications, and Athos offered a couple of excellent ideas for the upcoming operation to capture the city.
I think I haven't paid enough attention to this episode, so I'm now filling in the gap.
At first, we stealthily approached the fortress wall and examined everything that could be seen without revealing our presence.
"I don't see a single observer on the fortress wall," I said. "Perhaps we should get closer?"
"It's getting dark," Athos replied. "There's not much you can see with your eyes anymore. I think they're listening more than looking."
"We could test this," I suggested. "Let's throw a bigger rock and see who comes out. Maybe we'll even manage to pick off a listener or two."
"We can't throw a single stone all the way to the wall," Athos countered. "We can't get any closer; the ditch won't let us. Shooting isn't worth it either, because that would expose us, and we're not here for battle, but for reconnaissance."
"I can roll a larger boulder into the ditch," said Porthos. "I guarantee a loud splash."
"Excellent idea!" said Athos. "That boulder over there would do if the three of us could just move it."
“I’ll move it alone,” Porthos resolutely objected.
"Then go ahead, Porthos," Athos agreed. "And Aramis and I will keep an eye on anyone who looks out from the ramparts. If he tries to shoot you, we'll get there first. But I still ask you, be sure to lie down on the ground as soon as the stone starts rolling."
Athos and I lay down, agreeing that he would take aim at the left part of the space above the fortress wall, and I would take aim at the right.
At our signal, Porthos easily uprooted a huge stone from the ground and pushed it toward the moat. It seemed impossible for even four ordinary men to lift it. He didn't use any tools, using only his strong arms and pushing the ground with his even stronger legs. Frankly, I didn't expect him to possess such strength, though I had already seen that he was far stronger than the average man. The stone rolled, and Porthos apparently forgot that he should immediately lie down on the ground. Two men appeared on the ramparts; Athos shot one of them, and I took the other.
"Porthos, get on the ground, quickly!" I cried.
Porthos looked at me with bewilderment, after which he reluctantly lay down on the ground.
I thought he valued his fine suit more than his own life, and I still think that wasn't such a stupid idea.
“What now?” I asked Athos.
"We've learned that they don't sleep even in the twilight, but listen to the slightest rustle," Athos replied. "We're lucky they can barely see us, while they're as clear as day against the sunset sky."
"How are we going to capture the prisoner?" I asked.
"I believe we've accomplished the main thing—we've agitated them and, I hope, aroused their curiosity about the reasons for this outburst," Athos replied. "Their scouts will probably make a sortie soon."
"For what purpose?" asked Porthos.
"They might think there's a tunnel being dug right under the fortress wall," Athos explained. "They could plant gunpowder in such a tunnel and blow up part of the fortress wall in order to rush through the resulting breach."
"Not a bad option!" exclaimed Porthos. "Why don't we do it?"
"If there's a command, the sappers will take care of it," Athos replied. "Right now, we're just conducting reconnaissance."
"Shh!" I whispered. "I think you're right. Someone's coming out."
Indeed, the fortress gates opened slightly and two or three men were released. They were no longer visible in the darkness beneath the fortress wall. We decided to wait, listening for every sound. There was a commotion beneath the wall; Porthos suggested firing at the sound, but Athos stopped him.
“We don’t need corpses, but a living prisoner,” he said.
“It’s a pity we can’t cross the ditch silently,” I said.
"Aramis, you sneak to the right along the moat, perhaps you'll see a way across," Athos said. "I'll definitely try to sneak to the left as well. And you, Porthos, stay here and keep an eye on them. If they try to cross the moat, don't kill a single one of them. Remember, we need a prisoner, preferably an officer."
Porthos nodded, and we began to carry out Athos's plan.
After a while, I suddenly heard a dull thud coming from where Porthos remained, which made me stop and try to stealthily return to his aid. Then I heard the sound of some scuffling, followed by two more knocks, and then another.
It turned out that those emerging from the fortress gates were merely distractions. The real enemy reconnaissance force descended a rope ladder a short distance away. Two soldiers and an officer crossed the moat using a wooden ladder they had brought with them , lowered to the end of the rope ladder. They did this from a distance; we couldn't see them. Passing around Athos, they reached the spot where they heard the splash, crept up on Porthos, and decided to capture him alive. To this end, they decided to stun him with a musket blow to the head. The blow was calculated to render the recipient unconscious. After this, the two soldiers, believing Porthos to be stunned, grabbed him by the legs and attempted to drag him away. Their disagreement proved their undoing. Although they believed Porthos to be stunned, Porthos didn't consider himself to be, so he abruptly bent over and struck each of the soldiers over the head with his massive fists. To complete his counterattack, he grabbed each soldier by the lapels and smashed their heads together, doing it as easily as if he held a goblet in each hand and smashed them together, as one might smash goblets together in a toast. He then dealt a blow to the officer, who had wisely kept his distance but relaxed after hearing the dull thud of a musket hitting Porthos's head.
"Porthos, what happened?" I exclaimed.
A moment later, Athos arrived with the same question.
"I was attacked by three people," Porthos replied. "I hit this one very lightly, I hope he's alive."
At the same time, he pointed at the officer.
All three were lying on the ground with no signs of life.
"What did you hit them with?" Athos inquired.
“Just with my fists,” Porthos answered.
"And they hit you, with a musket, I think?" I asked.
“Probably with this,” answered Porthos, picking up a musket from the ground.
Luckily, it was already so dark that the men emerging from the fortress gates didn't see us. But they heard us. They each fired a musket ball in our direction, which convinced us there were only two of them. We were lucky that both shots missed us. We fired back shots from the attacking enemy's muskets, as well as from Porthos's, since Athos and I were already empty. I don't know if our shots hit their target, but that's irrelevant. No one appeared on the fortress wall, as they understood the futility of firing into the darkness.
“We must go,” said Athos. “Porthos, can you walk?”
"Certainly," replied Porthos. "True, I think I've developed a lump, but it's nothing serious."
“Anyone else would have lost consciousness from such a blow,” Athos was surprised.
We collected the enemy's weapons and grabbed the officer we hoped was still alive. As for the soldiers Porthos struck harder, I can't guarantee they survived. However, it was their own fault—they attacked Porthos from behind. If you want to survive when attacking Porthos, make one of three decisions: either abandon the idea of attacking him, or, if you do, kill him with the first shot, or run away as fast as you can. Anyone who violated this rule will certainly never be able to express their grievances over the consequences of this foolish act.
Fortunately, the officer survived, although he continued to complain of a headache the next day, vomiting, and feeling drowsy. The lump on Porthos's head received tender loving care from us in the form of an ice pack, and by the following day there was no trace left.
I'll say a few more words about our musket balls. We had special bullets cast for us by our physician, Jean de Ruchot, who experimented with bullet shapes in his spare time. He used up a couple of barrels of gunpowder for his experiments, but the results were worth it. The bullets he devised weren't round, but cylindrical, tapering slightly at both ends, and with longitudinal notches on the sides that curled slightly, like ivy curling around the branches it wraps around. I can't explain the effect he achieved, but our bullets flew farther and hit more accurately.
When the physician showed his bullets to Athos, he immediately praised them and ordered twenty dozen. But de Treville doubted the effectiveness of this design. He assigned de Besmos and du Chant; to test the bullets. Both were excellent marksmen, but each reported that the bullets they tested were less accurate than standard ones.
"They should aim a little lower than usual," Athos told me. "Regular bullets lose speed, so they don't fly as straight. If you aim these bullets the same way you would with regular bullets, then since these tricky bullets fly straighter, they'll overshoot the target."
"Will you tell de Treville about this?" I asked.
"De Treville doesn't acknowledge me as an authority on marksmanship," Athos replied. "You know what our captain is like. If he once decided that you and I are the best swordsmen, then he doesn't consider us authorities on musketry."
“But we could convince him otherwise,” I objected.
"Convince a superior officer?" Athos asked with a bitter smile. "Abandon such fantasies once and for all, Aramis! We will test these bullets in combat, and then we will draw the attention of our comrades to this advantage if it proves to be true."
Unfortunately, although these bullets proved to be excellent, we had no time to prove their superiority during the war. When peace came, Athos wanted to revisit the issue, but it turned out that Jean de Ruchot had already died of a lung disease. Apparently, constantly working with lead without the proper training had taken a toll on his health.
But in these lines I want to express my gratitude to him, for his bullets have saved us more than once, including during the Battle of La Rochelle. May you rest in peace, self-taught physician and gunsmith, Jean de Ruchot.

Chapter 25

I've probably written enough about 1620, a year so full of important events. It's time to turn to 1621. First, let me recall what happened that year. So, in January, a list of new cardinals was published, and Richelieu didn't find himself among them. He remained Bishop of Lu;on. But he had achieved the most important thing: the King appreciated his negotiating skills, and even his managerial talents and efficiency, and he began to trust him more. Nine years of his voluntary exile from Paris to Lu;on, where he took up the episcopal office with all his might, had had their effect.
At the end of March, King Philip III of Spain, father of Queen Anne of Austria, died, after which her brother, Philip IV, became King of Spain. Like almost every European king, he had a favorite, who, as first minister, effectively ruled Spain. His name was Olivares.
A little less than a month later, on April 25, the Treaty of Madrid was signed between France and Spain. With it, the two kingdoms attempted to settle the disputed Valtellina. This treaty remained a sham, an empty phrase; it achieved nothing, since neither party implemented it. Moreover, the Treaty of Monzon, signed five years later, also achieved nothing. This mountain valley in northern Lombardy, north of Bergamo, on the Italian-Switzerland border, at the foot of the Bernine Alps, has always remained too coveted a morsel for all countries bordering it. I believe this dispute will not be resolved in two hundred years. But, of course, no one will allow them to remain an independent, petty state, the Republic of the Three Leagues, indefinitely.
Between these two events, namely, on April 9, the truce between the Spanish Habsburgs and the United Provinces expired. No new truce was concluded. So, war ensued.
In August, the King attempted to besiege the Protestant fortress of Montauban. His father (or the one considered his father), King Henry IV , was himself a Protestant who twice renounced the Protestant faith under pressure of circumstances, that is, completely against his will. In his heart, of course, he always remained a Protestant. And so his son and heir, Louis XIII , waged war against the Protestants. Naturally, not without Richelieu's influence, since the Queen Mother no longer exerted any influence over the King by this time. But Richelieu himself was quite tolerant of foreign Protestants, entering into alliances with them against even French Catholics, such as the Duke of Lorraine and many others. This once again proves that religion recedes when geopolitical interests of states come into play. But the fight against its own Protestants was a fight for the unity of France, just as the fight against its own rebellious Catholics was.
The Edict of Nantes, signed by Henry IV , seemingly brought reconciliation between Catholics and Protestants. But this magnificent plan did not end as intended. The Huguenots were allowed to practice their religion, but were forbidden to do so in Paris and many other major cities. To appear fair, they were allowed to do so in some less significant towns on the outskirts of France. This led to all the Huguenots converging on these towns, where, being in the majority, they elected their own prot;g;s as governors. These towns became Huguenot, good Catholics were forced to leave, and afterward, these Huguenot fortified towns became strongholds of separatism. Situated on the outskirts of the state, they were able to enter into defensive alliances with nearby Protestant states. Thus, fortress cities like Montauban , Montpellier, and La Rochelle became a source of incredible danger to the integrity of the state, as they could easily be used as staging areas for further warfare by France's historical adversaries, such as England and Spain, not to mention the smaller German states that constantly sought to snatch this or that province from us. However, with some of them, it was sometimes possible to establish tenuous, temporary alliances.
The beauty of memoirs is that they're written about years the writer can reflect on. It's certainly pleasant to revisit those years when you were young, full of energy and hope for a better life. You thought wealth, position, and power represented a better life. But now, as you write these memoirs, you have wealth, position, and power, but you'd give it all up without a second thought to regain your youth, health, and hope. Even if they inevitably come with naivety, ignorance, and even occasional hunger, cold, and poverty. The most precious resource is time. When you were young, you had time to spare, but you didn't value it. Now you'd give anything for a decade more, but no one will give or sell you an extra hour of life, not even a minute.

Even if I am condemned by everyone,
I'll tell you, even if they gag me:
“Of all currencies, time is the most valuable
And its rate is growing rapidly."

You don't get it as a salary,
And no one is rich in them beyond measure.
Wasting time is a wild waste,
She is above all other expenses.

There is no way you can borrow it,
And this is a pity, not funny at all...
You can't put your time in the bank at interest,
No matter how you copy it, it will end.

Of course, now, with the benefit of my life's experience, I perceive the events I'm attempting to describe differently. It's very easy for me to put myself in the shoes of Richelieu, or Marie, or Louis, or the Queen Mother, to understand the reasons for their actions and even, to some extent, predict them. But what's the point? What's already happened has already happened, and what's happening around me now hardly concerns me anymore.

Chapter 26

Naturally, Richelieu was furious that he was not made a cardinal. He couldn't know the reason, of course, but he could guess. He couldn't know exactly what Louis had asked the papal nuncio to convey to the Pope not to appoint Richelieu a cardinal, stating that he couldn't help but write this request, as the Queen Mother had insisted so strongly. But he didn't want the Pope to fulfill this request. At the same time, the papal nuncio was instructed by the Queen to convey to Pope Paul V that Richelieu's appointment as cardinal was absolutely necessary. Catherine de' Medici herself had written to the Pope in support of this request. Not surprising, since she belonged to a noble Tuscan family and was practically a fellow countrywoman of the Pope. So, a Florentine (Florence, as you may recall, is the capital of Tuscany), a compatriot of Petrarch and Boccaccio, Masaccio and Donatello, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, she, not without reason, considered herself more civilized than her late husband, Henry IV, and on this basis believed it was possible to write to the Pope. Well, perhaps she was right, since the Medici family included four popes (Leo X, Pius IV, Clement VII, Leo XI), as well as two Queens of France, one of whom was herself. It was de Luynes who was turning the King against Richelieu, a fact both Richelieu and the Queen Mother understood. It was necessary to rid France of this favorite. This was the desire of Richelieu and the Queen. The Marshal of France, who had never led a single battle, was given the title of Constable of France under the pretext of leading a campaign against the Huguenots. But he did not lead that campaign either. Discontent against de Luynes began to brew, and pamphlets ridiculing him began to appear. The anger that simmers among the people always originates from above, from the very heights of power. If you haven't understood this, you haven't understood anything about the history of states. It is a well-known fact that Richelieu personally wrote most of these pamphlets, while others were written under his orders. His most famous pamphlet, "Speech of Welcome and Impressions of Dying France: An Invocation to the King and an Appeal to All Good Frenchmen," became famous. Comparing the current times to the times of "the good King Henry IV ," Richelieu denounced bad advisers (alluding primarily to de Luynes) and expressed surprise that the King was ruling without the support of the Queen Mother.
Louis's military successes against his own citizens of a different faith turned his head. Despite the Queen Mother's removal from power, he decided to finally purge France of the Huguenots. The newly appointed constable also sought to confirm the legitimacy of his highest military rank. But by the end of the summer of 1621, successes gave way to setbacks; the Huguenots were becoming increasingly organized, perhaps because they were no longer under the command of the Queen Mother, who only hindered them. In the midst of the siege of the small Huguenot fortress of Moneur, the king's favorite constable, Charles de Luynes, suddenly fell ill and died suddenly on the night of December 14-15.
At the very end of the year, on December 15, de Luynes died and Maria became a widow.
Let me reflect on this event. Not long before, the Queen had learned that, on de Luynes' orders, she was being followed. Spies were also assigned to de Richelieu. The jealous de Luynes, I believe, could have guessed that Marie was extremely affectionate with more than just him. And finally, tired of reproaches from all sides and shaken in his complete trust in de Luynes, King Louis XIII himself , I believe, became disillusioned with his favorite. De Luynes continued to interfere in everything and everyone, appearing where he was not welcome, doing things that absolutely no one liked, not realizing that everyone was tired of him. It would have been fine if he had disgusted everyone except the King, but even the King was already becoming weary of his company. So, first de Luynes became a political corpse in the eyes of the King, after that he became a corpse in the full sense of the word.
I wonder how Maria felt about him at that time? Did she still love him? Judging by our relationship, no. However, perhaps she could love several men at the same time? Why do I write “perhaps”? I know she was capable of it. Always. Could she combine love for two, three, or more men? Easy! However, what is “love” when applied to Maria? It seems to me that she was incapable of loving a man she knew well. Her mind was too masculine. She analyzed everything. And everyone. Now, looking back on her whole life, I begin to suspect that she didn’t love me either, but only used me for her own purposes, for her intrigues. It seems to me that she truly loved Athos. The Comte de la F;re. This came to her with old age, with sentimentality. When she had almost stopped intriguing. However, she would have intrigued even with one foot in the coffin, and even at the moment of death, she would probably have tried to outwit the old woman, Death. But her attitude toward Athos was something special. Perhaps she understood that she would never be his wife? I've strayed from the topic again. But my topic is connected, one way or another, with Maria's character, which I haven't fully understood. I ask myself these questions in order to try to understand, firstly, whether de Luynes was helped to leave this mortal coil. And, secondly, whether Maria had anything to do with it?
No, no, Maria never used poison. She would have preferred to charm any number of men into challenging him to a duel and killing him. And why would Maria even want to? He was a very accommodating husband, and I think he fully believed he was the father of their son and the cause of that second pregnancy, the end of which he never saw.
Poisoning an unwanted rival was a Medici trait. Did Marie de Luynes hate her? Absolutely! Did she know how to use poison? Absolutely! Did she have the wherewithal to carry out such a daring plan? Obviously! And here's another consideration. If not for this, if not for the goal of hastening de Luynes to the next world, then why had Marie come to the military camp? Simply to be by her son's side during the fighting? No, that couldn't be! After all, he was fighting her former allies, the rebellious Huguenots. It would have been better for her to observe the battle from afar. If the King had won, her position would have been no worse, and if the Huguenots had won, she could have counted on improving it, since the King, led by de Luynes, had become almost an open enemy. In all likelihood, she should not have been present where the King and de Luynes were, unless she had a need to be personally near de Luynes in order to help him at the first opportunity, who was mortally ill.
I ask myself another small question. Could the Queen have dared to do such a thing, morally speaking? Why not? Put yourself in the place of the Queen Mother, who ruled the entire country, and who was driven from the palace by her own son, excommunicated from power, and who understands perfectly well that the cause of her disgrace was precisely this same de Luynes?! It also occurred to me that it was at de Luynes's instigation that Louis ordered de Vitry to kill Marshal d'Ancre, her lover, after which his wife Galigay was executed and the Queen herself exiled to Blois. If it turned out that the Queen was the cause of de Luynes's death, then such a death would have to be recognized as the result of revenge for the murder of her lover, almost her husband, for the murder of his favorite, and also for the fact that he took her own son from her. And because he, none other than he alone, took away her crown and kingdom, took away France!
I can even guess what exactly de Luynes was poisoned with. There's a plant called Atropa belladonna. All the symptoms that doctors diagnosed as "purple fever" are completely consistent with those of belladonna poisoning. I have information that Marie de Medici had been very interested in this plant the day before. This "mad cherry" grows in her homeland; it can be found in France as well, but I know she sent a trusted lieutenant to get it. Well, the case is investigated, and the case is closed. I don't even dare blame her for it.
This evening, I will light a candle for the repose of Marie de Medici and read a prayer for the atonement of her sins. After all, she was our Queen!
So, Paul V did not make Richelieu a cardinal. But on January 28, 1621, he died. So the Bishop of Lu;on no longer had anyone to hold a grudge against.
Gregory XV made him a cardinal only in 1622. Well, Richelieu was right when he said: "In France, the best cure for all ills is patience."

Chapter 27

Now I remembered some interesting details that Maria told me.
In his youth, Louis, under the influence of his father, Henry IV , began to indulge in carnal pleasures, which initially manifested only in outward imitation of his father's actions. He spanked his maids on the buttocks, slept under the same blanket as his governess, Madame de Montglat, and even indulged in the playful pastimes of the biblical Onan, which Henry IV viewed with humor, believing that any display of masculinity, even this one, was only beneficial to the Dauphin. After Henry's death, the Queen Mother sought to eliminate any signs of licentiousness in her son, instilling in him puritanical views, even to the point of prudishness. Consequently, as he matured, Louis became an excessively shy youth who could not tolerate lewd jokes and was offended even by the sight of a woman's d;collet;, which was considered the norm at the time. He viewed women as agents of sin, and he wasn't so much pious as he feared the devil's influence; he didn't so much dream of heaven as he dreaded hell. However, when he realized that the Queen Mother herself had lived in sin with Concini, he felt ashamed of her and significantly distanced himself from her spiritually, which, as we know, later led to an irreconcilable rift between mother and son. Although possessing excellent male health and treating male needs with disdain and modesty, Louis naturally suffered from this discrepancy. He turned to hunting, a passion for weapons, and the training of pets, to which, however, he treated them rather mercilessly, and at times downright cruelly.
I once heard someone say about him: "What an excellent servant this worthless monarch would have made!" Maria categorically disagreed, and I also believe that idle gossips simply adapted the saying about the Roman Emperor Caligula, who truly was the best slave and the most worthless emperor. The fact is, Caligula had to adapt to Tiberius's character, and until he inherited power in Rome, he couldn't even be sure he'd live to see the next day, since Tiberius easily dealt with any of his relatives. Louis's childhood was quite different; he didn't have to be a servant; he knew in advance that he would inherit the crown of France; he was never anyone's servant. If the word "servant" could be applied to him, it would only be in the form of "servant of his own whims," which would be a perfectly accurate description of his character.
He amused himself by shaving the mustaches and beards of his nobles, not to make them neater or better looking, but because he enjoyed the activity and they couldn't refuse him. Holding a sharp razor to the throats of his nobles, he had no intention of stabbing them, as Caligula would have done, but he found it amusing to see their frightened faces covered in soap, or to see a face shaved on only one side. Incidentally, in his amusement, he left one of his courtiers with a small beard and a miniature mustache. He was so pleased with the result that he had himself shaved in the same way, after which the fashion caught on throughout France, and the unkempt full-chin beards of Henry IV's era were forever consigned to oblivion.
Having become fascinated with hunting, he developed a particular interest in observing the death throes of shot game, which later developed into a deformed passion for watching dying people and even mimicking their grimaces. He enjoyed drawing, music, and poetry. Among theatrical performances, he preferred comedy; other plays tired him and made him sleepy. But he did not become a patron of the arts, unlike his first minister, Richelieu. Patronage comes with expense, and Louis was stingy, like his father. Moreover, Louis suffered frequently from indigestion, which left its mark on his daily routine and his outlook on life. He was treated with bloodletting and a diet that likely only exacerbated his diarrhea and, consequently, his melancholy. For this reason, he was prone to fainting fits, and at times he was extremely hot-tempered and cruel, though at other times he could turn into a kind and indulgent person. He was restless, eager to travel, and tireless on the road.
I've already said that the friendship with de Luynes wasn't just friendship, but almost a familial bond. All of this, incidentally, took place in the presence of a legitimate spouse, as Louis and Anne were married at a young age, after which Anne moved into the palace, and they even had something resembling a wedding night. This unnatural intimacy for such a young age filled Louis with shame and disgust, which he passed on to Anne herself. Naturally, the young Queen Anne couldn't accept the fact that Louis spent all his free time with de Luynes, and she placed great hopes on his marriage. She hoped that the favorite would be distracted by his young wife, and the King, perhaps, would become jealous, leading him to the Queen's bed. But this didn't happen at first. Mary entered this intimate circle without Anne. The King spent his time in the company of de Luynes and his wife Marie, so it was not the King who had to be jealous, but the Queen.
Louis, however, did not encroach on Marie's honor; he liked her purely as a friend, as he sometimes did other young women at court. He admired fragile, supple women with pretty faces, claiming nothing more than to simply gaze upon them. If anything more were discussed, he was horrified, apparently believing the devil was tempting him. Filled with a friendly affection for Marie, Louis appointed her Superintendent of the Queen's Court and Finances and head of her council. Marie thus became head of Queen Anne's entire staff. Previously, this position belonged to the constable's widow, Madame de Montmorency, who, in frustration, retired to her estate. De Luynes' sister, Antoinette du Vernet, was given the position of Keeper of the Queen's Wardrobe and Jewels. Thus, de Luynes gained influence not only over the King, but also over the Queen through his wife and sister. However, the tender friendship between Marie and Louis seemed overly tender to de Luynes, so his attempts to divert the King's attention to Anne were also deeply selfish. Having carried Louis to the Queen's bedchamber, de Luynes finally desired to be alone with his wife.
Anna tried to attract Louis with playful outfits and overly daring necklines, but this only frightened the King and alienated him even more.
Anne's sudden illness brought the King and Queen closer together. Although himself a rather frail man, Louis felt compassion for Anne, whose doctors were already predicting her short lifespan. No longer viewing Anne as a messenger from hell, Louis saw her as a suffering angel, and he promised to fulfill her every wish, so long as he pleased her and eased her suffering. Gradually, Louis's coldness toward Anne faded, and they finally began to live as befits a married couple, though their meetings remained rare. The Queen's recovery occurred almost immediately after the King made his vow at Notre-Dame-de-Lorette and ordered the relics brought. This forever convinced him of the efficacy of such vows and relics, and appropriate sacrifices were made for the birth of an heir and on other special occasions. Since the heir was subsequently born after the sacrifices to the Virgin Mary, Louis decided that all of France should be dedicated to the Virgin Mary, which was legalized by the corresponding act.
Since Mary realized in time that promoting good relations between the King and Queen was the best way for her to win the hearts of both royal spouses, she showed so much agility and enthusiasm in this direction that she regained Anne's favor and strengthened Louis's confidence.
I learned all this from Maria much later, but I am setting it out here in this chapter in order to finish with this topic once and for all.
So, de Luynes passed away and Maria became a widow.
At first, the King even expressed joy at the death of de Luynes.
"Finally, I'm completely free!" he confessed to one of his courtiers.
The courtiers sensed this, for it was no wonder that no one visited the dying de Luynes.
But, feeling the full weight and abundance of his state responsibilities, Louis XIII panicked and sought a reconciliation with the Queen Mother. Richelieu advised her to recommend de Marillac, who enjoyed the respect and unquestioning trust of both the King and Queen, to court. This was done. Immediately, the most influential members of the State Council became concerned that the Queen's influence would return. Chancellor and Keeper of the State Seal Nicolas Brulart de Sillery, his son, Secretary of State Pierre Brulart, Viscount de Puyzey, and members of the Royal Council Janin, de Vicq, and Cardinal de Retz began to persuade the King to keep the Queen out of the affairs of state. They all feared not so much that the Queen Mother would join the Royal Council, but that Richelieu would follow her, and then he would subjugate the entire Royal Council. However, this is precisely what subsequently happened, demonstrating the validity of their fears and the inadequacy of the measures they took to counter them. Sillery and his son Puisieux's intolerance of Richelieu was understandable, as Puisieux had assumed the position of Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, a position Richelieu had held before Concini's assassination. Had Richelieu risen to prominence again, he would not only have regained that position but would have risen to a much higher position, in which case he would have sought to push Sillery and Puisieux into the shadows. In fact, this is precisely what subsequently happened. Poor Sillery was already sent into honorable retirement in January 1624 and retired to his family estate in Pontoise, where he died later that year.
Alongside the Sillery and Puisieux faction, but on his own side, the Prince of Cond; joined the struggle for influence over the King with even greater enthusiasm. His activism was bolstered by the understanding that if the King and his brother died childless, the throne of France would fall to him.
Richelieu exploited these contradictions to execute a brilliant "chess" combination. He persuaded the Queen to influence Sillery and other members of the royal council to recommend Richelieu for cardinalship. Sillery understood that Richelieu was seeking both the cardinal's hat and membership in the royal council. He decided to choose the lesser of two evils, and in doing so, he chose both. Hoping that Richelieu would prefer the more realistic goal of becoming a cardinal, he advised the Queen to persuade him to travel to Rome and persuade the Pope to grant him the position. He hoped that Richelieu would seize the opportunity and leave for Rome, which would prevent him from taking an active part in the affairs of state, and in the meantime, he hoped to gather supporters to weaken his influence over the King. But Richelieu was not so simple. He tried to convince everyone that he intended to go to Rome, which resulted in the signing of the petition to the Pope going off without a hitch. The petition was sent to Rome, while Richelieu remained in Paris. The Queen was appointed to the Royal Council, which comprehensively strengthened the position of the Queen's party, to which Richelieu still belonged, and weakened the party of the members of the Royal Council, led by Sillery and Puisieux, and also contributed to the weakening of Cond;'s influence.
Sillery and Puisieux hoped that Richelieu would now travel to Rome to receive the cardinal's cap and mantle from Pope Gregory XV . But Richelieu had two reasons to cancel the trip. First, there were rumors that the elderly Pope was dying, so Richelieu's visit would be inappropriate. Second, the war against the Huguenots continued in the country. In the spring of 1622, for six weeks, the King's thirty-thousand-strong army besieged Montpellier, defended by the Duke of Rohan (or de Rohan – translator's note), who had four thousand infantry and three hundred cavalry at his disposal. But Montpellier was magnificently fortified, and all attempts to storm it were repelled. This time, the King did not commit his musketeers to battle, keeping them in reserve, so we were forced to remain inactive. Following a six-week unsuccessful siege, the King decided to negotiate, which dragged on until mid-autumn. In early October, peace agreements were signed, prohibiting the Huguenots from holding assemblies or fortifying their fortresses, with the exception of Montauban and La Rochelle. In exchange, numerous concessions were made to their leaders. The Duke of Rohan received the cities of N;mes, Uz;s, and Castres in Provence and Languedoc, as well as fifty thousand ;cus from the King. The Duke of Soubise was granted a pension of forty-five thousand livres. Thus, a fragile and short-lived peace was established, only as long as both sides kept their promises, which neither intended to keep forever.
Cardinal Henri de Gondi, son of Catherine de' Medici's favorite, Albert de Gondi, Duke of Retz, died unexpectedly in Paris. His younger brother, Jean-Fran;ois de Gondi, succeeded him in the Paris see, but another cardinal's cap became vacant. The Queen Mother took more decisive action, putting pressure on Secretary of State Puisieux. At the same time, Richelieu managed to win over the elderly Jeanin. Finally, the King himself intervened, and Richelieu was elevated to the cardinalate. Everyone rushed to congratulate the newly appointed cardinal; his friends, if he had any, were sincerely happy for him; his enemies, of whom there were undoubtedly many, hastened to feign genuine goodwill and delight at the appointment of the new cardinal. His enemies vainly hoped that Richelieu would travel to Rome to claim the cardinal's mantle. King Louis XIII , exercising his right, personally performed the ordination ceremony, conferring upon the new cardinal the purple cap and mantle, brought from Rome by the papal envoy, Count Giulio. The entire court was present, including the Queen Mother. The Cardinal delivered a ritual speech in which he thanked the King and Queen Mother and promised to serve the faith and the fatherland. At the end of his speech, he addressed the Queen Mother: "Madame, this mantle, for which I owe Your Majesty's favor, will always remind me of my solemn promise—to spare no life in serving you."
The thirty-seven-year-old cardinal had achieved such a position that even members of the royal council were now forced to reckon with him. Afterward, he suffered a severe headache, which confined him to his bed for several days. After recovering, Richelieu handed over his bishopric of Lu;on to Abbot Aymeric de Bragelonne in exchange for the deanship of Saint-Martin-de-Tours and the Abbey of Notre-Dame-de-Saint-Vast. This deal increased his income. At the same time, the cardinal spread rumors that he was retiring from public affairs and planning to travel to Rome to participate in the upcoming election of a new pope following the death of Gregory XV .

Chapter 28

I'll tell you how it happened that Maria got married again.
She came running to me, frightened and trembling. It was her first time visiting my house.
"Henri, save me!" she said in despair.
"Calm down, Maria, what happened?" I replied in as calm and gentle a tone as possible. "You're safe, no one will hurt you."
"Oh, Henri, I'm lost!" Maria persisted. "What have I done, oh God! I've ruined myself! I've ruined the Queen, the King, France! I've ruined the heir to the throne!"
"For God's sake, calm down and speak clearly," I said, kissing her cold hands. "How could you destroy all of France? Don't slander yourself. It probably wasn't as terrible as you paint it in your lamentations. What actually happened?"
"We were having fun, and she fell!" Maria said in despair, then threw herself onto my bed and burst into tears.
"Calm down, you shouldn't worry so much!" I continued to console her. "You've forgotten that you're pregnant, you should take care of yourself for the sake of your future child."
"None of this matters anymore," Mary said sadly. "My child, if born healthy, will only make my situation worse. After all, I am guilty of the death of the Queen's child! I deprived France of an heir!"
"Is it really that serious?" I asked, genuinely alarmed. "How did this happen?"
I brought Maria a glass of water, splashed some wine into it, she convulsively drank the calming drink, pulled herself together and told the following story.
So there were three of them: Queen Anne, Mary, and their other inseparable companion, Gabrielle-Ang;lique de Verneuil, the illegitimate daughter of Henry IV by his mistress, Catherine Henrietta de Balzac d'Entragues, Marquise de Verneuil. Two of them were pregnant; the third, the Marquise de Verneuil, was still a maid. All three were under twenty years old. Returning from yet another merry gathering through the large, dimly lit hall in the Louvre, where the royal throne was usually installed on ceremonial days, they noticed how beautifully polished the parquet floor was, and these fools got the idea to sprint across it at full speed, which they immediately did, forgetting about their pregnancy and the fact that Queen Anne had already had one miscarriage. In the darkness, Anne crashed into the dais on which the throne was being installed, lost her footing, and fell to the floor. The next day, March 16, she went into premature labor. The heir, whose birth all of Europe was awaiting, died as a result of a silly prank, which, according to Mary, was not her idea at all, though I didn't believe it. What fun for two pregnant women to have! It's a good thing Mary herself didn't fall or suffer a similar misfortune, although what does that child mean in the scales of history compared to the King's unborn eldest son? For me, of course, the child was more precious, since I felt a serious connection to its anticipated birth. But the King, of course, had a different opinion. He was seriously angry. Fortunately for Mary, he was away; he had yet to learn the details. A letter arrived from him ordering Mary to be banished from the palace forever.
“All is not lost, Maria,” I said. “How exactly is the King’s order formulated?”
“I have been ordered to be expelled from the palace,” Maria replied.
"Not from Paris, not from France, but just from the palace?" I chuckled.
“I don’t understand your irony, Henri,” Maria said indignantly. “Isn’t it the same thing?”
"Didn't the order say that you were being removed from your positions?" I asked calmly.
"What positions are you talking about, Henri?" Maria asked, gradually comprehending my words and calming down.
"As far as I know, you are the Queen's Superintendent of Finance, the Queen's Superintendent of the Household, and the Head of the Queen's Council," I listed. "Are these positions you have been ordered to relinquish?"
“Nothing was said about that,” Maria answered, becoming animated.
"Am I to understand that if Queen Anne needs any money, she must turn to you for it, since it is not fitting for the Queen to be her own treasurer?" I inquired. "And no one else has been appointed to this position in your place?"
"Rene, you bring me back to life!" Maria exclaimed.
I had already noticed that when Maria called me Henri, it meant that she was simply flirting with me, but when she called me Ren;e, her feelings were almost genuinely tender.
"You should simply remain in the farthest room of the palace, as far away from the Queen as possible, but still within easy reach of her if necessary," I clarified. "In that case, you will explain your situation as necessary to fulfill your duties. In a week, the King will calm down."
"Will he calm down?" Maria objected doubtfully. "He's decided to ban me from seeing Anna forever."
"He said that in the heat of the moment," I muttered, doubting my own words. "Listen, Maria, you need an influential advocate."
"An influential protector?" Maria smirked. "Where can I find one? Luynes is dead, I've fallen out with Richelieu, Puisieux hates me, as does his father, Sillery."
"I suppose your falling out with Richelieu isn't permanent, since his niece is married to your nephew, isn't that right?" I asked.
"Oh, he certainly dotes on his niece, but her husband is by no means my nephew, he is the nephew of my late husband de Luynes," replied Maria. "Such a relationship means almost nothing."
“You told me that the Duke de Chevreuse is very favorably disposed towards you,” I prompted.
“De Chevreuse is kind to every skirt that has ever walked through the doors of the Louvre,” Maria waved off.
"But you, too, it seems, encouraged him?" I asked.
"The old procuress and cocotte Cond; strongly advised me not to be too strict with him," Marie replied, shrugging. "I suppose she did so at the instigation of the Queen Mother, who wishes to influence all those with even the slightest influence, among whom I was only yesterday."
"Excellent," I chimed in. "Enlist the support of the Duke de Chevreuse; the King loves him. If the Duke intercedes for you, your high position will be restored without any loss."
"Why should he stand up for me?" Maria objected, pursing her lips. "I'm nothing to him!" "Such an intercession for me could cost him the King's favor. He'd probably prefer to disown me forever rather than contradict the King."
“Marry him,” I suggested.
"Married?!" Maria exclaimed in surprise. "For what reason?"
"Listen, Maria, he doesn't know yet that you could be disgraced!" I said with conviction. "If you resolve this issue tonight, he won't be able to go back on his word tomorrow. The Guises don't go back on their word!"
"But he hasn't proposed to me yet, has he?" Maria said, confused.
“Go to him, get a couple of compliments from him, and then tell him that you agree to give in to his pressure,” I replied.
"Oh, is that how it's done?" she asked coquettishly.
“Don’t pretend, you know perfectly well how to do it yourself,” I chuckled.
- So, do you think that the Duke de Chevreuse will intercede for Maria before His Majesty?
"The Duke of Chevreuse will intercede for the Duchess of Chevreuse not only before the King, but also before the Pope, before God, and before Satan," I replied with conviction. "And this evening, the future Duchess of Chevreuse must promise the Duke, her future husband, that she intends to make him chief falconer, chief chamberlain, constable, and ultimately."
"But I can't do that!" Maria objected.
"But he doesn't know yet that you won't be able to do that," I objected. "And besides, if he intercedes for you with the King, you could very well make him, if not Constable, then at least Chief Falconer and Chief Chamberlain, or whatever? Superintendent of Finances? Keeper of the Royal Seal? We'll think about that."
“Oh, Ren;e, you have comforted me so much,” said Maria.
"Go to your future husband, Marie," I replied. "By the way, the name Duchess de Chevreuse would suit you very well. The Duke will undoubtedly intercede for you, and you will be forgiven."
"And what will happen to the Marquise de Verneuil?" Maria asked, purely out of politeness towards her absent companion. "After all, the King is angry with her too."
“You will marry her to Bernard de Nogaret de la Valette, Duke of Epernon,” I replied, blurting this out without any basis.
"The one who is nine years older than her?" Maria exclaimed.
"My God, who says that?" I asked, surprised. "After all, your late husband, the Duke of Luynes, was almost twenty-two years older than you, wasn't he? Your future husband, Claude of Lorraine, the Duke of Chevreuse, is the same age as the Duke of Luynes, and also twenty-two years older than you! What's bothering you?"
"A nine-year age gap isn't convenient," Maria laughed. "With a twenty-two-year age gap, you can cuckold your husband without a twinge of conscience, since he's old enough to be his wife's father. With a five-year age gap, you can get just as much pleasure from your husband as you do from your lover. But a nine-year age gap is neither here nor there. He's too young to be a cuckold, and too old to be a lover!"
"I suppose the Marquise de Verneuil will somehow sort out her age differences," I dismissed. "Besides, I'm not very good at math. Go see your future husband, don't waste any time!"
"Very well, Ren;, if you insist, I will be nice to him," Maria replied, looking down. "But keep in mind that I will be thinking only of you."
"I had no doubt about it, my dear!" I replied, kissing Maria on the lips and holding her tenderly to me. "Believe me, Maria, if I were the Duke of Chevreuse, Claude of Lorraine, I would marry you without the slightest hesitation."
"If you were twenty-two years older than me?" Maria asked petulantly. "Fie, Henri, you probably wouldn't be of interest to me."
“Well, I would let you cuckold me,” I lied easily.

So, just four months after de Luynes' death, Marie married the Duke of Chevreuse and became the Duchess of Chevreuse. From that moment on, I would be perfectly justified in calling her Chevrette. And indeed, the name suited her very well. She was, indeed, as lively and active as a young goat, Chevreau , Chevre .

Claude of Lorraine, the fifth son of Duke Henry of Lorraine, was the third Duke of Guise. By marriage, Claude received not only Marie but also the titles of Grand Chamberlain and Grand Falconer of France, which, given Louis's extraordinary love of falconry, immediately placed him within the royal circle of courtiers. He was already quite noble and beloved by Louis XIII , who, back in 1611, while still quite young, had already created him Duke of Chevreuse and a peer of France. Thus, Marie passed from the hands of one duke and peer to another, transferring the offices of Grand Chamberlain and Grand Falconer of France as her dowry. It must be assumed that Claude de Chevreuse intended to obtain all of the other offices of de Luynes through Marie. But he never became constable. And no one else did. Marie wasn't left out in the cold, however, as Claude de Chevreuse died in 1657 without male heirs, so his title of Duke of Chevreuse passed to Marie's son from her first marriage, Louis-Charles d'Albert. Oh, my Louis-Charles, I'm so happy for you!
It must be said that Duke Claude de Chevreuse tried to keep aloof from Marie's intrigues. This was quite wise of him. However, perhaps it would have been wiser not to marry Marie? What about the positions of Grand Chamberlain and Grand Falconer of France? And is it really possible to refuse a King when he himself proposes to marry his wife's friend, the Queen? Marie feigned mourning with all her might and, apparently, overdid it. Louis was tired of seeing the sour expression of his wife's friend, since the sour expression with which he had been married was enough for him. Two sober expressions were too much, even for such a prude as Louis XIII was, or tried to be . At the time, he must have thought that marrying Marie to Claude de Chevreuse was a brilliant idea. Perhaps Richelieu had suggested it. I wouldn't be surprised if that was indeed the case.

Chapter 29

I was in a bad mood on Marie's wedding day. Yes, I agree, I was the one who advised her to marry, but at that time I was still so young that I allowed myself such a foolish feeling as jealousy. Yes, one can love and be jealous, or love and not be jealous. Or one can not love, but be jealous, as Louis XIII showed us . Love has many colors and shades. Perhaps it seems strange to love a woman and advise her to marry. And what else could I do? I met her when she was already married. This did not interfere with our relationship; it did not embarrass either me or her. Now she was a widow, but this did not create any rosy prospects for us to become even closer. I was not noble enough and certainly not rich enough to marry her, even if I wanted to. But I would not have wanted that, because I saw how easily Marie deceives people whom she assures of her love and devotion. I didn't want to be one of them; growing horns visible to everyone but the owner wasn't my thing. Not trusting her in anything, or almost anything—that was the only way to avoid being deceived, though I wouldn't vouch for its reliability. Marie managed to deceive even those who didn't believe a single word she said, like Louis XIII , for example . Indeed, if you know you're never trusted in anything, you can deceive them, for example, by telling the honest truth from time to time. I would rather carry poisonous spiders and scorpions in my pockets than marry Marie. Naturally, I wasn't invited to the wedding celebration; we kept our acquaintance a secret.
Chevreuse! How much is in that word! How many scandals and intrigues! If you recall whose names are associated with the greatest problems of the House of Bourbon, three ducal families come to mind: the Chevreuse-Guise-Lorraine, as well as the de Luynes and de Rohan. Marie belonged to all three houses: to the Rohans by birth, to the Luynes by her first marriage, and to the House of Chevreuse-Guise-Lorraine by her second marriage. Although, of course, the Bourbons themselves brought even greater problems to the House of Bourbon , Marie de Chevreuse, the Goat, the Chevrette, is largely to blame for this.
At the very time when, according to my assumptions, Mary should have retired with her new husband to the marriage bed, I heard a cautious knock at my door.
"Come in, Bazin, you know the door is unlocked!" I replied.
"It's not Bazin, Monsieur Musketeer!" replied a charming female voice I'd never heard before. "Will you allow me in?"
"The owner of such a wonderful voice may enter my presence without asking permission!" I replied, hoping that my visitor's appearance would not disappoint me.
The doors opened and the young lady who entered did not disappoint me with her appearance.
"Madam!" I exclaimed. "It's still so far until Christmas. How do such miracles happen?"
"What do you call miracles, Mr. Musketeer?" the stranger asked playfully.
"Isn't it a miracle that a charming fairy visits the room of the musketeer abbot, which is something between a barracks and a monastic cell?" I asked.
"And in what church school are novices taught the art of compliments and lies?" the visitor asked with a laugh.
“When I called you a fairy, I was hardly lying one iota, for you are as sweet as you are courteous, as beautiful as you are young, and as slender as you are brave,” I replied.
“If you think I’m brave just because I entered a bachelor’s house without an invitation and without an entourage, then I know in advance that nothing bad will threaten me in this house,” the stranger answered carelessly.
“So, it turns out that you know me well enough to know that I will not do you harm, or so poorly that you consider me a schemamonk,” I suggested. “Which of the two assumptions is correct?”
“I know you, Monsieur d’Herblay, from what my cousin has told me,” she replied.
"Oh, well, yes, of course," I replied absentmindedly. "If your cousin told you about me, then you are perfectly well informed about me, because cousins usually hide nothing from each other."
"How long are we going to play this game of guessing the visitor's name?" I thought, starting to feel annoyed. "If only she'd at least tell me the name of this cousin of hers, so I could know what to expect!"
"Madam, I don't hear confessions at home," I replied. "Our rules strictly forbid it. Wouldn't it be better for you to come to the confessional when I'm there?"
"Oh, I didn't come to you for confession at all!" the stranger exclaimed. "What makes you think that?"
“In that case, I don’t quite understand,” I muttered.
“Camille Bois-Tracy, cousin of Marie de Luynes, who from today is called the Duchess of Chevreuse,” the beautiful visitor finally introduced herself.
"I'm both extremely flattered and extremely surprised!" I exclaimed with genuine surprise and pride. "I'm actually somewhat acquainted with your cousin, as you probably know. We share similar views on certain theosophical issues, so we sometimes discuss these topics."
"So that's what it's called now?" Camilla said with the utmost seriousness, then looked me in the eye and burst into laughter with the most cheerful expression.
"Forgive me, madam, I am not accustomed to visits from noble ladies, and my house is not suited to receiving such high-ranking persons. Therefore, would it not be better for us to choose a more dignified place for the conversation you have apparently come to have with me?" I said, calculating how much money I had and which of the nearby taverns would be more suitable for a conversation with the wife of Monsieur de Bois-Tracy.
"Listen, I don't intend to talk to you at all!" Camilla exclaimed. "I came to satisfy my curiosity!"
"Well, have you satisfied him yet?" I asked coldly.
"Don't pout like that, it doesn't suit you!" Camilla said with a laugh. "The thing is, Maria had no secrets from me. None, or almost none. Right up until the moment when, as I understand it, she met you."
“How did you understand that?” I asked.
"Oh, not everything can be hidden, but that's not the point," Camilla replied. "I thought that if Maria doesn't tell me about you, then you must be a very interesting person."
“I understand,” I said. “That’s a reason to look at me.”
"Of course!" Camilla exclaimed. "I was overcome with curiosity: who are you? A mysterious conspirator, like Father Joseph, a Jesuit shrouded in mystery, or, on the contrary, a heroic lover, courteous and gallant, whom Maria cherishes so much that she fears I will steal him from her."
"And who did you see in me?" I asked with a grin.
"You know what?" Camilla said thoughtfully. "I was expecting to find a mysterious Jesuit, but after your first remark, I decided I'd found a skilled lover after all."
"I think you're mistaken, madam," I said dismissively with a smile. "I'm neither one nor the other, and Maria simply decided that meeting me wasn't something to brag about, or even mention to anyone else."
"If you hadn't said that, I might have doubted for a while, but now I know for sure!" Camilla exclaimed. "You really are neither one nor the other, since you are both at the same time!"
"Well, you know!" I exclaimed, taken aback by her conclusion.
"Yes, you are the mysterious Jesuit, who is also the best lover Maria could ever find, and she has exceptional intuition on this matter!" Camilla replied in a tone that brooked no argument.
“I don’t dare argue with you, madam, but I can’t agree either,” I muttered with feigned embarrassment, wondering what had given her the reason for such far-reaching conclusions.
"Oh, for God's sake, leave this 'madam' alone," she said with the air of a weary listener, as if I'd just recited the first fifty verses of Homer's Iliad to her. "Camille. I told you my name is Camille. And yours, I believe, is Henri?"
“Henri, or Rene, as you prefer,” I replied.
"Henri, don't you think you're wasting your time on pointless conversations?" she asked.
After these words, she resolutely entered the room, took off her hat and gloves, instantly determined where the bedroom was and resolutely entered it.
This is how my acquaintance with Camille de Bois-Tracy began.
This meeting was unforgettable, and not at all because of the bold and unexpected dialogue that I have just described.

Chapter 30

The next morning two noblemen came to me.
“Sir, please follow us,” said one of them, the taller one, threatening me with a musket.
"What is this musket for?" I asked. "If you are forcing me, I reserve the right to resist; if you are challenging me to a duel, I will go without coercion; but if you are going to kill me, why are you hesitating? What is stopping you?"
"I intend to kill you," the tall nobleman confirmed. "But I honor the code, so I will kill you in a duel."
"Then put away your musket," I replied, "for a duel requires both sides to be equally armed, and I'm unarmed. Besides, I'm not aware of the reasons for the duel with you; that's not the way it's done."
"It's enough that I'm aware that you're paying excessive attention to a lady who's bound to me by marriage," the tall nobleman almost shouted angrily. "This will be put an end to very soon, and you won't resume your treacherous advances toward her in my absence."
In response, I smiled as dazzlingly as I could muster. Only Maria's husband or Camilla's husband could have made such a claim. But Maria's first husband had already appeared before the Creator, making her a widow, while her second husband had only become one the previous evening, and, of course, they had spent the previous night together. It also couldn't have been Camilla's husband, since I had only met her yesterday and hadn't visited her home. Besides, I'd never met married women in their homes, so the accusation was laughable.
"Lest you think me a coward, I accept your challenge without any conditions," I replied. "But now that we both know the duel is going to take place, I consider it my duty to inform you that you have come to the wrong address. I have no honor of knowing your wife, and I hope I never will, unless you yourself come to introduce me to her. And I have never had the honor of visiting your house, as I am not in the habit of doing so, and never in my entire life have I been on a date with a married woman in her home. My dates take place on neutral territory."
"That can't be!" cried my rival. "You are Monsieur Aramis, aren't you? My wife herself confessed to me about her affair with you!"
"Your honor," I replied, "I've often had the opportunity to confess women of all ages, so I know their manners a little better than you. Quite often, I assure you, they try to make their husbands jealous simply to get further confirmation that their husbands haven't cooled toward them. And then they all regret having awakened the beast in their spouse, and they come to me with repentance, and some even for advice."
"But why did she point to you specifically?" the tall nobleman asked doubtfully.
"Since my name is known, it comes easily to mind, since, I won't hide, I've sometimes noticed that some of the parishioners look at me as more than just a priest," I suggested. "Besides, I sometimes dress as a musketeer, which is what I am by nature. I suppose this dual and somewhat contradictory image attracts them. Perhaps, in her mind, your wife imagined me... trying to get to know her better than is permissible for a confessor. But believe me, such an acquaintance doesn't figure in my fantasies. I don't rule out the possibility that I saw your wife in the church, or perhaps nearby, but I have no idea who you're talking about, and I'm not trying to find out."
"And yet I still think there's no smoke without fire," the offended nobleman said doubtfully. "Would she have slandered you if there had been nothing between you?"
"That's precisely the only way she would slander," I said. "Think about it! Who can a woman accuse of harassment when she seeks protection from her husband? Only the one she's angry with! Consequently, it can't be the man with whom she has a very close and intimate relationship. A woman can only blame the one who abandoned her, or the one who rejected her advances, or, in extreme cases, if she has neither, then a complete stranger, or someone who, perhaps without realizing it, offended her in some way. Perhaps I accidentally stepped on her favorite dog, or didn't offer her holy water when she expected it, or smiled at her prettier friend."
"My wife has no friends more beautiful than her!" the tall nobleman retorted haughtily.
"Listen, sir," I said, "since we are about to fight a duel, I have a right to know your name, and it would greatly facilitate my communication with you."
"I am the Marquis de Brinvilliers," replied the tall nobleman. "And this is my friend, the Count de Ronchamp."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you," I said with a bow. "My dear Count, I have a proposition for you. If I bring my second, will you and he also be required to cross swords, or perhaps the Marquis would prefer a duel with muskets? In that case, the duel could end badly not only for the Marquis and me, whose duel has already been decided, but also for you and my friend. I would not wish to expose either you or my friend to unnecessary danger, especially since, in fact, we have no reason to quarrel. This is the first time I have heard the name of the Marquis de Brinvilliers, and if, as I believe, his wife bears the same name, then I am not acquainted with her either, or I know her by another name, although in this case, I assure you, gentlemen, I have not encroached on her bastions and do not possess them." If we're going to try to kill each other for no reason, there's no point in dragging two more innocent people into it.
"But excuse me!" the Marquis protested. "How can this be—a duel without seconds? Who will ensure that the dueling code is observed?"
"You've probably forgotten, gentlemen, that duels have been banned for almost a year now, so being killed in a duel isn't the worst outcome, since the scaffold awaits the survivors," I said with a smile. "If my fate is to die from the blow of the executioner's axe to my neck, since I refuse to allow the Marquis to kill me, then allow me, at least, to ensure that one of my best friends and one of the most worthy nobles in France does not share the same fate."
"One of the most worthy nobles of France?" the Marquis asked in surprise. "Is your friend Monsieur de Sully, or Monsieur de Bassompierre? Or perhaps de Marillac? Or perhaps Monsieur de Schomberg?"
“My friend is a musketeer named Athos, but although he hides his real name, I have no doubt that it is no less worthy than the names you mentioned,” I replied.
"Monsieur Athos is your friend?!" the Marquis exclaimed. "In that case, I believe every word you say, for this musketeer would not befriend a liar."
"That's very well, Monsieur le Marquis, but I hope you're not going to apologize to me?" I asked anxiously. "Be that as it may, although I don't relish meeting the executioner on the Place de Gr;ve, I also can't allow either of us to apologize after such a fervent expression of hostility. I don't think the question of a duel can be resolved by agreeing to pretend our conversation never happened, or by forcing one of us to apologize to the other."
“But I believe that, given the elimination of the reasons for a serious fight, we will not sin against the code of dueling if I propose fighting with rapiers,” the marquis suggested.
“A rapier fight would look like a joke; it can in no way replace a real battle in which both sides risk their lives, or at least their health,” I objected.
"Our battle will be no joke if both sides risk something no less significant than their health," the Marquis continued. "We'll be putting something substantial on the line. I'm prepared to wager my entire fortune against your entire fortune, and the winner will take the entire stake. In that case, no one will dare say our battle has degenerated into a farce."
"But that would be unfair, since my capital is very modest, while your marquisate, I believe, brings in quite significant income," I objected. "Besides, you are a family man; I cannot take upon myself the sin of being the cause of your ruin."
"What are you proposing?" the Marquis asked, perplexed.
"My Lord Marquis, we have found ourselves in an absurd situation thanks to your wife's invention," I said. "For this reason, it would be only fair if you wagered all her jewelry against my entire fortune."
"But in this case I risk very little, while you risk your entire fortune!" exclaimed the Marquis. "I cannot afford to be so unfair to you!"
"Believe me, Marquis, you risk no less than I do," I retorted. "Some husbands would be safer admitting to their wives their utter ruin than telling them they've gambled away all their personal jewels. So, let's go to the fencing hall where the musketeers practice. There we'll find Athos, who we'll need not as a second, but as a witness to our wager. I hope the royal edict doesn't prohibit such competitions, so neither winner nor loser faces the executioner."
Needless to say, I struck the Marquis five times in the chest with a blunt-tipped rapier, each of which would have been fatal had we been fighting with swords? The Marquis himself barely grazed my left arm before receiving the fifth thrust. He was as pale as a sheet.
"Monsieur Aramis," he said, "I am stunned! I always considered myself a fair swordsman, but if it weren't for your indulgence in my sincere delusion, I would have been killed five times over! Of course, all my wife's jewels are now yours!"
"My Lord Marquis!" I replied. "I beg you to leave your jewels to your wife, except perhaps a ring, which might serve as a reminder to me of this unexpected meeting with you. Believe me, that will be quite enough."
"What nobility!" exclaimed the Marquis. "But I cannot accept your self-sacrifice!"
"Marquis," said Athos, "believe me, I know Monsieur d'Herblay very well. Once he's made up his mind, there's absolutely no point in arguing with him. He's not the kind of man who can afford to profit from the jewels of some noble lady. I'm sure your wife simply wanted to flirt with you a little, so forgive her this little prank. It would be too cruel to leave the Marquise without all her jewels."
"Gentlemen, I am your guest, and for this reason I submit to your rules, but on one condition!" the Marquis replied. "I will give you not a ring, but this little thing."
After these words, the Marquis unbuttoned the collar of his caftan and took off a golden crucifix, decorated with magnificent diamonds, which hung on a magnificent cord of twisted silk and gold threads.
I must say, this crucifix could have adorned the chest of a prince of the blood, or even a king. I was about to refuse, but Athos made a persuasive gesture with his eyes and a nod of his head, which meant: "Take it, Aramis, for in the end this jealous man must be punished for his suspiciousness!"
“If you refuse to accept this crucifix, our duel will continue,” said the Marquis, half in jest, half in earnest.
“I will not offend you by refusing, Marquis,” I said, accepting the crucifix and placing it around my neck.
"Gentlemen, I believe that this evening we should celebrate our acquaintance and the miraculous resolution of all misunderstandings!" exclaimed Athos.
“Your proposal is accepted,” said Count de Ronchamp.
"Count, during all this time you haven't uttered a single unnecessary word or even a single phrase!" I marveled.
“I speak only when it is necessary,” de Ronchamp replied with a bow.
After these words, Athos looked very attentively at Count de Ronchamp, after which he warmly shook his hand.
"I wonder, Monsieur d'Herblay, how our duel would have ended if I had preferred muskets?" asked the Marquis.
“We can easily find out,” I replied. “Let’s go to the shooting range.”
The Marquis fired first. He scored eighty out of ten shots at fifty paces, after which he looked at me proudly. I scored ninety-nine. The first shot from the unfamiliar musket hit nine, the rest hit ten.
After this the Marquis shook my hand, but could not resist and hugged me.
That evening, another surprise awaited the Marquis. Anyone who sees Porthos eat and drink for the first time remembers the sight for a long time.

Chapter 31

Two days later I received a letter sent through Bazin, signed by the Marquis de Brinvilliers. I quote it from memory:

"Dear Chevalier d'Herblay! I hope you will agree that I will consider and call you my friend? I invite you to my apartments this evening at seven o'clock for an important conversation. I require your advice, as I acknowledge your assertion that you are a far better judge of a woman's character and heart than I am. I would be grateful if you would respond to my request. You may bring your friends, Monsieur Athos and Monsieur Porthos, if you deem it necessary.
Sincerely yours, Marquis de Brinvilliers."

Below was a note about the best way to find the Marquis's apartment and what to say to the gatekeeper at the entrance.
Athos and I were on duty at the same time, so we arranged a joint visit there. Porthos was off duty at the time.
With all his official duties completed, time was short, but we expected to find Porthos at one of the taverns where he liked to dine, as the suckling pig with horseradish there had the crispiest, most golden-brown crust, preventing any fat from leaking onto the plate prematurely. The wine they served there was also quite decent, a five-year-old Bordeaux.
When we passed this tavern, it was already getting dark.
"I'll stop by the tavern and hope to find Porthos there," said Athos. "If he is there, I'll bring him."
“Okay, I’ll wait at the entrance,” I agreed.
Athos disappeared through the door. I decided that Porthos obviously hadn't finished his dinner yet, which wasn't surprising given his usual appetite.
"Monsieur d'Herblay?" a clear, melodic female voice came from the darkness. "Is it really you? What brings you here?"
“Madam, it is indeed me, but do I know you?” I replied.
"How could you not know the one whose life you had such a significant impact on?" asked a voice that I thought I heard a smirk in.
"I, madam?" I asked in surprise. "Would you mind telling me your name then?"
"My name is hardly worth knowing," the lady replied from the darkness. "What you really should know is that you were supposed to kill my husband in a duel, freeing me from him, but instead you turned him against me."
"Are you the wife of the Marquis de Brinvilliers?" I asked. "Perhaps you will come out of the darkness if you wish to speak to me?"
"Right away, sir!" she replied.
I expected a woman to emerge from the darkness, but my expectations were only partially fulfilled. A hand emerged from the darkness, holding a small pistol, aimed directly at me. A shot rang out, and I felt a powerful blow to my chest and fell.
As if in a dream, I heard: “You are mistaken, Aramis, I am not the wife of the Marquis de Brinvilliers, but his widow.” After that, I lost consciousness.
I woke up in the barracks. Our doctor, de Cleroux, was leaning over me and holding a foul-smelling bottle to my nose. Apparently, its scent brought me back to my senses.
"How are you feeling, Aramis?" he asked.
“My chest hurts,” I answered, not recognizing my own voice.
"You were very fortunate," de Cleroux replied. "You were shot with a small musket, the killing power of which is small, as the bullet itself is small. Yet you would have stood before Saint Peter by now, if not for this broad and rather thick golden cross, which absorbed the impact of that bullet. Your ribs may be sore, and I don't rule out cracks, but I have carefully examined and palpated you, so I guarantee there is no fracture, and you will likely soon make a full recovery, although you will, of course, need complete rest for the next few days."
“Yes, some lady shot at me, whom I didn’t see, but I heard her voice,” I said and with difficulty recognized my own voice, it was weak and cracked.
"You're obviously having trouble speaking because every breath is so difficult," de Cleroux said. "Try breathing from your stomach."
“I think I feel even better than you described, although I don’t recognize my voice and the place where I was hit, of course, hurts,” I said. “I hope I’ll recover soon, what do you think?”
"Five days, no less," de Cleroux retorted categorically. "And thank God for this cross. It's as if the Savior himself protected you from this bullet, as if Satan himself had fired it at you."
“You have no idea, my dear de Cleroux, how close your assumption is to the truth,” said Athos, whom I did not see, but whose voice I could not help but recognize.
"Have you seen her, Athos?" I asked, rising from my bed and looking at Athos, next to whom Porthos was also sitting.
"Gentlemen, forgive me, I must leave you, as other sick people await me," de Cleroux said. "Aramis, if you follow my instructions and remain quiet, perhaps five days will be enough for you to fully recover. If, however, you immediately saddle up and gallop off on your usual musketeer business, your ribs will ache for at least another two weeks."
“Thank you, Monsieur de Cleroux, we will ensure that our friend follows the regimen you prescribed,” Athos answered for everyone, after which the doctor left to go about his business.
"Tell me, Athos, did you manage to get a good look at this lady?" I asked again.
"I saw only the silhouette of your would-be assassin, rapidly disappearing into the darkness," Athos replied. "I fired, and you know I have no complaints about my marksmanship, but the musket ball did no harm to this phantom, this fiend of hell. I call her that because I heard her last words and am convinced I know that voice."
"It was the wife of the Marquis de Brinvilliers," I said. "But I don't understand why she wanted to kill me."
"Her last words were that she was not his wife, but his widow," Athos clarified. "And she was probably right, since the Marquis was killed, so if she was married to him, she is now his widow."
“Who killed him?” I asked.
"The Crown Prosecutor's Office is investigating the case, and they believe it's a robbery," Athos replied. "The Marquis's summer house burned down, and the charred bodies of a man and a woman were found inside. The investigators believe the Marquis's house was robbed, after which the Marquis and his wife were killed in the summer house, and the house was set on fire. But in that case, his widow couldn't have shot you and called herself his widow. I believe one of the Marquis's maids was killed along with the Marquis, and this was done so that the Crown Prosecutor's Office investigators would believe that not only the Marquis, but also the Marquis had died. She obviously had reasons for avoiding contact with law enforcement."
"The woman who shot me probably thought I was dead when she uttered her ominous words," I recalled. "That probably confirms your assumption, Athos. She wasn't afraid of being exposed by me."
"Of course you're right, Aramis, and besides, she didn't expect anyone to run out of the tavern so quickly in response to the shot, and there was no one else on the street except you," said Athos. "I'll ask Count Ronchamp to get me a portrait of this woman."
"What do you need it for, Athos?" I asked, surprised. "If she died, we should forget about her. But if she survived and it was she who shot me, then, most likely, she will leave France and we will never see her again."
"I wish you were right, Aramis, but I believe you are thrice mistaken in your assumptions," Athos said gloomily. "Believe me, I must see her, or at least her portrait."
Knowing that Athos was not given to metaphors, I was very surprised by this remark about being wrong three times, so I asked the question that had escaped me involuntarily.
“Why three times?” I asked ironically.
"First, you are mistaken in thinking she will leave France," Athos replied. "Second, you are mistaken in thinking that if she is alive, then we will never see her again. Third, you are as mistaken as I was in thinking that someone you think dead should be forgotten."
“That sounds extremely mysterious,” I said.
Porthos, who had not taken part in our conversation until now, but had only listened attentively, nodded and looked at Athos with anticipation.
“My friends,” said Athos, “as I said, I recognized that voice. It belonged to a woman, intelligent, young, beautiful, and equally perfidious, with whom I was well acquainted. Naturally, I only learned of her perfidy later. I sincerely believed her lost. I believed she had been cast down to the very depths of hell. But there are, it seems, sinners whom even hell refuses to accept into its bosom. It must have been Satan himself who cast her out, refusing to receive her. I admit, of course, that at the thought of this my hand trembled and I missed. It is not easy to shoot in the back, and at a woman, especially one I knew and thought dead. And yet , I believe I did not miss.”
"Perhaps she was wearing chainmail, since she was planning murder?" asked Porthos.
"Not every suit of chainmail will protect against a bullet from a good musket," Athos said doubtfully. "I'm talking about the kind I had, not the kind she fired. But it's certainly possible she wore some kind of shields or something similar under her cloak."
"Even if she were Satan himself, we will find her and avenge the death of such a glorious marquis!" exclaimed Porthos.
"We will search for her," Athos agreed. "And we will try to neutralize her. But if she has chosen Aramis as her victim, I believe it is no accident. If this monster is alive, her primary target is me, and she has decided to strike my friends first, and then take revenge on me. From this moment on, my friends, you are in mortal danger."
"Danger is a natural state for a musketeer," Porthos said philosophically. "One danger more, one danger less – what difference does it make? But why would some woman we don't even know seek to harm us, even kill us?"
"This woman's actions defy common sense. God's commandments don't exist for her, and her understanding of expediency is no different from that of a venomous snake disturbed in its clutch of eggs," Athos replied. "She will bite with her poisonous fangs anything within her reach. The very idea that anyone near her could be happy enrages her, and if that someone is even slightly connected to someone she harbors mortal malice toward, she will stop at nothing to destroy them."
"So, Athos, you have mortally offended her?" I asked.
“Yes, that’s true, my friends, I really did offend her,” Athos agreed.
“If she herself was not respectful enough to you, she should not be offended by your lack of respect towards her,” replied Porthos.
“Yes, my dear Porthos, I was not respectful enough to her after the same action on her part,” answered Athos with a bitter smile.
“Well, if you have inflicted equal insults on each other, then your equal grievances might eventually be forgiven,” I said simply.
"She wronged me by attempting to take from me something I value far more than life," replied Athos. "She nearly destroyed my life and my honor. After that, she tried to take my life as well, which, however, I might have allowed her to do if the matter of honor had already been settled. But I could not allow her to kill me before I had undone the shame she had brought upon my family. My reciprocal wrong was that I killed her, without attempting, however, to stain her honor, since there was nothing left to stain.
"You say you killed her, Athos, but she's alive and can kill whoever she wants!" I objected.
"If it was not Hell that brought her back, then my attempt to rid the Earth of her was not as successful as I thought," replied Athos. "Perhaps I should thank fate for my failure, if this fact will help me to reconcile with God after my death. But there is no doubt that this same fact will probably hasten my meeting with Him, for this woman strikes her blows in the most treacherous manner, so that I will hardly be able to escape her vengeance. I only pray to God that her vengeance will be limited to me and not touch you, my friends."
"Athos, I beg you, cease these dire predictions!" I cried, and only the deepest respect for him kept me from calling it "grandmotherly lamentations." "I, like, I believe, Porthos, have no desire to leave you alone with danger, no matter from whom it comes, even from Satan himself. I propose that our motto be 'One for all, and all for one!' So that if any danger threatens you, for Porthos and me it is exactly the same as if it were threatening us."
Athos looked silently into my eyes, then into Porthos's, and hugged us both.
Porthos wanted to hug Athos and me in return, but I exclaimed in time:
— Porthos! I beg you! Half-heartedly! Or my ribs will never heal! After all, you promised Doctor de Claire that you'd make sure I kept to my rest regimen!
Porthos patted me on the back so tenderly that one might have thought it was only a small and quite tame bear that was striking me with the most friendly intentions.

Chapter 32

Over the next four years, Richelieu's career reached its peak. As a result of several successful political maneuvers, he became first minister and the de facto head of political power in France. This was greatly facilitated by the support of the Queen Mother, Father Joseph, and two influential Jesuits, which inspired in me a desire to understand the role of the Jesuits in the political events of France and Europe. I became convinced that this community was worth taking a closer look at, and, if possible, to join it, and to build a career within it, which, as I realized, could prove far from useless.
But first things first.
Richelieu became a cardinal, and his enemies were outraged, but some rejoiced, or pretended to, realizing that such loyalty to someone rapidly ascending to supreme power was healthy. The poet Malherbe compared France to a ship that needed Richelieu's valiant hand to weather the storm.
Meanwhile, the King, who had become estranged from the Queen, had found a new favorite in the Marquis de La Vieuville. The former captain of the King's Musketeers now occupied the position of Chief Falconer of the Kingdom. Just imagine, could anyone call such a move a career advancement? Going from commanding a valiant company of the King's bodyguard to commanding the hunting birds and those who tend and train them! But the King was far more often seen hunting than at war! What do you expect?
Meanwhile, Richelieu took up literary work. He began writing pamphlets ridiculing Puisieux's policies, demonstrating their perniciousness. Indeed, under this first minister, France's affairs were no better than under de Luynes (I recalled that the then-unknown Lord Guy, arriving with an embassy, addressed himself not to the King but to de Luynes, which outraged even the soft-hearted Louis). Subsequently, it was this same Lord Guy who became Earl of Carlisle, whose wife, the Countess of Carlisle, was quite friendly with Milady, the very same one who had caused us so much trouble. However, under Puisieux, foreign diplomats also said that they saw Puisieux, but not the King of France. His policy in northern Italy was a complete failure, a betrayal of French interests. Richelieu exploited this effectively, recalling Henry IV in his pamphlets and gently hinting that the current policy was in no way worthy of the son of such a great King. Moreover, the chosen turns of phrase in no way diminished the current King's greatness, but rather urged him to engage in politics himself, expressing the conviction that a King as great as Louis XIII —which, between us, he never was—would handle all the tasks of governing the state far better than his incompetent ministers. Undoubtedly, this hinted at a proposal for the King himself to assume full power, meaning, first and foremost, to dismiss all the current ministers. The cunning Richelieu understood that in this case, he would merely advise the King on the necessary course of action, which would amount to direct control of all affairs, since Louis never rejected any of Richelieu's advice, and henceforth always acted only as advised by his all-powerful prime minister. Richelieu's pamphlets were signed by other authors, or not at all, and only now do I know for sure who their author was. They had the intended effect. The King was dissatisfied with the diplomacy of Sillery, the prime minister, and his son Puisieux, the president of the royal council. These gentlemen were dismissed and replaced by the Marquis de La Vieuville, whom Sillery had until then mistakenly considered an ally and like-minded supporter. Furthermore, Louis XIII discovered, with Richelieu's help, that the considerable sums he had allocated to aid France's allies were lingering in the hands of the Sillery family and his son Puisieux. The King then dismissed them both and entrusted the leadership of the royal council to de La Vieuville. Well, that was precisely what Richelieu had wanted. He would have had difficulty overthrowing these two, whereas seizing power from de La Vieuville's weak hands was as easy as snatching candy from a child. The worthless La Vieuville mistakenly saw Richelieu as a friend, not yet realizing that the formula "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" only works until your enemy is feared and must be overthrown. Once the formerly all-powerful common enemy is defeated, everyone acts solely for themselves. The naive La Vieuville turned to Richelieu for advice, and received advice that, by following, dug himself deeper and deeper.
But Richelieu did so skillfully in giving this advice that de La Vieuville couldn't suspect a trick. He saw the cause of his failures not in poor recommendations, but in their poor implementation, and blamed himself more than his advisor. Ultimately, he was forced to turn to Richelieu for help, offering him a non-voting seat on the Royal Council.
Understanding the implications, Richelieu resolutely refused. The Queen Mother interceded on his behalf, demanding that her favorite be given a position worthy of his high rank as a cardinal. In response, de la Vieuville uttered perhaps the last intelligent remark of his life, prophetically exclaiming: "Madame! You are asking of me something that will inevitably lead to my downfall, and I am not sure that the time will not come when Your Majesty will regret having so rashly promoted a man you did not know well to such a high position!"
Prophecies come true because those to whom they are spoken pay no attention. Marie de Medici, too, paid no attention to what de la Vieuville told her, as she continued to adore her favorite, Richelieu, not realizing that for him, she was merely a bridge to the pinnacle of power, a bridge that, once crossed, would not only be possible but also necessary to destroy.
Richelieu rejected an offer to join the royal council with an advisory vote, and also rejected two tempting offers of lucrative diplomatic appointments. The King then intervened, granting Richelieu a position on the royal council with a decisive vote on all matters. The cardinal had no specific duties assigned to him on the council, so he could intervene in all matters, which he did, which, in turn, convinced the other members of the royal council that he had a special duty: to control everything and everyone. All the council members acknowledged his leadership, and La Vieuville himself became so fearful of the all-powerful cardinal that a single glance from him would paralyze him. While nominally remaining first minister, he became afraid to make any decisions without Richelieu's sanction. At this point, a new wave of pamphlets emerged, denouncing La Vieuville's incompetence. We know that the author of these pamphlets was again Richelieu himself, as well as his assistant Fancan.
The King increasingly consulted Richelieu on a wider range of issues, inviting him to his office; their conversations grew longer and more substantive. Richelieu took advantage of this to replace the ministers most opposed to him with his own men, after which, in a note to the King, he justified the need for a radical change in French policy in Northern Italy, particularly in the Valtelline affair—that is, the area through which the two Habsburg empires could unite and act together. Louis XIII was finally convinced that foreign policy should be entrusted to Richelieu, while he began to simply ignore his first minister, La Vieuville. Finally, he invited Richelieu not only to chair the Royal Council but also to determine its composition entirely. The new composition included Schomberg, Marillac, Champigny, Molay, and others. The King approved this council without a single amendment.
Moreover, Richelieu put forward another condition. He convinced the King that the problem with all previous councils was the excessively frequent changes in their composition, which prevented them from functioning properly. He asked the King to promise not to change the composition of this established royal council without cause, to which he received his full consent.
La Vieuville, realizing he had lost everything, decided on one last gamble. He gained an audience with great difficulty and declared to the King, "I know, Sire, that Your Majesty no longer requires my services!" He likely expected a denial, but the King merely looked at him coldly, deigning to offer no retort or soften this bitter pill for his former favorite.
However, the King did not remain indifferent to his former favorite. The next day, La Vieuville was arrested by the captain of the king's musketeers, de Tr;ville. La Vieuville, who had not yet been officially dismissed, was then escorted to Aboise prison, where he spent 13 months under investigation for fraud and bribery. Of course, this accusation had its basis, but who among those who rose so high was clear of such charges? I don't know of any.
The arrest of La Vieuville marked the beginning of Richelieu's eighteen-year reign as France's first minister, effectively the most important figure in the kingdom. In its consequences, these eighteen years could be called an entire era.
You ask me, what do the Jesuits have to do with this? And who, in your opinion, was convincing the King all this time that he should reconcile with his mother, heed her advice, accept Richelieu, whom she recommended, give him a worthy place in the royal council, and put in a good word for him with the Pope so that he could be made a cardinal? His friends, the Jesuit confessors, helped to incline Richelieu's closest friend, Father Joseph. Richelieu made it clear to the papal legates that France's new policy would be entirely in the interests of the Holy See, that the Supreme Pontiff would only benefit from Cardinal Richelieu becoming France's first minister. And indeed, France, under Richelieu's influence, supported the Pope precisely until Richelieu had firmly established himself in his new position, until he had strengthened himself by appointing his own men as ministers and removing or disabling all his more or less powerful enemies. Once Richelieu's power was firmly established, he ceased to pay any attention to the interests of the Pope, concentrating his efforts solely on the interests of France, fighting for its power and unity, strengthening its wealth and political influence in Europe—that is, weakening the Holy Roman Empire, weakening the two Habsburg dynasties, and depriving the regions of their importance. This was achieved through many means, and France paid a heavy price for it. He abolished the election of governors, replacing elected provincial representatives with governors appointed by himself. Fortresses that had provided the governors with security were razed at his command. The next logical step was a march on La Rochelle, intended to deprive the separate Huguenot regions of the opportunity to pursue their own independent policies, and especially to prevent their alliance with England. This didn't stop Richelieu from seeking an alliance with England himself, for which purpose Louis XIII's younger sister , Henrietta, was offered as a wife to the heir to the English crown, Prince Charles. At the same time, Spain intended to arrange a marriage between Charles and a Spanish princess, so a serious struggle ensued. Richelieu won brilliantly. But more on that in the following chapters.

Chapter 33

"Henri, I need advice!" Chevrette exclaimed at our next meeting.
“Thank God you noticed that I still have brains, and not just…” I chuckled.
"No, you're wrong, Henri!" Maria objected. "Our close relationship, of course, brings me much joy, but I value you for more than just your gallantry."
"I only meant a strong arm, equally adept with a sword and a musket," I finished with a smile. "And also a brave heart, as I suppose you've already seen."
"Oh, if I need a military man's help, I'll find somewhere to ask, and I won't risk you so recklessly again," Maria dismissed. "What I value in you is that I can trust you completely, not that you can be drawn into an intrigue where, God forbid, you might get killed."
"So what did you want to consult me about?" I asked, returning to the beginning of the conversation.
“Anna is starting to lose interest in me,” Maria said in despair.
“In that sense, I can hardly advise anything,” I said dryly.
"You don't understand, Henri!" Maria objected, bursting into laughter as she realized what I was hinting at. "No, in the sense you're talking about, we're fine. What I mean is that I can't entertain her enough."
"What kind of entertainment does the Queen enjoy?" I asked.
“A variety of things, but most of all those that flatter her vanity,” Maria answered.
“Do you mean compliments from men?” I asked.
"Oh, she's used to that, she's the Queen, after all!" Chevrette countered. "I'm referring to her personal achievements, the kind she can boast about, for example, to her closest circle of friends."
"You want to give her a reason to brag about something to you?" I asked, surprised.
"She considers her closest people to be not me, but her brother, the King of Spain!" Maria exclaimed.
“And I thought that the closest person to her was the King of France!” I was surprised.
"King Louis is close to her in God's sight, and King Philip is close to her in spirit, by their shared childhood in the family," Marie said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, she doesn't have much to write him about. All her correspondence has recently come under suspicion. Richelieu convinced Louis that such letters could contain information that would harm French foreign policy."
"And from now on, His Majesty reads her letters before they are sent?" I asked.
"No, he simply asked her not to write anything that concerned the interests of the state, that is, not to touch on political and religious matters in her letters to Spain," Maria replied. "After all, the King cannot stoop to reading his wife's letters that are not addressed to him!"
Mary was mistaken. Subsequent events showed that the King was quite capable of stooping to such an action. But at the time this conversation took place, such an assurance was quite plausible.
"So, you need to give the Queen a reason to boast to Brother Philip about something that has nothing to do with politics or religion," I concluded. "What, for example, do other Kings boast about?"
“For example, the Duke of Buckingham boasted that in England he had the oldest man in the world, the tallest man, and the shortest man in the world,” said Maria.
"That raises many questions," I said. "First, who is this Duke of Buckingham? Second, why does he call what we have in England his own? Third, what gives him such confidence?"
“The Duke of Buckingham, dear Henri, is the actual uncrowned King of England, since the crowned King James I , from time to time, turns into his wife,” answered Mary.
"Even so?" I was surprised. "How inventive kings can be! I thought that the inventions of Henry III , which were sometimes used by both Henry IV and our own crowned Louis XIII , went far beyond the ordinary! Using a favorite as a wife is a strange fantasy. But using him as a husband is a fantasy beyond the pale!"
"You should have seen this Buckingham!" Maria exclaimed enthusiastically. "I don't know about men, but no woman could resist his slender figure, strong arms, and slender fingers. No one would remain indifferent to his noble face! And his manners, his noble posture! He has almost no accent and speaks French very fluently!"
"Do you know him?" I asked, and a sharp needle of jealousy, not without reason, pierced my heart.
"Not yet, but Count Holland told me about him and showed me his portrait!" Maria replied.
"And you, too, couldn't resist his charm, even though you only know about him from hearsay?" I asked sarcastically.
"Yes, it's impossible to resist his charm!" Maria replied enthusiastically, then paused for thought.
“Listen, Maria, I think I’ve thought of something you could do to entertain the Queen,” I said.
"Yes, I agree with you!" Maria exclaimed. "Thank you for the great idea! I just realized myself that I couldn't come up with anything better!"
"What are you talking about, Maria?" I asked in surprise.
"What do you mean, about what?" Chevrette was surprised and looked at me with astonishment.
"I was saying that England has the tallest and shortest man in the world, but what are you talking about?" I asked.
"Well, yes, of course," said Maria. "But there's nothing you can do about it. If the tallest, the shortest, and the oldest man are in England, all you can do is envy them."
"You've come up with something else," I guessed. "Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you whether it's a good idea or not."
"I need to think it all over myself first," Maria waved her hand dismissively, after which I realized she wasn't in the mood for candor. "So what were you saying about the shortest, tallest, and oldest person?"
"I can't think of anything about the oldest person, since only God knows who is destined for what age, and it is only by His will that we come into this world and leave it," I said. "As for the tallest and shortest person, perhaps something can be done. True, the results won't be immediate, but the idea might amuse the Queen for a while."
“Go ahead,” said Maria, and I saw from her abstracted face that all my ideas in this direction did not interest her at all.
“Well, to begin with, we could order the search for the tallest man and woman in the state, as well as the shortest,” I said.
"Let's say they are found, but they won't be the tallest or the shortest in the world," Maria replied. "What next?"
“It will be possible to marry them, and then she will have the tallest family in the state, or the shortest family, or a family in which the difference between the heights of the husband and wife is the greatest in the world,” I answered.
“Yes, you’re right, Henri, there’s probably something to it,” Maria replied, continuing to think about something of her own.
“I see that my idea has not interested you,” I said with disappointment.
“No, Henri, she interested me very much, I’ll think about her at my leisure too,” said Maria.
"Her too? You seem to have some other idea of your own, a different one?" I asked. "Am I right?"
"Oh, that's all nonsense!" Maria exclaimed, and I detected a complete lack of sincerity in her answer. "Anyway, it was nice to see you, but I have to go home. Goodbye!"
Since the most emotional part of our meeting happened before this conversation began, I did not delay it.
We said goodbye in the most cordial way, as usual, after which Maria went to her place, and I went to mine, since we met in a rented apartment.
This seemingly insignificant conversation led to several results. The least significant was that Marie actually interested Anne in my project, resulting in two weddings: one between the tallest man and the tallest woman in France, and one between the shortest man and the shortest woman. A more significant result was that the shortest man was Monsieur Pr;val, who from that time on received the position of court jester to the Queen, as did his wife, Madame Pr;val. They subsequently had a son, who was even shorter than either of his parents. This Pr;val was also the jester and favorite dwarf of Queen Maria Theresa, the daughter-in-law and niece of the current Queen Anne. This Pr;val, as I later learned, was also a spy for Colbert, the first minister, who spied on Louis XIV himself . But this happened much later, more than thirty years after this conversation.
The most significant result of this conversation was that Mary devised a plan to make Queen Anne fall in love with the Duke of Buckingham without her knowing. To this end, she used all the information about Buckingham she had received from the Earl of Holland, including his portrait. Her friend, a very intimate friend, as I later learned, the Earl of Holland, who often made up for the affections she had not received from her husband, also influenced the Duke of Buckingham himself, showing him Anne's portrait and telling him of her affection for him. Both of these matchmakers were extremely persistent. While Chevrette was chanting to Queen Anne about a brilliant duke across the Channel, a noble, handsome man of noble birth and wealth, holding all of England in his hands and in love with Anne in absentia, Count Holland was simultaneously telling similar tales to the Duke of Buckingham himself, about how attentive Queen Anne was to all information about him, which probably indicated that she was far from indifferent to the brilliant duke. Neither Mary nor Holland bothered to note that Buckingham had a family, that is, a wife and children, while Anne of Austria also had a family, which as yet had no children, but did have a husband, the King of France. However, Buckingham was not known for his scruples about such a trivial concept as marital fidelity. Neither, as I already knew, was Chevrette. Neither was Count Holland. Regarding Queen Anne, I couldn't say anything definitive back then. All the evidence pointed to Anne's sufficient chastity in relation to any admirers around her, which was all the more to her credit given that the King himself, although he had visited her from time to time—which was even sufficient for two unsuccessful pregnancies—still, these visits bore no relation to concepts of "tenderness," "affection," let alone such concepts as "passion" or "love," providing insufficient grounds for marital fidelity, which rested solely on the Queen's Catholic upbringing and piety.
Thus, Chevrette succeeded in making the Queen pay close attention to any news about the Duke of Buckingham. Meanwhile, Buckingham himself saw it as his destiny to conquer Queen Anne in every sense of the word, since for him, there were no unattainable goals, only those already achieved and those yet to be achieved.

Chapter 34

A short time later, I received a letter similar to the one Maria had written inviting me to our first date. The letter was scented with a marvelous perfume, the handwriting was exquisite, and the capital letters were adorned with charming flourishes. The text of the letter stated that a noble, young, and very attractive lady had fallen deeply in love with me and was inviting me to a meeting, the location of which she could not disclose. Therefore, I was requested to present myself at the appointed time at the designated location, board an unmarked carriage with the curtains drawn, and allow myself to be led to an unforgettable meeting.
I was by no means a prude, and if such a letter had arrived before I met Maria and Camilla, I would most likely have rushed headlong into this adventure. But in my current situation, this unknown adventure held no appeal whatsoever.
Yes, of course, I was young, and sometimes, as they say, I "sight-read," and my vision was far from dull. However, you don't know the terminology that, thanks to the dissolute courtiers of the previous King, was in widespread use. A musical duet was a gallant relationship between a man and a woman, that is, one that the church prescribed only for married couples. From this, it's easy to understand what a trio, quartet, solo, and so on meant. Improvisation, then, was an intimate encounter for which neither party had any initial intentions, and sight-reading was an encounter hinted at by a woman, that is, "shown the notes," in the event that the man responded immediately and the duet took place without any preparation on his part. Accordingly, gallant gentlemen used the terms "sight" and "musical ear" among themselves to refer to talents of a completely different kind than those required to perform the most ordinary musical work.
So, I was being offered a "sight-reading," which I wasn't inclined to do, as two married women, who occasionally arranged risqu; rendezvous with me, were more than enough for me, considering I was also an abbot and a musketeer, which also took a lot of time and energy. Moreover, I couldn't imagine a more noble lady than Chevrette, given her extraordinary closeness to the Queen and Marie's still-strong influence over her. Musketeers were quite comfortable with occasional short-lived affairs with commoners, both during campaigns and in between, but at that time, for obvious reasons, I no longer had such needs, for which I thank Chevrette and her cousin, despite the fact that this letter indicated that its sender was far from a commoner. As for marriage, I wouldn't even consider tying the knot with a woman who takes the initiative to approach me, and even shrouds it in such secrecy that it clearly indicates she has either a husband, a strict father, or perhaps even brothers who look after her and protect her honor, though apparently not very successfully. Besides, I had no intention of tying myself to the knot at such a young age, at the very beginning of a military or other career.
I considered ignoring the letter entirely, but I decided that the woman would either think I was a coward and ridicule me, or send another letter, more insistent. Neither option appealed to me, so I decided to show up for the date, but I'd tell whoever showed up that I didn't want any new relationships, return the letter, and say goodbye forever.
However, angering a strange lady was also a bad idea, since I didn't know how noble or influential she was. So, I decided I'd try to use all my eloquence to avoid angering this lady, but at the same time, I wouldn't enter into another new relationship that would obligate me to anything.
But perhaps I've already forgotten the details and am mistaken about them. For a moment, as I write this, it seemed to me that perhaps I was only deceiving myself back then, saying I wouldn't start this new relationship, while in reality I went on this date out of curiosity, deciding that if the lady stunned my imagination and evoked reciprocal feelings in me, then perhaps I wouldn't be as cruel as I promised myself? So you see, that's what life is like? It turns out I didn't fully know myself back then, and only now, reflecting on it, have I realized I had secret thoughts I hadn't even admitted to myself. Truly, a man's heart is like a dormant volcano, and no one knows when it will awaken and boil, or with what force the lava of love will bubble within.
Well, I recall dressing myself so that, should I decide to accept the stranger's offer, my attire would not compromise my honor. I was without a sword, as the letter advised against carrying weapons, and I reasoned that if this were a trap, the attackers, taking advantage of the surprise, would easily seize my sword, so carrying it would only needlessly arm them. However, I did take a dagger with me, which I hid in my belt and covered with my cloak.
I find justification for what I stated above—that is, my lack of desire to establish new connections—in the fact that the letter nevertheless struck me as suspicious, and, contrary to the custom of gallant men of the time, I even considered sharing the information I had received with Athos, since I didn't rule out the possibility that this letter was a trap set for me by the woman who had shot me. However, pride prevailed. No man shares the contents of a letter written by a woman to him alone, and I didn't want to be the first to break that rule.
So, I arrived at the appointed hour at the place specified in the letter and found a carriage with the curtains drawn. The coachman was masked and sported a full beard, possibly fake. I approached the door and knocked, intending to make a speech about my slight interest in forming a new duet. The door opened slightly, and I saw two muskets pointed at me. At the same time, I felt a sharp dagger pressed against my back, near my heart.
"Get in the car, Chevalier, quickly!" I heard the order from the man standing behind me.
Realizing that once I entered the carriage, I would be completely at the mercy of my attackers, I acted quickly and decisively. I dashed forward and turned sideways, grabbed the man standing behind me, and pushed him into the carriage, right onto the muskets aimed at me, into the arms of the two men who were pointing their weapons at me.
Apparently, the attackers weren't expecting such a swift and decisive response, as the two men in the carriage didn't have time to fire, and the one standing behind me apparently had no intention of plunging a dagger into my back, at least not immediately and right there on the street, but merely of forcing me into the carriage. As the attackers hesitated, I snatched the dagger from my belt and hurled it, hilt first, at the rump of the horse harnessed to the carriage. The horse, feeling the impact, lunged forward, the carriage jerked into motion, and I, picking up the dagger as it bounced off the horse's rump, prepared to defend myself in case my assailants stopped and returned for me. Luckily, at that moment, another carriage came speeding around the corner, apparently carrying some nobleman who was in such a hurry that his coachman was careless. The horses crashed into each other, and the carriage of the scoundrels who had attacked me fell on its side. Taking advantage of the resulting commotion, I decided it was best to escape through one of the gates of a nearby courtyard, which turned out to be unlocked. I quickly crossed a small garden and emerged on the other side of the street, having to climb a fence to do so. By the time the assailants had disembarked, I was gone. Besides, they had to explain themselves to the owner of the carriage they had collided with.
I asked myself if it had been cowardice on my part to abandon the battlefield. But remembering that there were four attackers, including the coachman, and I was armed with only a dagger, I decided that retreating from the battlefield in this case would in no way diminish my honor.
I made out as much of the face of one of the attackers, who was sitting in the carriage, as best I could. I'd seen this man before; although he was wearing a mask, it only covered a small part of his face around the eyes. Without a doubt, it was the Count de Rochefort!
I knew that he had recently entered Richelieu's service.
So, I had once again crossed the path of that same Richelieu, who, as I already knew, was at that very time making a meteoric rise, bringing the royal council under his control . Having such a powerful enemy was very unhealthy.
"What could I have done to make Richelieu himself turn against me?" I thought. "This attack must have something to do with Maria's affairs, or with the affairs of the lady who shot me."
Of course, now I know for sure that Rochefort acted at Milady's instigation, who hated to lose. If she fired at someone, that person was supposed to die, even if she missed or the bullet for some other reason didn't kill the person she aimed at.
I decided to show the letter to Athos, because it was now obvious that it was a forgery, and I was not being invited to a date, but to a massacre.
When Athos saw the letter, he shuddered and turned pale, something I had never noticed in him before.
"My friend, I know that handwriting well," he said. "I'm not mistaken, and that means you're in great danger. You must promise never to go on any dates alone."
"That's impossible, Athos," I objected. "I have meetings where even such a devoted friend as you would be superfluous."
"Very well, we'll make exceptions for those dates you're absolutely certain of," Athos said with a gentle smile. "I can't change you, but at least promise not to attend any meetings you didn't arrange without me or Porthos. Better yet, we should all stick together until this problem is resolved."
“How can this problem be solved?” I asked.
"Everything is in God's hands," Athos replied. "But we mustn't give God too much work to do to protect our lives. Our powder must be dry, our swords sharp, our heads clear, and our hands steady. Then God will take care of the rest, and if we have no guilt before Him, I believe He will not abandon us."
“Well, your faith, Athos, is admirable, and someday, if you change your mind about being a musketeer, you might make a fine abbot, and perhaps something higher,” I said.
"Anything is possible in this world," Athos replied with a smile. "But for now, if you don't change your mind about becoming an abbot, I see you'd make a fine musketeer."
"That's what we'll settle!" I replied, after which we shook hands.

Chapter 35

I decided I'd gotten myself deeply embroiled in the machinations of people close to the royal court, or, as they call it, in domestic politics. I had to think the situation through. If I simply sat idly by, then given that I'd acquired influential enemies against my will, I wouldn't live to see old age, let alone my next birthday , my thirtieth. This didn't suit me. I decided the best defense was a good offense, and to do that, I needed to understand the subtle forces that set various influential groups in motion.
As a mentor and teacher, I could only turn to Marie. Indeed, if there was anyone in Paris at that time who was perfectly versed in the motives behind the opposing camps, and, indeed, knew how many of these camps had formed at court, it was Marie de Chevreuse or Cardinal de Richelieu. For obvious reasons, I could not, nor would I, seek clarification from de Richelieu, who was as far removed from me as the sun, and fate had decreed that I would unwittingly side with his opponents. Marie, however, was quite accessible to me and even considered me her ally in these political affairs, something I had not yet been, but had resolved to become.
As much as I loathed the prospect of aiding Marie in her intrigues, I saw no other way out. Our adversaries were not the sort to be crushed with sword strokes. These men could kill with the stroke of a pen, a shot from around a corner, or poison, and, ultimately, they could simply throw me in the Bastille, where I would spend the rest of my days, dying of consumption ten years after my arrest.
This is what Maria explained to me.
The King had no heir, which inspired his younger brother, Monsieur, with hopes of inheriting the throne. This hope was reinforced by the King's ill health, which had already been so severe several times that everyone was almost certain the throne would soon be vacant. The most perceptive courtiers turned their attention to Gaston, who was officially listed as the Dauphin, or heir apparent. Even the Queen Mother herself seemed resigned to the idea that Louis had little time left to live, and in that case, she would not at all object to Gaston assuming the throne. The Queen Mother promised to marry Gaston to Anne of Austria, which would strengthen their position on the French throne. The Queen Mother herself hoped that in this event, she would return to the Louvre and give Gaston I advice that would be hard to refuse, thereby becoming the de facto head of state. But Louis recovered, and all courtiers once again turned their noses up at him and bowed low before him.
Some of them were already beginning to feel annoyed that Louis had been so indelicate as to not die from yet another bout of illness, and the most desperate of them began to think it wouldn't hurt to help him leave this mortal coil. Having repeatedly rehearsed plans for transferring power to Gaston, they were no longer willing to part with them for the ridiculous reason that the King hadn't deigned to die.
What irritated this entire court clique most was the growing power of Cardinal Richelieu. And Louis remained the guarantor of this power. Consequently, anyone dissatisfied with Richelieu was automatically dissatisfied with Louis. This circle also began to include the Queen Mother, who began to feel a complete disregard for her interests on the part of her protege and favorite. She noted, not without reason, that Richelieu even seemed to deliberately infringe on her rights at every opportunity. This exacerbated her pent-up resentment toward her eldest son, the source of the cardinal's power, and she would also have been pleased if his brother, Gaston d'Orl;ans, had ascended the throne. Naturally, the mother did not wish for her son's death, but for now she merely considered the possibility that Louis might abdicate the crown for health reasons. In this wild idea, Marie perceived the Queen Mother's naivet;, which was extremely surprising to see in a representative of the Medici family.
Marie also told me that she doesn't have much confidence in Gaston d'Orl;ans, meaning she's not convinced she'll be able to influence him if Queen Anne remains merely Louis's widow. It would be a different matter entirely if she were to give birth to a Dauphin, as then Gaston would be out of a position, as the most he could hope for would be a seat on the regency council for the King's young son.
I was surprised that Maria was so easily discussing the possible death of the King, who was still young and vigorous, after all, his bouts of illness subsided, after which he went hunting or even on military campaigns, where he demonstrated tirelessness and remarkable willpower. Maria dismissed my remarks, informing me that his willpower had nothing to do with his participation in political decisions, that our current King was a blind executor of Richelieu's will in political matters, and that if this continued, the Queen might even end up in exile in some distant castle, or even a monastery, since Richelieu was too determined to turn the King against her.
“You only care about your own well-being, which is based on the Queen’s influence!” I thought.
And so it was, of course.
“But is the King really seriously ill?” I asked.
"He's been so ill three times now that the court physician expected him to die," Maria replied. "In that case, Gaston would have become King! Anne's fate would have depended on how well she could get along with him."
"Could she get along with him?" I asked, emphasizing the last word.
"I'm working on it," Maria replied proudly. "But for now, this issue is very raw."
"What led to the emergence of such a large number of Gaston's supporters and the King's enemies?" I asked.
"Gaston's supporters may be far fewer in number than Gaston himself believes," Marie clarified. "Perhaps there aren't any at all, except for the Queen Mother and a few madmen. And the rest are probably making their own plans, like the Prince of Cond;, for example. But there are too many opponents of Richelieu among the nobility, and they all understand that there's no other way to remove him than by assassination."
At that moment, I heard the word "murder" for the first time in relation to Cardinal Richelieu. Could it really be that serious?
"Will there be people who would dare to do this?" I asked.
"People were found to rid the King of Marshal d'Ancre!" Maria said proudly. "Why couldn't people be found to rid him of Richelieu?"
I recalled that the massacre of Concino Concini had indeed taken place on Louis's orders, given at the urging of de Luynes, Maria's first husband. So Maria knew what she was talking about.
I realized that if Marie de Chevreuse really decided to organize the assassination of de Richelieu, she would succeed.
"But why do you have such a feud with him?" I asked. "After all, you seem to be related to him?"
"Yes, his beloved niece is married to my first husband's nephew," Maria agreed. "But this marriage is practically a sham. They don't live as a married couple. The marriage could fall apart at any moment."
I was surprised by Maria’s knowledge of such intimate matters.
"So, Richelieu is turning the King against the Queen?" I asked. "Why does he need this?"
"The Queen is dissuading the King from quarreling with Spain, while Richelieu's policy is based on an alliance with England against Spain," replied Mary. "Richelieu's plans include arranging a marriage between the King's younger sister, Princess Henrietta, and the Dauphin of England, Charles, Prince of Wales. Richelieu is continuing the plans of Henry IV and his faithful Sully. And the Queen Mother thwarted these plans for her husband, Henry IV , so is it any wonder she continues her policy under his successor and son? She refused to accept the plans of her royal husband, and it is even more difficult for her to accept the attempts of her royal son to realize these same plans. Henry intended to intermarry with the King of England through his eldest daughter; Louis intends to do so through Henry's other daughter, his sister."
“Is this marriage possible?” I asked.
"There were many obstacles, but they've all been cleared," Maria replied with such pride, as if she had been the one to clear them. "This marriage is not only possible, it will happen."
"In that case, Richelieu can be pleased!" I concluded.
"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Mary. "If this marriage takes place, and it will, the Duke of Buckingham will certainly appear in Paris as the King's representative to meet Princess Henrietta and escort her to England."
“And what does this mean?” I asked.
"It means a chance for the Duke of Buckingham to win Anne's favor," replied Mary. "I mean a very specific form of favor, since platonic love between these two noblemen and representatives of the finest houses of Europe is already practically established!"
"Thanks to the efforts of you and your friend Count Holland?" I asked, my voice cold.
"Don't be jealous, Henri!" Maria cooed. "Count Holland is a business relationship, but with you, it's serious; it's love."
"Really?" I asked. "A business connection? Is that what you call it now?"
"How I love it when you get angry with jealousy, Henri!" Maria exclaimed and hugged me tenderly.
At this point our conversation regarding the internal politics of France ended, as a conversation without words of a different kind and on a completely different topic began between us.

"By the way, I wanted to ask you, what do you know about Count Rochefort?" I asked after our heated conversation had concluded.
"Count de Rochefort?!" Maria exclaimed. "Why do you ask, Henri?"
“It seems to me that he was going to kill me, or at least kidnap me, using numerical superiority, surprise and treachery,” I replied.
"He is, indeed, a very treacherous man," Maria replied. "And he serves Richelieu. But why he has turned against you, I don't understand. After all, you are still so little involved in our affairs with the Queen that I don't suppose there is any cause and effect here."
She said "the Queen and I" so naturally, as if the Queen's affairs and Marie de Chevreuse's affairs truly were one and the same. I noted this to myself, pretending not to notice that the phrase jarred on my ears.
"What could be the reason then?" I asked.
"Have you had any disagreements with him or any of his friends before?" Maria asked.
“I don’t remember anything like that,” I replied.
"Oh, yes, I completely forgot!" Maria exclaimed with a smile. "All your conflicts would most likely arise not from Rochefort's friends, but from women somehow connected to him."
"With women?" I asked, shuddering.
Indeed, before this, one woman tried to kill me – the wife, or now widow, of the Marquis de Brinvilliers.
"You've turned pale, Aramis!" Maria exclaimed. "Aren't you ashamed to betray me! I forgive you my cousin Camille, but I never imagined you had anyone else besides me and her!"
"I swear to God that I have no one but you and... How did you find out about Camilla?" was all I could say.
"She told me herself!" Maria replied with a laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not angry! I think she became interested in you after my stories about you."
"Did you tell her about me?" I asked, surprised. "And about you and me? For what?"
"Ah, Henri, women can sometimes feel so lonely, so sad, so bored!" Maria sighed languidly. "Don't deprive us of this little joy— of gossiping at our leisure about our little feminine secrets, our modest victories and defeats. And with whom else, if not with our dear cousin?"
"But you did say that you have a best friend – Queen Anne, didn't you?" I asked.
"Queen Anne has a best friend – Marie de Chevreuse," Marie snapped. "She has someone who cares for her, who takes all her sorrows to heart as if they were her own, and even more so. Who would give her life for her!"
Here, of course, Maria bragged a little.
“And I don’t have a friend who would give not just her life for me, but even…” Maria continued, choosing her words carefully. “Even agree to endure the slightest inconvenience. Yes, Henri, it’s true! There is no such thing as friendship with those in power! There is only the semblance of such friendship, and both parties understand that it’s just a game. Look at the King! How many favorites he’s had, and how many more he’ll have! They all think they boss the King around and can use him however they want! But that’s not true. It’s the King who bosses them around and can use them however he wants. If a favorite loses interest in the King, he’ll try his best to hide it, unless he’s stupid. And if he doesn’t hide it convincingly enough, he’s finished. I know that! However, it’s impossible for a favorite to lose interest in the King.” It can only happen that the favorite, imagining that he can get away with anything, with all the pride and pomposity of his position, crosses a line that should never be crossed. Beyond that line lies a deadly abyss. But if the King were to cool toward the favorite, it would be catastrophic for the favorite. Since every favorite plunders the royal treasury, offends the royal entourage, and turns everyone at court against him, everyone tolerates him as long as the King tolerates him. And should the King even so much as turn his back on his favorite, the embittered courtiers would simply tear him to pieces. It would be like unleashing hungry and ferocious dogs on their desired prey and saying, "Shoot!"
I must admit, Marie had studied court customs very well, and her words were prophetic. It's unlikely that even she herself realized at that moment that she had foretold the fate of many. Among them, of course, were Chalais and Saint-Mars. But there were also those whose names should already be forgotten, such as La Vieuville and others, of whom there were already about a dozen.

Chapter 36

"You, Maria, have become quite familiar with matters of politics," I said, after listening to a wealth of information from her, after which I began to better understand the intricacies of court intrigue. "Who currently constitutes the circle of the most significant figures determining state policy?"
"You already know about Richelieu," Marie replied. "Along with His Majesty's family, I'm talking about the Queen, Monsieur, and the Queen Mother, as well as the Prince of Cond; and other relatives. This includes, first and foremost, Monsieur Schomberg. After he was reinstated to the Royal Council in August, he was also given back his post as Superintendent of Finances and received a marshal's baton. But he is the Cardinal's man. Then there's Michel de Marillac, Schomberg's assistant and also Richelieu's man. Also, the Keeper of the State Seals and Chancellor d'Aligre. And then there's Marshal de Co;vres. As for the members of the State Council, they're mere extras compared to Richelieu; they'll support him even in matters they disagree with, since any decision, no matter how dangerous, will seem less daunting than openly opposing the Cardinal. It's also important to remember that, on Richelieu's advice, the King created a chamber to investigate financial abuses." The previous First Minister, Le Vieuville, has now not only been dismissed but also arrested, and his entire financial affairs are being thoroughly investigated. This means that simply resigning from his high position will no longer be an option. Such a departure would only be the beginning of a detailed investigation into the departing minister's financial misdeeds, and such investigations always uncover something. Therefore, falling out of favor now will mean not just the loss of a lucrative position but also the grave danger of being sent to the Bastille, or worse.
"Do you think this will force the favorites to stop their abuses?" I asked doubtfully.
"No, of course not, they'll just do it more carefully, though I'm not sure of that either," Maria replied. "They probably should be more wary of angering the King and losing his trust, but when have anyone ever learned caution from the example of others? Everyone thinks they're smarter than everyone else and ends up falling into the same trap as their predecessors."
"What is Richelieu's power based on?" I asked. "After all, he doesn't seem to fear His Majesty's wrath."
"He seems to me to delve so deeply into the intricacies of political events, to understand all the connections and interdependencies so well, that in the realm of political plans and intrigues he has no equal," replied Maria. "At the same time, this is precisely the area about which the King knows two things. First, he understands that this complex work must be done properly. Second, he himself does not want to take it into his own hands, as he is terrified of having to delve into all the details. Seriously engaging in politics takes too much time and energy, and in that case, the position of the King of France becomes unenviable. Instead of pleasure, the throne brings only troubles, worries, responsibility, and anxiety. To be King, to work for the good of your citizens—is that really so appealing? It is much more pleasant to rule, pretending that all the good that comes from royal power is your own personal merit, and all the evil that inevitably happens comes from your negligent ministers and their assistants!" In this case, no matter how great the sovereign's blunders, it's enough to replace the cabinet, and if things are going well, it's enough to simply accept the congratulations and gratitude of his subjects from all sides. Therefore, the King would like to maintain the appearance that all the good is his own doing, and all the bad is due to his ministers and the shortcomings of his advisory bodies. Moreover , Richelieu has already demonstrated that if these matters are handled unprofessionally, like Le Vieuville, or with a fair amount of mercantilism, like Sillery and de Puisieux, the damage is too great, comparable to a military defeat and even greater. Richelieu himself has not yet been convicted of either stupidity or mercantilism, so the King values him and trusts him.
"It seems Richelieu is quite useful to the King and France?" I asked.
"Even so, I have no intention of putting up with his dictatorship!" Marie exclaimed sharply. "He imagines himself the King's equal, perhaps even superior. It may be true that a change of King would not alter the state's policy as much as a change of Prime Minister, but if the King were to change, a change of Prime Minister would be inevitable. Richelieu understands this, and that is why he is loyal and devoted to his monarch. But he tyrannizes over Her Majesty the Queen; he subjugates the King and both Queens, not to mention the princes of the blood, whom he has no regard for at all! No, even if the path he has chosen for France and is implementing by all means available to him is the only true path, the Cardinal is still too eager to drag France down this path. It seems to me that he is prepared to rouse even all of Europe to achieve his goals, if only he can seize enough power to do so through various alliances, secret and overt. And in relation to this person, I cannot rule out that this will happen someday.
"But perhaps everything he does is beneficial for France and the King? Perhaps it's high time Europe was brought to heel?" I asked. "Believe me, Marie, I'm not defending Richelieu; I simply want to understand everything thoroughly."
"Even if you are right, and Richelieu's intentions are to strengthen the monarchy and the state as a whole, as well as to cure Europe of the dominance of the House of Habsburg, or of religious schism, or of both, even in this case I will say that the cardinal is a physician whose cures are more dangerous and severe than the disease itself!" exclaimed Maria with fervor.
"Even though I didn't object to you, my dear, you've convinced me even more that I should resist this man," I agreed. "If only to prevent too easy victories from leading him to the idea that he's the one to whom everything is permitted and everything will be forgiven."
"Henri, you have described the very essence of the problem and my goals very accurately!" Maria replied, confirming her agreement with a tender kiss. "Indeed, even if our resistance to the cardinal does not serve as an obstacle to his most ambitious plans, such resistance is necessary to ensure that his rise will not be too swift for him, not so easy, and not as disastrous for France as, for example, the rise of the Borgia family was for Italy."
"So, you and I see it the same way," I concluded. "Tell me, what else should I know about this man's most important achievements?"
"His methods for eliminating opponents include not only direct influence on the King, but also pamphlets, which are quite cleverly written, and he carefully conceals his authorship," Maria replied. "As for his ideas, it must be said that they are accepted by the King and are sometimes quite effective. Thus, about fifty rich people have already passed through the established Chamber for the Control of Financial Abuses—that is, people who have become very rich very quickly and significantly. It must be said that in almost all cases, it was discovered that they got rich by robbing the treasury. Not surprising! Any wealth that quickly arises is most often criminal. Anyone who has become rich not through gifts from the monarch or by receiving a huge inheritance is either an embezzler or a robber. The return of stolen money to the treasury is not only fair, but also necessary; it has significantly replenished the state budget. Now, at least, the King has money for the most urgent matters." Every monarch should occasionally rip open the pockets of their lackeys, but if done too often and too openly, they can destroy their monarch. Therefore, the number of exposed embezzlers at any given time should always be significantly fewer than those who consider themselves invulnerable. This can wait for more pressing matters.
“I see you’ve read Machiavelli carefully,” I noted.
“I see you too,” Maria retorted.
"What are Richelieu's most urgent matters now?" I asked.
"War, of course!" Maria exclaimed. "Didn't you know that any war is a project for enrichment? And like any project, this action must be carefully thought out and thoroughly prepared before it's implemented. And preparation, above all, requires money, and more money, lots of money, as much as possible. If a war is started and is going well, with an offensive on enemy territory, then the means to continue it are found in the occupied lands. The winner imposes a contribution on the occupied territories, even if it's a civil war. The loser feeds the army that entered this new land. If the war degenerates into a protracted siege, then it exhausts and ruins both sides. And in this case, again, greater resources are needed so that your enemy exhausts his resources before you do and sue for peace on your terms—that is, capitulates.
"Are we facing another war?" I inquired.
"Why another one?" Maria asked. "War is always going on, it doesn't stop, it just moves from one phase to another. We have an internal war with the Huguenots, that is, against them. We have an external war with Spain, that is, against her, so any alliances with her enemies are part of this same war, as is any opposition to her allies. Any peace with anyone is preparation for a joint war against someone else. All this requires money, so concentrating money is also preparation for war. Often, if a fortress can't be taken by force, it can be bought. Incidentally, Richelieu did this several times already. His victory over de Rohan is an example.
“Above your relative,” I noted.
“Unfortunately,” Maria confirmed.
"What are his military achievements to date?" I asked.
"What do you know about Valtellina?" asked Maria.
“This is a territory where the two Habsburg dynasties can unite their troops in order to further act in a coordinated manner, in particular against France,” I replied.
"This issue hadn't been effectively addressed by his predecessors," Maria replied. "Now the cardinal himself has taken it up. An agreement had been made previously, but it hadn't been implemented. The new Pope, Urban VIII, added additional clauses to it in early 1624, including one allowing free passage from Italy to Germany for Spaniards."
“This is very undesirable for us,” I noted.
"Exactly," Maria agreed. "The French ambassador in Rome, Commander de Sillery, a relative of the former prime minister and his son, whether through stupidity or worse, accepted these amendments, but after his relatives were removed, fortunately, he too was recalled. At the end of November, Richelieu sent to Switzerland Antoine d'Estr;es, Marquis de Coevres, father of Henry IV's late mistress and, therefore, grandfather of the Princes of the Blood, Caesar and Alexandre de Vend;me."
“And also Catherine Henrietta de Vend;me, wife of Charles II of Lorraine, second Duke d'Elbeuf, Count d'Harcourt, your rather close relative through your dear husband,” I added.
"I am also related to C;sar de Vend;me through his wife, Fran;oise of Lorraine, Duchess of Mercoeur and Penthi;vre," replied Marie. "Henri, don't be distracted by such trifles. Accept as a given that I am far from a stranger in the royal house of France, and don't distract me from my thoughts. So, the Marquis de Co;vres, my relative, as you rightly noted, acted decisively and energetically. He personally and at his own expense raised troops and secured the transfer of the forts occupied by the papal garrisons. The Valtellina again fell under the control of the Grisons, our allies, and the Marquis de Co;vres received a marshal's baton for this. Thus, Richelieu, with the marshal's hands, cut the Gordian knot of intrigue, treachery, and complex negotiations that had lasted for several years. What could not be untied was cut by the sword in a few months.
"Well, I see that Richelieu is an enemy worthy of respect," I said. "We won't be able to defeat him, of course, but we must defend ourselves against him."
“Help me protect the Queen from him, Henri, and I will try to protect you from Rochefort,” exclaimed Maria.
"Oh, you misunderstand me, Maria!" I replied heatedly. "I would cease to respect myself if I sought your protection from a nobleman with a sword. To ask for protection from any woman, even one as lovely as you, and especially from one as charming as you? No, never! I merely required information. As for protection, I have a hand in which I hold a sword, and, if necessary, a musket. Besides, I have two faithful friends, Athos and Porthos. That's two more swords."
"Two friends – that's so little!" Maria said.
“Of course, if there were three of them, it would be better,” I agreed.
"Why not four, or ten, or fifty?" asked Maria.
"My dear, there are no such things as too many true friends," I replied. "Two friends is already a great many, a real treasure. I would like to have three friends. But I cannot hope to have four, five, or more. In that case, I would think that their friendship with me constitutes some kind of calculation for them, but in that case, I would decide that I cannot trust any of them, which would mean that I have no friends at all."
"So you don't believe in friendship based on some kind of interest?" Maria asked.
"No, I don't," I replied decisively. "Just as I don't believe in love based on interest. Friendship and love don't require interest, and interest is dangerous, deadly dangerous, for them. Only selfless friendship and selfless love can attract me. Everything else is bargaining, self-interest, intrigue, and ultimately, meanness. Self-interest will pass, and ostentatious friendship will be replaced by unostentatious betrayal. Oh no, lots of friends aren't my thing. I'm not talking about comrades in arms, for whom, truly, the more the merrier.
"Perhaps you're right, Henri," Maria replied thoughtfully. "But I can't say the same about myself. In any case, I need to think carefully about what you're saying."
“As do I, my dear,” I said, kissed Maria’s hand and left.

Chapter 37

Mary's subsequent intrigues are well known. Together with Count Holland, she conceived and carried out the mutual romantic infatuation that arose between Anne of Austria and Buckingham. Holland, it must be said, was quite, I would even say, overly friendly with Chevrette, and if I had been even a little more jealous, I probably would have killed him. However, perhaps that's what should have been done. The vile Englishman seduced Mary, or rather, he happily allowed her to seduce him. If only that! But this whole intrigue with Buckingham was sheer madness.
In short, having been warned that the Queen was quite beautiful, and having been deceived into believing that she was in love with him, Buckingham fancied himself a new Paris, Cupid, and Adonis all rolled into one. Admittedly, he was handsome and stately, but all his wealth was acquired through his influence, first on King James I , and then, when James I died around the time I'm writing about, Buckingham used the same influence on his son, King Charles I. I must say that this alone is enough for me to regard both of these English monarchs with a fair amount of contempt. While Henry III , Henry IV , and Louis XIII allowed themselves to take handsome young men and boys for pleasure, these English monarchs allowed themselves to be taken for pleasure by some pathetic Villiers, and were quite pleased with the situation. It's no coincidence that Charles I was eventually dethroned and even beheaded, which, however, I will tell you about in due course. Meanwhile, Buckingham arrived in France fully confident that he would conquer the Queen of France just as he had conquered the King of England (his son was not yet King at the time).
During the reign of King James I, it was almost agreed that the Prince of Wales would marry Henrietta of France, the younger sister of King Louis XIII . However, the death of King James I slightly delayed this marriage, although it made it almost inevitable, as the Prince of Wales, having become King Charles I , was eager to fulfill his royal father's intentions, having already seen Henrietta's portrait and found her charming. Rumor has it that Charles traveled to France incognito to see Henrietta in person and form his own opinion of her. Perhaps this was the case; I do not know whether to believe this rumor. Knowing the extravagance of this monarch, I cannot rule out the possibility that such an adventure was carried out.

Buckingham arrived ostensibly on an ambassadorial mission, but he had prepared a delightful joke for the French courtiers. His tailor, on his special request, trimmed his suit with a string of pearls, so that if Buckingham broke a stitch, the pearls would fan out across the parquet floor of the reception hall. Chevrette related that Buckingham had read about it in an Arabian fairy tale, which was imported, it seems, from India. The collection of tales was called, I believe, something like "The Thousand Nights," or, no, it was called "The Thousand and One Nights," because in India there was a superstitious fear of round numbers, which they believed were in the Devil's possession. So, when they wanted to name a large number, they would add one to it, so they'd get "One Thousand and One Nights," or, for example, "Five Hundred and One Slave Girls," or something like that. It's as absurd as if a jeweler, trying to attract as many foolish customers as possible, listed the price of a diamond necklace not as "Five Hundred and One Pounds," but as "Four Hundred and Ninety-Nine Pounds"! You couldn't imagine anything more stupid. I don't think it will ever work. So, Buckingham read these Arabian Nights translated into English and imagined himself as some kind of Eastern wizard, a shah or padishah, who could do anything and everything. Moreover, there was a fairy tale in which a certain magical princess was so magically charming that when she smiled, pearls fell from her lips, and when she cried, instead of tears, purest diamonds, six carats each, flowed from her eyes. Even Buckingham would have been unable to afford to scatter diamonds, but the idea of scattering pearls struck him as quite ingenious. So, when he appeared before the Queen—and it must be said that the King was ill at the time and unable to attend the audience—Buckingham pretended to trip his string of pearls, which broke, sending pearls the size of large peas skittering across the colorful parquet floor of the reception hall, right at the feet of the courtiers.
Everyone present, naturally, began picking up the pearls out of respect for the Duke. The Queen was perhaps the only person in the room who, according to etiquette, would not have stooped to pick them up even if her life depended on it. Besides, she had, of course, seen her share of jewels in her time, so it was difficult to impress her with pearls, even the choicest ones. She had been raised in such a way that even if she herself dropped the diamond tiara, and even if diamonds worth several million livres rolled at the feet of courtiers, she would not bat an eyelid. That's what servants are for, to pick up the fallen, and that's what the Queen's jewel keeper, the Duchess de Chevreuse, is for, to ensure the safety of the jewels. That was precisely what the Queen had decided—if the Duke had dropped the pearls, it was the sole concern of his treasure keeper, for the naive Anne believed that every nobleman should have his own treasure keeper. So, all the courtiers bent to collect the pearls, while only Buckingham and Anne remained steadfast, standing erect and serene, their gaze fixed on each other. Anne was politely attentive to the foreign ambassador, and Buckingham considered this a sure sign of affection, for his ego did not allow him to assume that the Queen would have looked the same way at the withered and hunched old man had he arrived on behalf of the English King on a diplomatic mission, although that was precisely the case.
When all, or almost all, of the pearls had been collected, the first impulse of those who had collected them was to return every single one to Buckingham. However, Buckingham pretended to be oblivious to the melee and its consequences. He rejected the pearls collected and offered to him, generously bestowing them upon all who had picked them up. It must be said that Porthos, acting as a bodyguard there, risked picking up a couple of pearls, which he subsequently sold for two hundred pistoles apiece. He commissioned a luxurious sword hilt for one hundred and fifty pistoles, and ate and drank away the remaining fifty with his friends—that is, Athos and me.

Either way, Henrietta was to go to her betrothed, and Buckingham had arrived to complete all the formalities on behalf of Charles I , after which Henrietta was to depart for her new kingdom to her new husband and the King. Queen Anne accompanied her sister-in-law to the borders of the realm; the King, as always, was ill, so he did not attend his sister's farewell. Buckingham saw this as a new opportunity to further develop his rapprochement with the Queen. However, the Queen maintained a stern and distant demeanor, so Buckingham took his King's fianc;e under his protection and was forced to bid her farewell.

The formal meaning of Buckingham's conversation with the Queen is irrelevant, for Buckingham was only thinking about the fact that his love for the Queen was reciprocated. The Queen, for her part, was considering her attitude toward him, which, of course, had been prepared by Chevrette's whispers, but Anne herself was extremely averse to adultery. More precisely, she ruled it out completely. Besides, whatever one might say, Buckingham stood far beneath her in rank, something he neither understood nor wanted to understand. He was merely the de facto ruler of England, but formally only the prime minister, not the King. Anne was the Queen, albeit only nominally, albeit without any real power in France, but she was still the Queen. She was the King's daughter, the King's sister, the King's wife, and she was destined to become the King's mother, something she firmly counted on. Buckingham was merely George Villiers, from a modest noble family in Leicestershire. A trifle! He might have held all those titles—First Minister, Duke, Master of the Horse, Chief Justice of the Court of Session, Lord Steward of the Westminster, Lord High Admiral of England. Anne's husband, Louis XIII , could have bestowed these titles upon any inhabitant of France, and he did so upon his favorites, raising them from insignificance to unattainable heights. Indeed, he created dukes and peers from pages, grooms, and falconers! So the dukedom granted by King James I for "battles" in bed did not exactly elevate the claimant to special treatment in the eyes of the savvy Queen Anne of Austria. However, etiquette demanded a polite and proper attitude, since the duke formally represented England.
Since a stroll through the gardens at Amiens had already been planned, Buckingham took advantage of the easy concealment afforded by the maze of trimmed trees and shrubs. His plan was aided by Chevrette and Holland, who forced the rest of the entourage to lag slightly behind the Queen and the Duke, ostensibly to allow them to discuss confidential state matters. As soon as they rounded a bend, where they encountered a small gazebo hidden from view, the Duke imagined that this entire remarkable confluence of circumstances had been deliberately orchestrated for the closest possible association with the Queen, which he hoped would become the sweetest memory of his trip to France. This would not so much satisfy his physiological needs—which he had no problem achieving, being married and surrounded by plenty of women of limited social responsibility, inferior to a willingness to serve England—as it would flatter his vanity. Just think! After all, he imagined he could subjugate not only all the monarchs of his island homeland, but also the queens of Europe! But such liberties were not in the Queen's plans. Before she realized she was left without the support of her subjects, she was subjected to a very unambiguous attack from the English ambassador, which not only surprised her but also frightened her, and simply shocked her. She had never expected such a gross breach of etiquette! With his diamond-embroidered trousers, he even managed to scratch the royal legs! Naturally, the Queen screamed – from pain, fear, and insult, all at once. The stragglers immediately ran to their Queen's aid, but Anna realized in time that reporting all the details of what had happened was not appropriate, as it would be humiliating for all parties. She merely said that she tripped and nearly fell, which is why she screamed in surprise. At the same time, she admonished her courtiers for failing in their duties if they allowed their Queen to be alone with an ambassador who was not her husband and therefore could not be allowed to converse privately, no matter how much he might have wished. As a result, some were forced to resign, which was a good thing for them, since if the Queen had told her version of the events, the King would have been furious, and the Cardinal would undoubtedly have allowed him to be harsh with everyone responsible for the incident, except, of course, the Queen, who, even when left alone with the overzealous ambassador, defended her honor. The King summed up the event with the words: "The Queen screamed, which proves her innocence." La Rochefoucauld even claimed that Buckingham had advanced his attacks so far that the Queen was even worried about becoming pregnant as a result of such a rendezvous. All this was the invention of an offended courtier. She did not allow Buckingham to come to her, although perhaps much later, after his death, she regretted it.
The Duke's inability to distinguish politeness from infatuation ultimately proved his undoing. His overconfidence failed him at Amiens, but he persevered. He did, however, manage to evoke a belated response in Anne's heart, enough to make her pine for him after his death, but clearly insufficient to reward him with the favors he had so brazenly and unambiguously sought that he was immediately banished from England. Furthermore, he exploited the flimsy pretext of receiving an insignificant letter from his sovereign for the King of France. He left Queen Henrietta, whom he was supposed to accompany to England, and returned to Amiens with this letter. He had barely delivered it to Louis XIII when he rushed to the feet of Queen Anne, who had not yet risen from her bed. Bursting into her room, he knelt before her bed, kissed the edges of her sheet, and apologized for the incident. Although receiving visitors while lying in bed is perfectly acceptable for royalty, Buckingham's behavior was out of the ordinary. The venerable Madame de Lanois, who was present at the scene, tried to reason with the Duke, explaining that in France it was not customary to kneel before the Queen and kiss the edges of her sheet without permission. Buckingham protested that he was not French, to which Madame de Lanois, pursing her lips, replied, "And that is very noticeable, monsieur, but I hope that, being in France, monsieur will allow me to order a chair to be brought to him." Buckingham rejected this offer and continued to behave defiantly. The Queen was forced to inform the Duke that she was extremely surprised by his behavior and permitted him to leave, which was a polite way of expelling him from her bedroom.
It seems the Queen decided that all the inhabitants of the island nation were so wild that such courtship was par for the course, which made her look a little more leniently at the wild outburst of the English ambassador and prime minister. Even Laporte suggested that Buckingham had simply tried to win the Queen with his first outburst, and with his second, was trying to secure this opportunity for himself in the future. Chevrette thought so too, but didn't blame the Duke. She herself had already experienced the power of Buckingham's gallantry and found the experience charming. However, she never condemned herself for such reprehensible pranks and had no intention of condemning others for them.
Buckingham apparently assumed he could win over not only the Queen but also, if necessary, the King, since he acted as if he were in no danger under any circumstances. But an accusation of insulting the Queen could have caused an international scandal. Richelieu had no plans for war with England, so he didn't want an international scandal. He simply pointed out to the King all the inconveniences of the situation and advised him to quietly explain to the Duke that his mission could be successfully carried out by another representative of the island nation, or, if he did not agree to this, France would rather do without the English embassy for a while than have such a troublesome ambassador on hand.
Buckingham understood absolutely nothing, but pretended to understand everything, even what he hadn't been told. He interpreted the undesirability of his stay in France as proof of his complete victory over the Queen's heart and left not so much offended as proud of his irresistibility.
Neither Count Holland nor the Duchess de Chevreuse drew any useful conclusions from the situation. Absolutely every Frenchman, except these two, who was even partially aware of what had happened understood the inappropriateness of Buckingham's continued presence in France, even for the briefest time. But these two did not see it that way, and Mary did everything to ensure that Queen Anne would be more lenient towards his antics, attributing them not to the true causes—his excessive ambition, complacency, and sense of entitlement—but to his supposedly uncontrollable love for Anne of Austria herself, as a woman, not as a queen. This was the first time the Queen had encountered such a thing; it was a novelty to her, forcing her to take a fresh look at the entire situation and become interested in Buckingham. She decided to evaluate him no longer as an ambassador, but as a man, and interest in a man was a completely unknown feeling for Anna, which she mistakenly took for love.
Nevertheless, the Queen insisted on Buckingham's immediate departure to continue his mission of accompanying Henrietta to London. With pain and disappointment, real or feigned, Buckingham returned to Princess Henrietta, his future Queen, and to his own awaiting wife, whom Buckingham had taken with him on this trip, but whose honor and wishes he had not considered at all.
Chevrette and two other ladies of the court accompanied Henrietta to England. Count Holland also went, arriving in France merely as an escort to the Duke. In London, Chevrette replaced Queen Anne for Buckingham, in gratitude for the truly royal reception he had given her, just as he would have wished to have received Queen Anne had she been with him in Chevrette's place. Chevrette's closeness to Buckingham was so obvious and so close that it even aroused jealousy in Count Holland, who, incidentally, was also married but had been counting, for some unknown reason, on Chevrette's exclusive attention. If only he had known that among those she had honored with such attention, he was not only far from being the first or second, but not even the fifth! And that's not counting her two legal spouses. However, no one was ever jealous of the spouses, neither Holland's Chevrette, nor Holland's Chevrette, nor Buckingham's. Nevertheless, Holland ultimately fell out with Buckingham and withdrew from court.
Chevrette soon returned to France, a development I would not congratulate either Chevrette herself or France as a whole. Two events occurred just before the arrival in Paris of the young Gascon Charles d'Artagnan, who dreamed of becoming a musketeer and had everything he needed: a Gascon temperament, a strong and dexterous hand, superb swordsmanship, exorbitant ambitions, though entirely justified, and an almost complete lack of money.

Chapter 38

The first of the two events which I have reported is the first real and active conspiracy of the Duchess de Chevreuse, with the object of overthrowing the Cardinal.
Since the royal couple still lacked a male heir, the King's younger brother, Gaston d'Orl;ans, known as Monsieur, was considered the primary contender for the throne in the event of the King's death. Those who considered themselves disgruntled by the cardinal, as well as those who simply disliked the King or hoped for an improvement in their affairs in the event of a change in power, formed a circle of like-minded individuals, centered on Monsieur, though in fact, it was the Duchess de Chevreuse. However, they were united only in their hostility toward the cardinal, and their views on the future of France should Richelieu be overthrown differed significantly. Some, such as Queen Anne, believed that it was sufficient to simply distance the cardinal from the King, while others believed that the King should also be tonsured and sent to a convent. This was Monsieur's hope. Chevrette herself hatched a mad plan to marry Anne to Gaston d'Orl;ans, with the couple's subsequent accession to the French throne. The Prince of Cond;, unlike Monsieur's supporters, hoped to seize the throne himself, which didn't stop him from entering into a temporary alliance with this group of conspirators.
At the same time, Chevrette had good reason to fear severe punishment if the plot failed, having already twice offended the King: first, with the Queen's miscarriage, and second, with Buckingham's antics. Therefore, she preferred to "pull chestnuts out of the fire" with the help of others. She urged everyone she could influence to take action, using charm, the primary weapon of an attractive woman, as well as cunning and resourcefulness—two qualities in which she had no equal.
First of all, she won over Gaston d'Orl;ans's mentor, Marshal Ornano. She also won over the Vend;me brothers to her ideas. The elder brother, Duke C;sar de Vend;me, was the elder of Henry IV's two illegitimate sons by Gabrielle d'Estr;es. Born in 1594, he was then in the prime of his life, a handsome thirty-year-old married to Fran;oise of Lorraine, Duchess of Merc;ur and Penthi;vaux, daughter of Philippe-Emmanuel of Lorraine, Duke of Merc;ur. They had three children: thirteen-year-old Louis I de Bourbon-Vend;me, eleven-year-old Elisabeth de Bourbon-Vend;me, later the Duchess of Nemours, and nine-year-old Fran;ois de Bourbon-Vend;me, later the widely known Duke of Beaufort, who became famous under the nickname of the King of Markets during the Fronde. I will tell you many more amazing things about him.
The second brother was Alexandre de Vend;me, also known as the Chevalier de Vend;me, also the son of the favorite Gabrielle d'Estr;es, born in 1598. This brother chose the career of a Catholic priest and was therefore unmarried.
They also had a sister from the same parents, Catherine Henrietta, born in 1596, who was long known as Mademoiselle de Vend;me until 1619, when she married Charles II of Lorraine, 2nd Duke d'Elbeuf, Count d'Harcourt, who was two years her junior. She subsequently bore six children during their marriage. Naturally, she sympathized with her brothers in everything and supported them. This family, as you can see, was closely connected to the House of Lorraine, that is, the House of Guise, whose representatives were always involved in any intrigue aimed at overthrowing the King, since their ambition was matched only by their arrogance. Considering their descent equal to that of the ruling dynasty, they became increasingly arrogant from the time a member of their line married King James V of Scotland, and her daughter, Mary Stewart, married Francis II and became Queen of France, albeit very briefly. But Mary Stewart's son ascended to the throne of England, so the Guise bloodline remained present in the English dynasty.
Thus, these two brothers and sister held considerable sway at court, as their father, King Henry IV, legitimized both sons and daughter, granting the eldest, C;sar, a ducal title. The younger, Alexandre de Vend;me, served as governor of Caen and was a member of the Order of Malta. In 1614, King Louis XIII appointed him ambassador to Rome to Pope Paul V. However, relations between Louis and his half-brothers later soured.
But Richelieu had a nose for brewing conspiracies, or perhaps he had already established a reliable network of spies at court. He devised an ideal system in which his spies didn't know each other but understood that other sources of information existed, so he verified the reports of one with those of the others. Therefore, each spy was afraid not only of failing to report their knowledge of the impending conspiracy fully or quickly enough, but also, moreover, of being forestalled by another spy, so that their information would be considered belated, undermining their credibility. Losing the cardinal's trust meant losing their income and gaining a powerful enemy at the same time. This dual incentive compelled them to seek information day and night, and to deliver it warm and fresh, fresh from the heat of the moment, not yet outdated in its relevance and timeliness.
For his informants, being late in reporting a plot to the cardinal was almost tantamount to participating in it, so all his spies raced to get there first. From this it's clear that Richelieu knew about the plots almost as soon as they were hatched, while the conspirators themselves trusted no one, and each suspected everyone else of treason—and, I think, quite rightly so.
So, the Cardinal was aware of the brewing conspiracy and decided to strike first. To this end, he exposed Marshal Ornano to the King as the mastermind and one of the most active executors of the plot, arrested him, and imprisoned him in the Ch;teau de Vincennes. Naturally, the Cardinal explained to the King that the plot was aimed not only at himself but also at His Majesty, which was true, but was not received with due confidence by the King.
After the elimination of Marshal Ornano, the conspirators decided that the danger had passed, since, apart from the marshal, almost no one was hurt.
The second event I mentioned was Chevrette's second attempt to depose the cardinal. This second attempt was the Chalais conspiracy, also orchestrated by the Duchess.
De Chalais, this handsome young man, took Le Vieuville's place in the heart of Louis XIII . All these young men with whom the King surrounded himself prove once again that it would have been better for the monarch to debauch the ladies of the court than to indulge in such an unnatural attraction to members of his own sex. No woman could have caused such damage to state affairs as ambitious pages claiming the position of informal but de facto head of state, as has already been proven by the disgusting example of England, especially the tragic outcome of Charles I. Louis XIII's false shyness in dealing with ladies gave rise to his shameless liaisons with pages and grooms, whom he elevated to the rank of prime minister or Master of the Horse (simply called Masters of the Horse), dukes, and peers. However, who can tell the King what is worthy of his rank and what is unworthy?
So, the handsome de Chalais was recommended to the King by Richelieu himself, essentially planting his prot;g; in his stead, fearing that the position would be filled by a prot;g; from his enemies. His full name was Henri de Talleyrand de P;rigord. He, of course, received the County of Chalais from King Louis XIII as a reward for services rendered of a very intimate nature.
This de Chalais quickly acquired immense wealth and almost supreme power, such that Richelieu's authority paled in comparison. But this wasn't enough for him; he grew weary of the obligation to be grateful to his benefactor, and, as is often the case, he even went so far as to depose him in order to strengthen his influence with the King. He desired to achieve sole power over the King and the kingdom. Of course, even if he succeeded, he would not have been better off, as he himself would have been unable to handle the numerous tasks Richelieu performed brilliantly, but by no means with ease, as his workday typically lasted between nineteen and twenty-one hours daily, and he sometimes slept no more than three or four hours a night, allowing himself rest only during brief play sessions with his beloved cats, of which there were at least twenty in his palace.
Chevrette decided she could seduce Chalet, and she succeeded. The handsome courtier decided to add her to his list of conquests. A few passionate glances, scented letters, and a bit of eloquent silence, and Chalet was convinced he truly loved Maria, and Maria was convinced she could use him. And so it happened.
Complaints of unjust persecution, tears and a trembling voice, insulted innocence, a cry to God to send a deliverer from the cruel tyrant, Cardinal Richelieu, and now de Chalais sees himself as a kind of Saint George the Victorious, piercing with his spear a vile three-headed monster, spewing flames from its forked-tongued mouth. One modest kiss as a pledge of reward for his heroic deed, and now she can twist him as she pleases.
Incidentally, I discovered by chance that de Chalais was distantly related to d'Artagnan. However, if d'Artagnan had been in de Chalais's place, he might certainly have fought the cardinal, but not so foolishly and not so unsuccessfully. But d'Artagnan could never have found himself in his relative's place, given the manner in which that relative had achieved his high position.
So, Chevrette complained to de Chalais that Richelieu was pestering her with his passion and threatening to kill her if she refused. Knowing her artistry, I understand that de Chalais believed everything she told him and was consumed by a thirst for noble revenge to protect his beloved. Holy simplicity! If Richelieu had pursued Chevrette, she would have given in, only to then dictate her terms.
It's time to ask whether there was a connection between Chevrette and Richelieu. After all, everything points to such a thing occurring between these two not-so-distant relatives, related through his nephew and her niece, and it deserves a separate chapter in my memoirs. But my conjecture has no bearing on what I've begun to describe.
So, Chevrette persuaded de Chalais to kill the cardinal, convincing him that this would make him a hero not only in her eyes, but in the eyes of the entire French nobility.
Chalais offered to challenge the cardinal to a duel, but Marie, barely suppressing her laughter, tried to remain serious and explain that such a challenge would lead nowhere. Even if there had been no edict prohibiting duels, the cardinal, as a clergyman, would not have accepted such a challenge, and as prime minister, he would have declared him a troublemaker. But since the edict was in effect, Richelieu would simply have the insolent Chalais arrested and executed, for so clearly violating an important state edict, that is, demonstrating disobedience to the King.
“My dear Henri, you will only sacrifice your life in vain without achieving anything,” Maria concluded.
"For your sake, I would sacrifice my life a thousand times over!" de Chalais exclaimed passionately, thereby proving his own deceit but flattering Maria's vanity.
If he had calmly said he was prepared to make such a sacrifice to protect Maria, perhaps such a promise would have been worth something, but when a lover counts his promises in the thousands, it's never worth taking into account. A promise to give mountains of diamonds, like a promise to give an entire universe, is trivial; a promise to give just one diamond ring means far more.
"Our plan will be different, my dear," said Maria. "Not only will you not lose your life, but you will increase your power, and you will also receive my love as a reward!"

Chapter 39

So, Chevrette promised that de Chalais would possess her if he killed Cardinal Richelieu. In doing so, she exploited not only his feelings for her but also his pride, for when a nobleman seeks the love of a noblewoman, and that lady shows him the way to achieve his desire, retreat is impossible, even if the coveted prize no longer attracts him, or attracts him only insufficiently to make such sacrifices worthwhile. No one wants to appear a coward in the eyes of the woman to whom they've just declared their love. Especially if that woman is a duchess, and you're merely a count, no matter how much actual power you wield. Moreover, de Chalais constantly felt that his power was limited by the limits set for it by his benefactor, Cardinal Richelieu.
De Chalais never doubted for a moment that the Cardinal must be killed, and if anything troubled him about this mission, it was only the way in which he could achieve what he wanted and, if possible, save his life in order to take advantage of the promised prize in the form of the love and favor of the Duchess de Chevreuse.
If de Chalais had intended to simply ambush Richelieu and assassinate him, with a dagger or a bullet, he would likely have succeeded, since the cardinal at that time was not yet overly fearful for his life and often traveled without any guards, or with a small guard that could be distracted. But for infantile conspirators, such as all these princes, dukes, and duchesses, conspiracy was more of an exciting game, an unknown and adventurous one, than a clear plan of action for achieving very specific goals. Therefore, they became overly enthusiastic about creating a community of conspirators, engrossed in discussing all their plans together, and drawing up a plan of action that all participants would have to approve. Moreover, often not everyone invited to such gatherings shared the views of the most radical initiators of this undertaking. Perhaps a spy for the cardinal happened to be at one of these gatherings, or perhaps one of the conspirators lost their nerve. Marie said that Monsieur de Valen;ay, a relative of de Chalais, certainly should not have been drawn into this conspiracy, much less invited to the meeting. He doubted the morality of the matter when he learned that an attempt on Richelieu's life was possible. Apparently, when he agreed to join the conspirators, he believed it was merely a matter of preparing a petition to the King asking for Richelieu's powers to be curtailed, or perhaps for the Cardinal's resignation as Prime Minister. Upon hearing that the conspirators intended to achieve their goals through violence, he became indignant, realizing that he was being drawn into an activity that was technically criminal, for which the participants could pay with their lives.
"Do you realize, Count, that if you fail, you'll be sent to the scaffold?" Valence asked the young Count face to face after another meeting.
“I’m ready for this,” de Chalais answered firmly.
“Count, you are young, and you have apparently never considered death,” de Valen;ay continued. “Death is terrible in itself, and at such a young age, even more so. Consider what you have now and who you are, compare it with what you strive to achieve, and weigh your life in the scales. Is it worth it? After all, beyond the grave there will be no wealth, no power, no feasts, no wine, no falconry, no rattling of weapons, no prancing on horseback, no admiring glances from ladies, no favor from His Majesty. And the Duchess de Chevreuse, whose love you are trying to win in this way, will not be there. And besides, believe me, young man, a woman who demands that you sacrifice, or even risk your life in order to achieve it, does not love you and never will. True love does not demand sacrifice, but makes it itself.”
De Chalais thought hard, but did not answer, or answered something to the effect that he had already thought everything through and was not afraid of anything, since his Gascon pride would not have allowed him to give any other answer.
“Even if I were to change my mind, it’s too late to back out now,” said Chalet doubtfully, apparently finally admitting that de Valen;ay was right.
"All will be lost for you when the executioner's axe falls on your neck," de Valen;ay replied. "The point of no return will be the moment you have done what you agreed to."
"How can I refuse after I've agreed and so many people have trusted my promise?" asked Chalet.
"This is your life, and this is your choice," de Valen;ay continued. "I would advise you to confess everything to the Cardinal and repent. The Cardinal is a priest, and all priests are obligated to forgive, especially since the crime has not yet been committed. A plan abandoned and not carried out is not yet a crime. Repent, and he will forgive you."
Chalais spent the entire night in contemplation. By morning, he fully realized how deeply attached he was to life and how sad it would be to part with it. He also realized how great the danger he was exposing his life to was, essentially, over trifles. So he went straight to Richelieu, confessed everything, after which Richelieu promised him full forgiveness on the condition that Chalais fully repented. To prove his complete repentance, he was required to siding fully and completely with the Cardinal and, to prove his loyalty, to name all his accomplices. Chalais named everyone except the Duchess de Chevreuse, hoping she would appreciate it. The Cardinal suspected the Duchess was involved, but he pretended to believe Chalais and even promised him a reward. However, Richelieu had no doubt that all the other named conspirators were indeed conspirators.
After talking with Chalet, the cardinal immediately went to Gaston of Orleans and told him everything he knew about the conspiracy, naming all its participants.
Terrified to death, Monsieur agreed to anything to save himself. He immediately confirmed the involvement of everyone Richelieu named, acknowledging the truth and accuracy of all the accusations. He did everything he could to turn the accused into a witness against all his fellow conspirators. The first name Gaston mentioned was Marie de Chevreuse. He admitted that the plans also included the arrest of the King, which freed the Cardinal's hand. With Gaston d'Orl;ans's testimony, Richelieu went to the King to obtain the broadest powers to suppress the conspiracy and punish the conspirators. He first folded the list he had received, smoothed the fold with his fingernail, and then carefully cut out the first line with a sharp knife.
"Your Majesty, I am extremely saddened and defeated!" exclaimed Richelieu. "Is it even conceivable? Such noble and distinguished persons conspiring to carry out a coup d';tat!"
"Which individuals are we talking about, and what did they plan this coup to be?" asked the King.
"That's the whole point!" exclaimed Richelieu, displaying extreme chagrin. "If it were simply a question of mistrust in me, and the conspirators had planned only to remove me from the high post to which Your Majesty has appointed me, I would immediately ask you for my resignation, in order to satisfy the wishes of these noble persons, who stand so close to the throne that for me they are almost sacred, and their wishes almost a law. I say 'almost,' because even the opinion of a dozen princes is nothing to me compared to that of Your Majesty, the sole and plenipotentiary ruler of France. But my misfortune is that they plotted not only against me, which, as I have already said, I would have humbly submitted to. Their insolence extended to the point of intending to arrest Your Majesty.
At these words the cardinal placed his right hand on the left side of his chest and showed that he could hardly restrain his heartbeat and was almost choking with despair.
"Calm yourself, Monseigneur, you mustn't worry so much, take care of yourself," the King said with feigned concern. "Whatever the plot's goals, and whoever the conspirators were, I thank God that you uncovered it in time, and I'm convinced you'll be able to clip the wings of all the culprits. So what exactly were they planning? Arrest me, you say? Who could dare commit such a crime?"
"Have mercy, Your Majesty!" the cardinal pleaded. "My lips do not open to utter the sacred names of your closest royal relatives."
"You are probably talking about Prince Cond;?" asked the King.
"You are right, Your Majesty," Richelieu replied modestly. "But, unfortunately, he is only an insignificant figure compared to the other conspirators. The most dangerous conspirators are to be found much closer."
"Could it be that we're talking about the Vendome brothers?" the King guessed.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" exclaimed Richelieu. "I have all the evidence sufficient to accuse them of base treachery."
“In that case they should be arrested, and I give you my consent to this,” Louis replied.
“Thank you, Your Majesty, but to my greatest regret, these people are not the only conspirators,” replied Richelieu.
"Not limited, you say?" the King became wary. "Who else? Ah! I think I understand! Are you talking about my mother? Well, we'll send her even further from Paris!"
"I'm afraid to suggest that, as always, you're right, Your Majesty, and Her Royal Majesty played a certain role in the planning of this coup, but unfortunately, the circle of villains is not exhausted, with the addition of Her Majesty herself to the previously mentioned conspirators. Unfortunately, the conspiracy is even closer than you deigned to assume."
"Even closer, you say?" the King exclaimed in surprise. "But how much closer could it be? Surely you wouldn't claim that my brother Gaston was involved in the conspiracy?"
"Alas for me, Your Majesty, here, look, his own confession!" replied Richelieu, handing the King a paper entitled "List of conspirators tempting me to eliminate my most noble brother, His Majesty King Louis XIII , and his first minister."
“There are so many names here!” Louis exclaimed. “I never expected such treachery from Gaston! Wait a minute, right here!.. It can’t be! Anna? The Queen? My wife plotted against me? My God!”
"Allow me to tear up this list and resign, Your Majesty!" exclaimed Richelieu.
"Wait! What are you saying?" the King objected. "You want to leave me when I find out there's no one else I can trust except you? What will I do then? Who will I be left with?"
"Your Majesty, order the arrest of me before all others, an unworthy prime minister who, through my excessive credulity and insufficient vigilance, has allowed such insidious plans to mature near the most splendid throne of Europe!" Richelieu exclaimed with such despair that one might have thought he actually wanted to be arrested.
"What should I do, Cardinal?" asked the King. "Are you going to arrest my brother and my wife? Who will I be left with?"
"That must never be done, Your Majesty," the cardinal replied. "Your brother has already repented; he promised not to repeat this mistake again. Your wife will also repent, I am sure."
“It is that scoundrel Duchess de Chevreuse who is turning her against me,” the King guessed.
"Your Majesty is pleased to see that the Duchess's name is not on this list," Richelieu replied. "Believe me, if I had reason to suspect the Duchess, I would have arrested her already."
"It can't be!" the King exclaimed, and began to carefully scan the list, first from top to bottom, then from bottom to top. "Indeed, she's not here! How can that be?"
“I will assign my people to her in order to know her every step, Your Majesty, and if I have even the slightest information about her conspiracies, I will immediately order her arrest,” replied Richelieu.
"Okay, we've settled that," the King replied. "So, what do you propose regarding those on this list?"
"By your command, Your Majesty, I will immediately arrest the Prince of Cond;, both Vend;me brothers, and all those below them. But I ask you to speak with Her Majesty Queen Anne and bring her to reason, and also to speak with your brother Gaston, scolding him severely, and then ask for his forgiveness. I also ask for Her Majesty the Queen Mother's forgiveness. The names of members of your royal family must not be mentioned in connection with the exposure of the conspiracy, otherwise the shadow of the conspiracy will greatly cast a shadow over your royal house."
"Very well, proceed as you suggest," the King agreed. "But I do not wish to discuss this matter with my wife, my brother, or my mother. I charge you, Cardinal, to reprimand them in my name and set them on the right path. After all, you are the Queen's spiritual mentor. As a clergyman, it will be easier for you to call all three to repentance. Believe me, this is not my cup of tea. I would rather gallop into battle against a hundred enemies and expose myself to bullets than have to explain things to the Queen Mother or the Queen. I don't like that, believe me, it's beyond my strength."
The cardinal bowed silently and left.
He didn't have time to arrest Cond;, who, having been warned, came to him first with a similar list of conspirators, sincerely repented, and concluded a peace with the cardinal, based on his recognition of Richelieu's primacy in all matters. Marie de' Medici was forced to sign a document of repentance in which she renounced any claims to power and acknowledged the primacy of Louis XIII , promising to obey him unquestioningly, remain faithful to him, and not enter into any alliances against him. Something similar was done with Gaston and Anne, so that Richelieu seemed to have brought the lost lambs back into the family. The Vend;me brothers hastened to flee Paris, but the cardinal, using letters written by other exposed conspirators under the cardinal's dictation, lured them to Paris, where they were arrested and thrown into prison.
 The cardinal began to act proactively and broadly. He tapped all sources of information and discovered that the conspirators' plans included the assassination of Richelieu himself and the kidnapping of Louis XIII, after which they planned to rouse all of Paris, promising the full support of Austria and Spain. Richelieu's intelligence, led by Father Joseph, followed the plot's threads and obtained letters in which its participants discussed plans not only to assassinate Richelieu but, if necessary, to assassinate Louis XIII himself. Richelieu had correspondence destined for Chalais from Madrid, Brussels, and Vienna.
While Richelieu was carrying out the King's orders to suppress the conspiracy and arrest the conspirators, Louis summoned de Treville.
"Tell me, de Treville, who do you think could arrest me?" he asked.
"Only a madman, who would be immediately torn to pieces by my musketeers!" replied de Treville.
"Even if it were a very high-ranking person?" asked the King.
“In all of France, or rather, in the whole world, there is no person of such high rank who could allow himself to give or carry out such an order,” de Treville replied without batting an eye.
"And if the Queen Mother gave such an order?" asked the King.
“She would have been arrested and brought to you, Your Majesty,” replied de Treville.
"And if the Dauphin had given such an order?" asked the King.
In the absence of a son, the King's brother, Gaston d'Orl;ans, also known as Monsieur, was called Dauphin.
“As I have already said, neither Monsieur, nor Madame, nor your wife Queen Anne, no one in all of France or in the whole world can give the order for your arrest,” replied de Treville.
"Do your musketeers think exactly like you?" asked the King.
"Of course!" replied de Treville. "They report directly to you, and to me only insofar as I represent you in the company of the king's musketeers. Your Majesty, you can ask them about this yourself."
The king rang the bell. Secretary La Chesnaye entered the office.
- La Chesnaye, invite one of Monsieur de Treville's musketeers to see me.
"Invite Athos, Porthos, and Aramis," de Treville clarified in response to La Chesnaye's questioning look. "They're on duty today, guarding the front doors."
“Call,” the King confirmed.
We entered His Majesty's office.
"I am glad to see you, gentlemen, in good health," said Louis. "I would like to ask you what you would do if you received an order to arrest someone of noble birth?"
“We will fulfill it, Your Majesty,” Athos answered for everyone.
"Who should issue such an order?" asked the King.
“We usually receive our orders from Monsieur de Treville,” replied Porthos.
"Very well," replied the King with a nod. "If Monsieur de Treville orders you to arrest Monsieur, or the Queen Mother, or Queen Anne?"
“It will be very sad for us to carry out this order,” I said, “but we will carry it out to the letter.”
"Will you carry out such an order even if it is given to you verbally and not by me, but by Monsieur de Treville?" asked the King.
"We are soldiers, Your Majesty," Athos replied. "We do not choose the form in which orders are given. Oral or written, from de Treville or Your Majesty, any such order will be carried out."
"And if Monsieur de Treville orders you to arrest the Cardinal?" the King asked with a joyful smile.
"May I execute it?" asked Porthos.
“No, no, gentlemen, I am only asking you in a hypothetical sense,” the King answered with obvious approval and laughter.
“We will arrest him,” I replied.
"And if I order you to arrest de Treville?" asked the King.
“In that case, Monsieur de Treville will be arrested immediately, but it will be very difficult for us to do so,” said Athos.
“Perhaps some of us will resign after this, but first we will fulfill our duty and your order, Your Majesty,” I added.
"That would be unfortunate, but duty is duty," added Porthos. "After all, we all swore allegiance to Your Majesty, and not to the captain."
"And what if Monsieur de Treville orders you to arrest me?" the King persisted.
“In that case, Monsieur de Treville will be arrested immediately,” replied Athos.
"Do you, gentlemen, think so too?" the King asked me and Porthos.
We bowed our heads in silence.
"Well, gentlemen, I see that I can fully rely on my musketeers!" exclaimed the King. "Wait a minute! Look here. What if I order you to arrest the King of some other state? The King of England? Or the King of Spain?"
"Even the Pope!" Porthos replied with a laugh. "But we'd ask for a fare to get there. You know, a horse, fodder..."
"Well done, fellows!" exclaimed the King. "So, if I need to arrest Cardinal Richelieu, I can count on you?! Excellent, excellent, de Treville! Give these fellows ten pistoles each in my name!"
We bowed and left the reception room.
"It seemed to me that your fellows were just waiting for me to order them to arrest Richelieu, wasn't that so, de Treville?" asked the King. "I heard great enthusiasm in their answers on the subject."
"Your musketeers will enthusiastically carry out any order from Your Majesty, and I merely oversee their constant combat readiness and organize their execution of your orders and daily duties in protecting Your Majesty," de Treville replied modestly, emphasizing the words "your musketeers." "To arrest Cardinal Richelieu, as you have heard, no warrants will be required; your word alone will suffice. "
The king was very pleased.
Meanwhile, the Cardinal had a conversation with the Duchess de Chevreuse.
"Duchess, I have ample grounds for throwing you into the Bastille immediately, and I'm not sure you'll emerge for at least thirty years," he said with a gentle, kind smile. "And if you do emerge sooner, it will only be to be taken to the Place de Gr;ve."
"Your Grace, how have I angered you?" Maria asked with trepidation.
"The Chalais Conspiracy," Richelieu replied. "I know all the threads, and they all lead to you."
"I'm not guilty of anything!" Maria exclaimed. "You were misinformed."
"I don't have to believe you, since my sources of information are quite reliable," the cardinal countered. "Besides, they are diverse and unaware of each other's existence. So I can verify them, while they cannot all be in concert to deceive me. But I am prepared to believe you, you know, on one small condition."
"Believe me, Monsignor!" exclaimed Maria. "Believe me, you have no better friend at court than me!"
“No better friend than you?” Richelieu repeated, laughing heartily. “In all the court, I have no better friend than you! Well, well! What impudence! What a charming lie! You have given me the greatest pleasure in listening to such utter nonsense! But you yourself have no idea how close your lie is to the truth. Or rather, it must become incredibly close to the truth, Duchess, otherwise I will simply destroy you.”
Maria shuddered and almost lost consciousness.
“Calm yourself, Duchess, you are in no danger provided you obey,” the cardinal replied, offering the Duchess a bottle of smelling salts.
"Thank you," Maria replied, thanking the cardinal either for the vial of salt or for the assurances of her safety. "You seemed to want to tell me something else? About some conditions? But keep in mind, I know nothing, and I am innocent!"
"If you deny it and deny it, Duchess, we'll never agree on anything," Richelieu replied. "I need your active assistance, and for that, there must be no misunderstandings between us. So, either you help me defend the interests of France and the King, or you spend the rest of your days in the Bastille, and that's an even better option for you."
"My God, is not my greatest desire to help the King and France in every possible way?" exclaimed the Duchess. "After all, I think only of the interests of the King, Queen, and France!"
"Leave the Queen's interests to me, Duchess," the Cardinal replied. "And I suggest you follow my friendly advice, which, believe me, will save you from imprisonment in the Bastille, but only if it is carried out as strictly as possible, and if not a single soul knows of this agreement between us."
"You want me to sign some kind of agreement?" the Duchess asked with trepidation.
"You don't need to sign anything," the cardinal reassured the duchess. "I only require obedience. First, not even a talking parrot should mention the King's name or mine in your presence without my immediately knowing it from you. And I emphasize that I must know this from you, since I would know about it anyway even without your help. It is in your interests, however, that you be the first to report any such event to me, ahead of all my men."
The Duchess remained silent, unable to object or to show her consent in any way.
"You don't answer, and you don't need to. The main thing is that you heard me," the cardinal continued. "Secondly, you will carry out my instructions without question. And for starters, you will arrange for Buckingham to arrive secretly in Paris, so that I know where and when to look for him."
Without waiting for the duchess's answer, the cardinal stood up and left.

Chapter 40

Naturally, Chevrette didn't tell me about this conversation with the cardinal. I learned about it much later from sources I may disclose later. However, why should I dedicate my diary to this secret? Yes, I did obtain many of Cardinal Richelieu's documents, including his memoirs, which were not written for strangers. They were written only for the person in the position in which I received them. Everything in due course, and I will write about this as well towards the end of the book. Until then, my memoirs will in some places recount events I could not have known about at the time they occurred, but which I nevertheless know with considerable accuracy and certainty. My knowledge is more reliable than the memoirs of other so-called witnesses of the time, since these witnesses sometimes forget the sequence of events, sometimes their testimony is replaced by false memories, and in some cases, the authors simply want to appear better in their books than they actually were. But this does not apply to my notes. I have documents, I don't suffer from memory loss, and I have no intention of making myself look better in these notes than I actually am. Well, enough about that.
So, Chevrette, of course, agreed to Richelieu's terms, as he recognized from her rabbit-like gaze at a boa constrictor, and he, in turn, shielded her from this conspiracy. The King had to be lenient toward his mother, brother, and wife, but nothing would induce him to mitigate the Duchess de Chevreuse's punishment. If His Majesty had learned of Chevrette's role in this conspiracy, even Richelieu would have been unable to protect her; his influence would only have been sufficient to replace the auto-da-f; with life imprisonment in the Bastille. Therefore, the King learned nothing of Marie's involvement, and the Cardinal gained powerful leverage over the Duchess, which suited him perfectly.
The cardinal initially left de Chalais alone, hoping to make him his agent in the enemy camp as well. But Chalais didn't understand this, and the arrest of the Vend;me brothers frightened him beyond measure. Chalais sensed that the cardinal hadn't fully forgiven him, and he decided to save himself by completing the conspiracy and getting rid of Richelieu. He tried to strengthen his position by recruiting additional allies, wrote several careless letters, and made other mistakes. This vacillation from one extreme to the other proved his undoing. Moreover, his allies themselves were unsteady in their actions. Chalais began to persuade Gaston d'Orl;ans to go into hiding and continue the plot from one of the neighboring countries that could provide him with assistance. However, Chalais didn't even consider that the conspirators, left at large, could continue to communicate as if nothing had happened without arousing suspicion, since all the conspirators could be under surveillance. Of course, they were being spied on, and the very fact of Chalet's secret communication with Monsieur incriminated both. Furthermore, discord arose within the conspirators' camp, with each suspecting and accusing each other, all while trying to protect themselves. As a result of such quarrels, each of the disputants often feared that the conversation would become known to the Cardinal and would rush to get ahead of their interlocutor with a denunciation to Richelieu. Thus, Richelieu learned about everything, even things that were far from his primary interest and for which he would not have bothered to acquire spies. In fact, all the conspirators acted as the Cardinal's spies, hoping to thus secure their own fate. Is this a joke? Even with regard to Queen Anne, one must admit that some of her actions revealed her as a woman indecisive and prone to compromise, capable of betraying yesterday's comrades and defecting to yesterday's enemy. I don't blame her, because she had it the hardest of all, she balanced on the edge of love and hate of the King, and until the joint efforts of the spouses (or some other way, let's say between the lines!) an heir appeared, that is, the Queen's son, the future Louis XIV. Her position was uncertain, hanging over her like the sword of Damocles was the danger of repeating the fate of Queen Margot, whom King Henry IV divorced with the consent of the Pope due to her infertility.
Incidentally, Margot was not barren in her youth, but she cleverly hid the fruits of her sinful love and handed them over to strangers for upbringing, so that no one remembered them. Apparently, God Himself punished her with barrenness at a time when a son from her legitimate husband would have greatly strengthened her position and changed her fate for the better. However, it may also be that it was not God who punished her, but Henry IV himself , who deliberately made no effort to fertilize the womb of his plump wife, since he had already been fertilizing completely different wombs for many years.
As for the compromise that Anne of Austria made, as I said, I do not blame her, but at first she seemed to have tried to achieve the laurels of the biblical Delilah, who, with her inappropriate and untimely hairdressing services , caused fatal harm to her beloved Samson, but in the end she preferred the kind of compromise that a certain hero of the New Testament, one of the twelve disciples, once made.
Let us return, however, to the development of the second stage of the Chalet conspiracy.
All the participants who weren't immediately arrested because they supposedly repented discredited themselves in the eyes of Richelieu, and consequently in the eyes of the King, by continuing to hold secret meetings and discuss their next steps. At least one of them, presumably Roger de Louvigny, decided to betray all the conspirators in greater detail, revealing all the details of a plot that had previously been only partially uncovered and whose events the Cardinal had only superficially known. Now, however, the Cardinal had all the details of the planned actions in his hands, and most importantly, irrefutable evidence that the conspirators had not calmed down and were continuing to hatch plans to eliminate the Cardinal and the King. Based on this written evidence, the Cardinal again summoned Gaston d'Orl;ans for questioning, who provided new details to exonerate himself and gain leniency.
Regarding this conspiracy, all that remains is to recount the involvement of Rochefort and Milady in its exposure. The Duchess de Chevreuse had once proposed one of her close friends, the Marquis de La;c, as a reliable partner in the plot. De Chalais instructed him to deliver several letters to Brussels and to return with replies. This, of course, involved an agreement on joint action by the leaders of the bordering countries in the event of the success of the planned coup. De La;c handled the first half of the assignment well, but abandoned the idea of returning to Paris with reply letters. The fact is, in Brussels, he met Milady, the same Marquise de Brinvilliers who shot me. In conversations with de La;c, she so vigorously berated the cardinal that he became convinced she was his ally and decided to involve her in the conspiracy. This was all she needed, as by this time she was already in Richelieu's service, carrying out some particularly sensitive missions with Rochefort. Milady persuaded de La;c to travel further from Brussels to expand the list of future conspirators and to ally with as many influential figures in neighboring countries as possible. She convinced him that delivering reply letters was not as important as expanding the list of those who would support the cardinal's future overthrowers. She also introduced de La;c to Count Rochefort, introducing him as one of the conspirators and a friend of the Duchess de Chevreuse. Rochefort, along with her, was in Brussels on a mission for the cardinal, according to which they were to try to gain the trust of those in the conspiratorial circle. They were so successful that de La;c agreed with Milady's proposals and instructed Rochefort to forward the reply letters from Brussels to Paris. The letters were addressed to a certain lawyer named Pierre, who lived near Place Maubert. Upon Rochefort's arrival in Paris, the letter was first opened by the Cardinal's men, a copy of the text was made, and the envelope was then sealed so carefully that it would have been impossible to tell it had been opened before. Rochefort handed the letter to Pierre, and the moment the lawyer took it, the Cardinal's spies began following him and confirmed that he was heading specifically to de Chalais. It turned out that Pierre, who claimed to be a lawyer, was in fact de Chalais's servant. De Chalais's reply, written in his own hand, was handed to Rochefort and immediately placed on the Cardinal's desk. This reply also implied that de Chalais had not abandoned his plans and continued to cherish the idea of assassinating the Cardinal and arresting the King. The letter, incidentally, stated that the Queen had no involvement in the Duchess's plans to marry Gaston d'Orl;ans to her. On the contrary, she wanted him to marry her sister, another Spanish princess, and had already written letters to the King of Spain to this effect. Therefore, the Queen could in no way be accused of plotting to assassinate or arrest the King, although her support for the idea of assassinating the cardinal was beyond doubt.
The enraged Cardinal sent de Chalais to prison, initially temporarily, fearing the King would eventually pardon his favorite. But after the Cardinal laid out all the circumstances to His Majesty, the King's anger at Chalais proved to the Cardinal that he had won this round. It became clear that de Chalais would emerge from prison only to the Place de Gr;ve to meet the executioner.
The Duchess de Chevreuse was formally exiled—or so the rumor spread at court. In reality, she departed for England to carry out orders from Richelieu. She was not punished, but she went to England not on her own initiative, but on Richelieu's orders, having convinced the Queen that it was necessary to convey her regards to Buckingham so that he would not do anything foolish.
Marie renewed her relationship with Buckingham, which allowed her to gather intelligence on England's plans for France and other countries. This information was invaluable to Richelieu, but he also demanded Marie's assistance in his struggle against his domestic enemies. Marie merely agreed. Precisely, because this woman was as wily as a snake, and no promises or oaths would have made her a loyal supporter of either side, as the Duchess of Chevreuse always acted in the interests of only one party—her own. She was capable and willing to betray any allies for her own gain. Therefore, having agreed to assist the Cardinal, she immediately decided to use her cooperation with him to assist the Queen, and most importantly, to gain the trust of both sides in order to profit from any event.
So, having promised the Cardinal complete obedience, she did not abandon her hostility toward him, but merely decided to conceal it more carefully. She hoped, if the opportunity arose, to free herself from him and cease to carry out his orders. Well, that is the fate of many informers, or rather, of all, except those who chose this path themselves, either by vocation or self-interest. Marie, of course, was not like that; she felt like a fish on a hook, hoping to bite through the line and escape to the depths. From that moment on, her soul was forked like a snake's tongue. On the one hand, she tried to carry out the Cardinal's orders and give him no reason to doubt her loyalty; on the other, she painfully sought a way to free herself from her dependence, which could only be achieved by physically eliminating Richelieu. She would not have been satisfied with the arrest of the all-powerful prime minister, since even if arrested, he could then use his knowledge of her betrayal against the Duchess, allowing him to control her through blackmail. So, like a wild predator who had submitted to force, Mary carried out the cardinal’s orders and waited with hope for the opportunity to inflict a fatal bite on him.
She didn't resort to my help because she understood that no Musketeer would obey anyone but de Treville, and de Treville himself would obey no one but the King. The King, after all, wouldn't order the Cardinal's arrest without compelling reasons. Therefore, neither the Captain of the Musketeers nor the Musketeers themselves were fit to participate in secret plots against anyone, much less against the Prime Minister.
Meanwhile, the cardinal personally interrogated Chalais once again and obtained such detailed and extensive information that an acquittal was no longer possible. The poor man was sentenced to death. Unfortunately for him, the executioner was an inexperienced novice. He failed to complete the task with one blow, and instead struck again, but again, he missed the mark. Only on the fourth attempt was it over. There wasn't a single spectator who didn't sympathize with the executed man, as such a method was not stipulated by the sentence. Rumor had it that the cardinal had deliberately chosen such an executioner, which, of course, was slander. But this spectacle did not benefit Richelieu, as many spectators of the execution came to hate the prime minister afterward.
Regarding Maria’s actions, I will supplement my description with what I learned much later, and which I could not have known at that time.
The Duchess de Chevreuse wasn't as simple as the Cardinal thought. By agreeing to inform him of the most important events, she decided to exploit the situation, as knowledge of the Cardinal's primary interests and the tasks he assigned her could be used against him. Marie told the Queen only part of the truth, not the whole truth. Specifically, she presented the Cardinal as not demanding her obedience but begging her to carry out his orders, a gesture she only made for show, keeping the Queen's interests in mind first and foremost. Presenting herself as a kind of reconverted spy for the Cardinal, determined to work for the Queen, she informed the Queen and Buckingham of what she deemed possible, thereby increasing her credibility with them. In turn, the Queen and Buckingham considered her an ally and laid all their cards on the table. The Duchess didn't pass on all the information she'd received to the Cardinal, but only enough to give him the illusion of her submissiveness and her faithful service to him. Thus, posing as an ally to both sides, she deftly maneuvered between them, remaining protected from both and informed of the plans of the opposing camps. I admit, she succeeded quite well; even I considered her to be exclusively the Queen's ally. The Cardinal, however, came to believe that the Duchess was assisting him in everything. He even hinted to the Duke de Chevreuse not to restrict his wife's freedom, as she was carrying out important state missions. However, the Duke had long since realized that it was best for him not to meddle in the Duchess's affairs, and he avoided any contact with people within her circle of acquaintances—that is, with the conspirators in her circle.
Thus, while in England, Mary informed Buckingham that Anne wished to see him in France, thus fulfilling Richelieu's instructions. However, she immediately warned him to beware, as this message could be a trap, as she knew Richelieu wanted his return in order to expose his machinations to the King. She also warned Buckingham that Richelieu would not hesitate to assassinate the Duke, since if he arrived unofficially and incognito, such an assassination would not cause an international scandal.
"Beware, sir!" she said. "Another lady might appear at the secret rendezvous instead of the Queen, and the murderer might turn out to be her husband, so the case will be presented as a murder motivated by jealousy, aroused by the husband of a commoner. Such a death would be shameful for you, and, of course, such an incident would not cause an international scandal."
Mary knew she risked nothing by voicing such a supposition. Buckingham would only be able to tell the Queen, which would convince her that the Duchess was her most trusted friend. Mary also understood that Buckingham would not give up the idea of arriving incognito in Paris for a brief meeting with Queen Anne, as he had committed even greater follies before. She knew that Buckingham belonged to that breed of people for whom separation from the woman they loved only intensifies their love—or what they deceive themselves into believing is love—while the unavailability of the object of their love makes it a hundredfold more desirable. Buckingham did not accept the word "impossible," so given the slightest excuse to travel to Paris for a meeting with the Queen, he could not refuse it. It seems to me that even if Mary had said that the Queen had not written any letter, but that it had been written by a specialist in forging handwriting from a draft dictated by the cardinal, then even in this case Buckingham would have rushed to Paris contrary to common sense.
It must be said that at this very time, we, the King's Musketeers, were tasked with only minor arrests of individuals we clearly recognized not so much as enemies of the Cardinal, but rather as enemies of the King. It was at this time that the King began to clearly distinguish his Musketeers from the Cardinal's Guards. Although the Cardinal, following the uncovered conspiracy, was able to significantly increase his personal bodyguards—a measure insisted on by the King, who was unwilling to lose Richelieu—Louis himself concluded that his best defense against such conspirators was the King's Musketeers. Louis expressed his complete confidence in de Tr;ville, pointing out that the position of Captain of the King's Musketeers, in the King's eyes, was equivalent to that of Marshal of France, and promised to make de Tr;ville a Marshal immediately after the first battle in which the Musketeers had proven themselves worthy. I know for a fact that he once said to the Queen: “For all problems in governing the state, I have Richelieu, and in case I have problems with Richelieu, I have de Treville!”
I even know that Queen Anne wanted to answer him, but she didn't. She told Chevrette about it, and Chevrette passed on these unspoken words to me.
"Indeed, sir!" the Queen wanted to reply, but did not. "As I see it, of all your state duties, you have only one left—to conceive a Dauphin. I hope you will not delegate this responsibility to either Richelieu or de Treville!"
When Anna told Chevrette this joke, they both burst into laughter. Chevrette laughed so hard she even got the hiccups. However, this was after her return from England, and with her came the reckless Buckingham, who, of course, couldn't just show up at the Louvre as easily as the completely forgiven Duchess de Chevreuse had.
So Buckingham arrived in Paris, Chalais was executed, and at that very moment Charles d'Artagnan arrived in Paris from Gascony.

Chapter 41

Mary arrived in Paris with Buckingham, incognito. She met with me secretly and confided that Buckingham had arrived with her, wishing to make very favorable offers of cooperation to France through the Queen. She was lying, of course, but I didn't know it.
"Since when have political proposals been made through the Queen?" I asked. "Isn't it the King who makes politics in France? And Richelieu?"
"The King and the Cardinal are the official authorities," Maria replied. "All important matters are first resolved informally, where all the details are discussed, after which proposals are made officially and ratified by joint treaties," Maria replied.
"Ah, so that's how it's done, then?" I said ironically. "And why does the Duke consider a secret meeting with the Queen the best option for informally discussing diplomatic proposals?"
“He hopes that he will get along with her more easily than with Richelieu,” answered Maria.
"I believe that!" I exclaimed with a smile. "I believe that he hopes so, but is the Queen really so foolish as to intend to make peace with Buckingham without the King knowing it?"
"Henri!" Maria said sharply. "If you put the question that way, I think I'll agree that every woman's destiny is to be her husband's servant and support him in everything, and never—do you hear?—never to meet any man except her husband. Ah, I think I should go..."
"Wait, Maria," I stopped her. "I don't condemn women who allow themselves to associate with people they like, other than their husbands. I just didn't expect such a thing from the Queen."
"I haven't told you anything about her, except that, as a royal person with many relatives among the ruling families of Europe, she has the right to have her own opinion on the matter of concluding alliances with friendly states, so that she can occasionally offer good advice to her husband, who has the right to listen to it, just as he, of course, has the right to completely ignore it!" Maria said defiantly.
“So, you are helping Buckingham meet secretly with the Queen for the good of France,” I concluded with barely noticeable irony.
Maria pretended not to notice my irony, or perhaps she really didn’t notice it.
"I'm glad you understood everything so perfectly, Henri, because I'll need your help," she said. "I'm asking you to rent one, or better yet, two apartments for this purpose. These apartments shouldn't be too far from the Louvre, but not too close either. The buildings in which they're located shouldn't attract anyone's attention. It's desirable that they be furnished comfortably enough inside, but from the outside they should look like ordinary houses."
"Is the Queen really going to meet Buckingham in a secret apartment?" I asked in surprise.
"The apartment isn't needed for meetings, but for Buckingham to live in," Maria replied. "I'll be staying in the second apartment, since I've returned to Paris incognito and can't show up at my own place."
“Where are you staying now?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s not important at all, at the moment I left Buckingham in an inconspicuous tavern far from the center of Paris, but it’s not convenient,” Maria answered.
"So you need an apartment immediately?" I asked, surprised. "In that case, I'll give you my apartment right now and go find a second one for Buckingham. I can stay for a while with one of my friends, Porthos or Athos."
"Henri, you are a miracle!" Maria exclaimed.
At that time, I was living in a house between the rue Cassette and the rue Servandoni, not far from the rue de Vaugirard. I described to Bazin the kind of apartment I needed, and he found a suitable one on the rue de la Harpe. Marie provided the rent, so I made the deal immediately, paid a week in advance, received two sets of keys, and gave them to Marie, explaining how to find the house. The beauty of both apartments was that each had two exits onto two different streets. Mine had access to both the rue Cassette and the rue Servandoni, and during the day I used only the rue Cassette exit. I don't intend to explain in detail why I used the rue Servandoni exit at night. Yes, of course, I made it a rule not to meet my spiritual daughters at home, whom I sometimes confessed privately, so to speak. But sometimes life makes its own adjustments to the rules of life, so in this case, having a second exit was a great convenience, since those who saw me entering and leaving via Rue Cassette assumed the apartment was rented by a young musketeer, and those who saw my guests entering and leaving via Rue Servandoni assumed the apartment was rented by a young parishioner, which eliminated any undesirable rumors regarding the use of my apartment. I warned Maria to use the different exits for the purposes I had assigned them, and she greatly appreciated my resourcefulness.
The apartment on Rue Laharpe had a similar advantage, so I rented it without haggling.
As far as I know, Maria used my apartment for herself, and she settled Buckingham in the apartment on the rue de La Harpe.
After this, Maria asked me if I knew a reliable musketeer she could trust. I replied that I considered myself one, and, furthermore, that all musketeers are reliable, and all of them, or almost all of them, can be trusted in almost everything. Maria added that she would like to arrange for such a musketeer to be a guest of a friend's, who could, if necessary, protect her from those who showed unwanted interest in her.
“I’m not in the matchmaking business,” I objected.
“This is not a matter of matchmaking at all!” exclaimed Maria. “She is a married woman. She is a good friend of mine, the goddaughter of the Queen’s valet, Monsieur La Porte, and a very honest, decent, and devoted servant of the Queen. She is sometimes called upon to fulfill Her Majesty’s most delicate requests, and the Queen values her greatly for this. Unfortunately, the Cardinal wishes to surround the Queen with his people so as to be aware of her every move, and it seems he has almost succeeded. Judge for yourself how important it is for Her Majesty to have at least someone else at her side, besides me and La Porte, whom she can trust implicitly. This lady, her name is Constance Bonacieux, the wife of a haberdasher. But her husband is a weakling. Lately, she has noticed that she is being followed. She is afraid that one day, far from fine, the intruders will simply break into her house and commit violence against her.” She would be more at ease if she could rent out part of her house to some brave musketeer. The price in that case would be very small. This would allow her to feel at least a little more secure, knowing full well that the cardinal's guards would never set foot in a house where a musketeer lives.
"Well, I find her wish reasonable and her arguments convincing, and I will try to find her a lodger," I replied. "At the moment, I can't name the right person right away, since, as far as I know, those musketeers who don't live in the barracks rent apartments somewhere nearby, and I haven't heard of any of them being concerned about finding new housing. But rest assured, such will appear in the next few days, since landlords who rent apartments are sometimes so tactless that they deign to evict musketeers for being behind on rent for a couple of years!"
"Absolutely outrageous!" Maria replied with a laugh. "How can you be so impatient?"
I detected irony in her voice. Maria didn't know what poverty was; she couldn't understand that musketeers' wages were sometimes delayed, so a delay in payment wasn't a whim, but a necessary necessity. We often fell into debt, but as soon as we received our wages or bonuses, the first thing we did was treat all our friends, then pay off any debts that the remaining wages could cover, and then immediately go into further debt. There was simply no other way.
That evening, Athos, Porthos, and I, along with three other musketeers—de Lorme, de Chantin, and du Fierval—met at a tavern on the Rue Ferou. Porthos, for his name day, had received a baldric adorned with a magnificent gold pattern from a lady. He had also received a basket containing a dozen bottles of Bordeaux, and he decided to share them with us to celebrate this double acquisition. Athos and I, for our part, had scraped together the last of our money to ensure a dinner that would suit Porthos's appetite and the quality of the wine, so it promised to be a marvelous one. We drank twice to the health of the beautiful lady who had provided Porthos with such a marvelous baldric and an equally marvelous basket.
Dinner went wonderfully. By the end, we were in such a wonderful mood that we decided to sing a cheerful song about a cardinal.
The song was about a wonderful dancer dressed as an Italian jester, dancing the saraband beautifully. We sat and quietly hummed the song.

There are garlands hanging on the walls,
And the passions are about to heat up:
Here dances the sarabande
Our sedate cardinal!

Gradually our song became louder.

One step to the right, two to the left
The back is arched,
And the Queen laughs,
But she's not the only one laughing.

We felt completely free, since, as a rule, the cardinal's guards did not enter this tavern; there were only completely reliable royalists around.

Along with her, hidden behind the screen
Two girlfriends and a brother-in-law.
Enough, enough! Stop it!
You just can't calm down.

Dancing is not becoming for a prelate
You can't avoid bad rumors.
After all, the Spaniards are at the fairs
They don't make faces like you.

Porthos sang the last chorus especially loudly, so that it could probably be heard even on the street:

Shoes off! Put on your slippers.
Monsignor, you are wrong!
I hope the red cap doesn't fly off
From the cardinal's head!

If the Pope saw,
How the cardinal dances,
He would have this satrap
"He expelled him from the prelates!"

At that moment the doors opened and de Jussac entered the tavern, accompanied by Bernajoux, Lanoux, Davout and two more of the cardinal's guards, whose names I do not remember.
"Gentlemen Musketeers!" said de Jussac. "We overheard a song, but we didn't quite catch the words. Could you repeat them?"
"We've already finished our musical exercises," Athos replied. "Musketeers don't sing to order. We sing when we feel like it, and to whatever we feel like. If you've come to greet us, we invite you to join us in drinking to the health of His Majesty the King and to the health of our illustrious Captain de Treville."
"We don't drink during services," replied de Jussac. "However, if you propose to drink to the health of His Eminence Cardinal Richelieu, we will probably make an exception to this rule."
"The toast goes to the host!" exclaimed Porthos. "Bring me a dozen bottles of Bordeaux, and if it turns out to be as good as ours, perhaps we'll drink to your cardinal."
"This is unheard-of impudence, Mr. Fatso!" exclaimed de Jussac.
"It's unheard of impudence to show up at a name-day party uninvited just to insult the birthday boy," Athos replied calmly. "Gentlemen, we're resting now, but if you're in the mood for a discussion on etiquette, you'll find us tomorrow morning in the barracks, where we can agree on both the time and the rules. Now, leave us."
Athos's voice was so calm and confident, at once firm and majestic, that de Jussac found nothing to reply to, and, making a sign to his companions to follow him, he was the first to leave the tavern.
We finished our meal leisurely and, about an hour later, emerged from the pub in excellent spirits. We then headed down the street toward Porthos's house, intending to see him off and continue our pleasant conversation along the way. The evening was magnificent, and everything was perfect for a stroll.
We had barely reached the crossroads when all six of the Cardinal's guards, led by de Jussac, came around the corner and attacked us. Unfortunately, de Jussac and Bernajoux acted decisively and calmly, so that de Lorme and de Chantin received mortal wounds in the back and barely had time to realize what was happening before they breathed their last. Lanoux's sword slid across du Fierval's side, wounding him, though not severely. Davout also managed to seriously wound Athos in the right shoulder. The wound immediately bled so profusely that Athos fell unconscious almost immediately. Porthos and I were luckier. He and I were walking slightly ahead of the others, so the attackers couldn't kill us with the first treacherous blow. Hearing the sounds of the attack, we instantly turned to face our attackers and drew our swords, which, fortunately, we had on us.
A serious battle ensued. Unfortunately, the wounded Fierval couldn't fight against two men, like Porthos or I, so the two guards he was trying to resist forced him to surrender, after which he broke his sword. Porthos and I were left alone against six. I ordered Porthos to surrender. He didn't want to agree, but I shouted at him, " Quadrata cum fonte! " He understood me and agreed. The thing is, we recently passed a fountain, and he asked me what the Latin word for "Square with a Fountain" was, and I told him, " Quadrata cum fonte ." After that, I asked him why he did that, to which he replied, "There are always so many people here. If I were a pickpocket, I would ply my trade here, and no one would catch me. I recently had a dream that I was hiding from pursuit among a crowd of people. The guards shouted something after me, and I thought it might be Latin. But they were shouting something else. I asked him what they were shouting, to which Porthos replied, " Adipem asinum ." I said I didn't know what it meant, as I didn't want to offend my friend. After that, Porthos asked me again what the "Piazza with the Fountain" was called and repeated the phrase to himself several times, so I was sure he remembered it. So, I hinted to Porthos that we should try to free ourselves as we passed the Piazza with the Fountain, and he agreed to a temporary capitulation. We broke our swords so as not to lose them to the enemy. I have already written that it is better to break a sword and keep the hilt, for which a new blade can be ordered later, than to surrender the weapon to the enemy.
So, the six guardsmen celebrated their victory. Each of us was surrounded by two guardsmen on either side, after which this convoy led us in the opposite direction from our original destination. I assumed Athos had perished, like de Lorme and de Chantin, and I mourned him in my heart. Porthos, too, was deeply saddened by the loss of his comrades and the humiliating situation we found ourselves in. Our route passed through Place Joachim-du-Bellay, where the Fountain of the Innocents stands.
As I walked past the fountain, I noticed that, as usual, some people had gathered near it.
"Jacques! Jean-Paul! Pierre! Camille! Musketeers to me!" I exclaimed, pretending to recognize several musketeers in the crowd of revelers.
The guards were confused and all looked at once in the direction I was shouting.
Taking advantage of this, Porthos took a step back, grabbed his guards by the collars with his powerful hands, and slammed their foreheads together. I heard such a crunch that I thought those two would never rise again. I attempted the same maneuver, but less successfully. However, while my guards didn't fall, they were temporarily rendered unconscious. Fierval snatched his sword from the scabbard of de Jussac, who was walking to his right, and leaped to the side, threatening Bernage, who was standing to his left.
Porthos, meanwhile, had already picked up the swords of the guards he'd defeated and tossed one to me, hilt first, so I caught it easily. Bernajoux and Jussac realized they couldn't hold their own against the three of us and retreated. This gave us the opportunity to escape. Starting a fight on the Place Joachim-du-Bellay would have been simply foolish, so we were content with regaining our freedom.
The first thing we did was return to the place where we had left de Lorme, de Chantin and Athos.
De Lorme and de Chantin lay in the same positions we had left them in. Athos was not among them, but a huge bloodstain marked the spot where he had fallen.
"You can't help the dead, Porthos," I said. "Let's try to find Athos. We'll meet at his house."
And so we did. We split up and took the three routes Athos might have taken to his home, hoping to catch up with him. I took the left path, Porthos the center, and Fierval the right. But to no avail. Athos's home was also gone. We had no idea where to look for him or what had happened to him.
"Well, friends, all that's left for us to do is go home and hope that Athos has been found by his friends," I said. "Tomorrow everything will become clear."
Unfortunately, as I later learned, Fierval encountered de Jussac, Bernajoux, and the other Cardinal's guardsmen again that same evening. There were only four of them, as those who had been pitted against each other by Porthos were at least out of action for a long time, if not forever. I regret that I didn't have as much strength as Porthos, otherwise what happened would not have happened. Bernajoux again offered Fierval the chance to surrender, but he refused, even though he was already wounded, believing that surrendering twice in one day was too much. He decided to fight against the four of them and die, even managing to wound Lana and Davout, but he himself suffered numerous new wounds, including a very serious one in his right arm, and was finally severely wounded in the chest by de Jussac's treacherous attack. He was then presumed dead and abandoned at the scene of the battle. The nuns picked him up and nursed him back to health. He survived, but left the Musketeers forever, as his right hand could no longer hold a sword. Athos was picked up by an elderly apothecary living nearby. Luckily, he had some medicine and was also a skilled surgeon, so he stopped the bleeding, stitched and treated Athos's wounds, and gave him a tonic. I learned about this much later.

Chapter 42

The next day, we presented ourselves at de Tr;ville's reception room and awaited the summons. In the waiting room, I noticed a young man of about eighteen or nineteen, thin and tall, dressed rather poorly, but from the keen gaze of his black eyes, it was easy to guess that the fire of Gascon pride and ardor was seething within him. This explosive mixture of qualities was observed in almost every musketeer of that time, since de Tr;ville preferred to recruit his fellow Gascons as musketeers.
De Treville's secretary looked out of the office and said:
- Monsieur d'Artagnan! Monsieur de Treville is waiting for you.
The young man immediately rushed towards the office door, almost stumbling, as if if he were just a second late, the doors would close in front of him forever.
"A most amusing fellow," I said to Porthos. "He's probably also asking to join the Musketeers, and he probably has at least three letters of recommendation from old ladies from the time of Charles IX , scented with lavender and geranium, and all of them distant relatives of our illustrious de Treville. A real bastard."
“Now de Treville will throw him out,” Porthos answered with a laugh.
At that moment, La Chesnaye, the King's secretary, appeared in the reception room, entering de Tr;ville's office without knocking or asking permission, of course. He must have said something, because we heard de Tr;ville exclaim, "What?! It can't be?! What are you saying! I'll deal with this immediately!"
The door opened, La Chesnaye left, and after him de Treville himself appeared from the door, looked around at those waiting, noticed me and Porthos, and said:
- Aramis, Porthos and Athos, come in immediately!
Since Athos was not with us, Porthos and I entered de Treville's office alone.
At first, de Treville didn't even notice that Athos was gone, as he didn't even bother to look at us. It was clear he was visibly nervous.
Meanwhile, the young Gascon apparently didn't realize that de Treville had more pressing matters to attend to than his conversation. Instead of leaving, he calmly sat down in one of the armchairs, as if the conversation de Treville and I were about to have was a spectacle orchestrated especially for him. De Treville, meanwhile, was so agitated that he completely forgot about the young man and paid him no attention. Porthos and I both made eye contact, indicating the presence of a stranger, but the captain paid us no heed. He launched into his tirade head-on, pouncing on us like a hungry tiger on a piece of meat.
“Well, well, well, gentlemen of the Musketeers! What do I learn about you? Did I know I’d ever live to see such disgrace?!” he exclaimed, theatrically throwing up his hands. “My glorious Musketeers, it turns out, allow themselves to be rowdy? They get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, belt out obscene songs, and then get arrested by a patrol of the Cardinal’s Guards! They’re wonderful, no doubt about it! Okay, I understand that sometimes one can afford to spend an evening in a seedy tavern! Perhaps I would forgive your drunkenness too. Obscene songs, gentlemen, are only half the trouble. But to allow yourself to be arrested by some Cardinal’s Guards!? How many were there? Don’t answer, I know there were as many of them as you, namely, six.” Six of the Cardinal's guards calmly arrest six of the King's musketeers, like little children, for singin' something indecent! How much wine did you have to drink for six pathetic guards to arrest you like some street drunks? Perhaps I haven't disciplined you enough? I've spoiled you, spoiled you too much! Musketeers rent apartments, sleep on lacy sheets and soft mattresses, drink fruit juice and cakes in the morning, and have turned into pampered young women? How else can you explain six musketeers allowing themselves to be arrested by mere six of the Cardinal's guards? Why are you silent? And here I thought my best musketeers—Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—would never make me blush. And now, look at them! They allow themselves to be arrested and taken away from the tavern like some overly naughty boys!
"But if we were arrested, then why are we free?" I asked.
"And where are those fine fellows who arrested us then?" Porthos continued.
"Wait a minute," de Treville mused. "So you weren't arrested? But where is Athos then? Was he killed? Of course he was, how come I didn't realize it! How did he let himself be killed? And how did you, gentlemen, allow it?"
"We were six against six, that's true," I said. "But we were attacked from behind, without warning, and we realized it was an attack when Athos, de Lorme, and de Chantin received mortal wounds, struck down by treacherous and sudden blows in the back."
"Blows in the back, you say?" de Treville asked anxiously. "Are you saying Athos, de Lorme, and de Chantin were mortally wounded? They were killed?! It can't be!"
"Athos may not be dead," Porthos replied. "But de Lorme and de Chantin are dead, that's certain. The only survivors were Aramis, myself, and du Fierval, who couldn't resist the two guardsmen attacking him from both sides. He was wounded almost immediately, so only the two of us remained."
"That's exactly how it was," I continued. "Porthos and I fought off two men each until those who had attacked du Fierval earlier came to their aid. Forgive me, Captain, but the two of us couldn't handle six."
"Two against six?" de Treville repeated. "Attacked without warning, from behind, you say? What scoundrels! If it was as you say, that changes everything!"
"That's exactly how it was," Porthos replied. "I'm willing to swear on the Bible."
"What started it all, gentlemen?" de Treville asked, his tone much more gentle. "I now know the details of the battle, but I must also know its cause, in order to justify myself to His Majesty."
"We were having a quiet, peaceful dinner of wine, crayfish, and a few other things," I replied. "Porthos picked up one of the crayfish and started playing with it, pretending it was dancing a saraband."
"A saraband, you say?" de Treville asked animatedly. "Boiled lobster? All red? It reminds me of something!"
“It also reminded us of a funny song about how a certain clergyman, who was supposed to wear all red, from head to toe, dressed up in a Venetian jester’s costume and performed a saraband,” I replied.
"A dancing crab! What a clever idea!" exclaimed de Treville with a laugh. "And what next?"
"Our song was probably too loud," I continued. "The six of them arrived to the sound of that singing."
“My voice is sometimes too loud,” Porthos said embarrassedly.
"They asked you to stop singing?" de Treville asked.
“On the contrary, they demanded that we sing the entire song again from beginning to end,” I replied.
"What a strange request!" exclaimed de Treville.
"That's what we thought too," I chimed in. "Athos replied that the King's Musketeers don't sing to order, but only when it strikes their fancy, and now we're both out of sorts and out of voice."
"A fine answer! Well done!" de Treville praised Athos. "Did they really attack you after that? Right in the tavern?"
“They refused to drink to the King’s health,” replied Porthos.
"But they were probably on duty?" asked de Treville.
“But at the same time they offered us to drink to the health of the cardinal,” I added.
"What impudence!" exclaimed de Treville. "To refuse to drink to the King and then immediately offer to drink to the Cardinal – why, that's rebellion!"
"Yes, sir!" I replied. "Now you see what those scoundrels deserved. But Athos said that while we're having dinner now, we can settle our dispute over toasts tomorrow morning." With these words, the guards left the tavern.
"So you parted peacefully?" de Treville clarified. "I don't understand anything! How did this duel come about then?"
“It wasn’t a duel, but a treacherous attack from around the corner, about an hour after this conversation, when we left the tavern and were heading towards Porthos’s house, suspecting nothing and not expecting such a meanness,” I replied.
"The sword that pierced poor de Lorme's chest came out the other way and hit me!" Porthos exclaimed. "When we realized it was an attack and we had to defend ourselves, there were no longer six of us, but only three."
"Enough, gentlemen! I've heard that before!" de Treville interrupted Porthos sharply. "I can't listen any longer to such base treachery, such vileness! I'll report everything to the King immediately! But where is Athos? Was he killed too?"
At that moment, the doors of de Treville's reception room opened and Athos appeared. He was as pale as a sheet, but alive! Porthos and I were stunned.
"Athos! Are you alive?" exclaimed de Treville.
"I apologize for being late, Captain," Athos said in a level voice, and only those who knew him, like Porthos and me, could tell from the timbre of his voice how weak Athos was. "I am ready to carry out any of your orders."
"Your hand, our glorious Athos!" exclaimed de Treville and rushed to embrace Athos.
In doing so, he accidentally touched Athos's wound, who turned even paler, involuntarily screamed, and would have fallen to the floor if Porthos had not caught him.
"What's wrong with him?!" exclaimed de Treville. "A doctor! A doctor immediately!"
I jumped out of the door and told the secretary to call a doctor immediately.
The doctor ordered Athos transferred to the sofa in de Tr;ville's sitting room, adjacent to his office, where he attended to Athos. Porthos and I left the office to discuss the situation. I expected the young Gascon to leave with us, but he remained in de Tr;ville's office as if nothing had happened. This alarmed me.
"Have you noticed that young Gascon?" I asked Porthos. "He's been listening to our conversation this whole time."
"If this is the Cardinal's spy, I will strangle him with one hand!" Porthos exclaimed passionately.
"We need to find out everything first," I replied. "We'll test it, and then we'll see what kind of bird it is. In the meantime, just be careful with it, and if possible, don't talk about anything."
After a while, Athos emerged from the door of de Treville's reception room. He looked much better, and Porthos and I were so pleased that we had already forgotten about the young Gascon.
"Do you need any help?" I asked Athos.
"Everything is in order," he replied. "De Treville has given us two days' leave, but we must remain nearby, as he may need us to confirm your story to the King. Do you know what happened to du Fierval? I don't see him anywhere. Perhaps the scoundrels killed him?"
“I haven’t heard anything about him either,” I replied. “Let’s try to find out his fate.”
After that, we split up to ask the other musketeers if they had seen Fjerval.
I was just talking with two of my comrades and felt a burning sensation. Perhaps the excitement of the day had gotten to me. I decided to wipe the sweat from my face and pulled my handkerchief from my pocket, completely forgetting that in the same pocket I also held Camille de Bois-Tracy's handkerchief. She had given it to me to use as a password when meeting Buckingham, who had been instructed not to trust anyone who did not have a similar handkerchief. The fact is, Camille sometimes assisted her cousin Maria in her intrigues, but she did so very cautiously, rarely, and reluctantly. Maria, however, was afraid to use her handkerchief as a password, since it had already figured in a similar case, as I described above.
I only realized I'd dropped the handkerchief after it had landed on the pavement. I didn't dare pick up such a conspicuous object in front of my companions, so I stepped on it with my foot to keep it from being blown away by the wind and to avoid attracting their attention, but its edges stuck out from under my foot.
My interlocutors did not pay any attention to this handkerchief, or pretended not to notice anything, but then, as luck would have it, that same young Gascon appeared.
He approached me and addressed me in the most insolent manner, despite the fact that we had not been introduced to each other.
"Sir, you dropped your handkerchief!" he said, pointing to the handkerchief under my foot.
“You are mistaken, sir,” I replied. “I have my handkerchief with me, so go your way.”
"Wait a minute!" said one of my interlocutors, de Juardo, literally yanking the handkerchief from under my foot and lifting it up. "But he's right! It really is a handkerchief! And if it's not yours, then whose is it? Why, there's a coat of arms here, a crown and the letters 'K.B.'! I think I know whose it is! After all, it's the coat of arms of Camille de Bois-Tracy!"
“In that case, he fell out of the carriage in which she apparently passed here,” I said.
“Well, I’ll give it to her husband, with whom we are on friendly terms,” replied de Juardo.
" No need," I replied. "I can hand it over to Madame de Bois-Tracy's husband myself, since I am also on friendly terms with him."
"But why you and not me?" asked de Juardo.
“But why not me, but you?” I asked in response.
"Monsieur Aramis is right!" the young Gascon intervened. "He has the right to return the handkerchief, since it was he who dropped it."
My interlocutors burst out laughing, and I felt a strong desire to stab him right there.
"Young man," I said as gently as I could, "go your way and don't interfere in the musketeers' conversations. And especially refrain from asserting anything you don't know for sure."
"Do you think I'm lying?" the young man flared up. "How can you say you didn't drop the handkerchief when I saw you drop it?"
At this point, a wave of anger rose within me even stronger. I recalled how, because of a similar scarf belonging to Maria, I had almost gotten myself into trouble. I also recalled that the man who had shown such an extraordinary interest in my scarf was a spy for the cardinal.
"Well, that's great!" I thought. "Now we've found out who you really are!"
"Sir!" I said. "Go your own way and see that it does not cross mine!"
De Juardo realized that a challenge to a duel might now be taking place, so he touched the sleeve of our third interlocutor, it seemed it was de Bezmo, and nodded his head to the side, suggesting that he end the conversation.
"I completely forgot, we're in a hurry!" exclaimed de Bezmo.
After this, my two interlocutors, de Bezmo and de Juardo, left us, leaving me and the young Gascon to finish our explanations.
"So, sir, you consider it permissible to pry into other people's affairs so deeply as to inquire into the contents of a stranger's pockets?" I said, trying to remain calm.
“I only wanted to suggest to you that you must have accidentally dropped a handkerchief, the loss of which you would probably have greatly regretted later,” replied the young Gascon with the most innocent air.
It seemed to me that after the phrase about the nose not a single Gascon would have remained silent, and our duel was already a foregone conclusion, but this young man seemed to be able to control himself, which convinced me even more that he was the cardinal’s spy.
"Did you know that if a musketeer decides to drop his handkerchief and step on it, no one in the whole world can stop him from doing so?" I asked.
"If your plans regarding this handkerchief were exactly as you say, I regret having interrupted them," the Gascon replied. "You are free to drop this handkerchief again and step on it. Rest assured, I will not interfere."
"Are you kidding me?" I cried. "If you haven't the wit to realize that Paris isn't paved with cambric handkerchiefs, and that if one of them happens to be lying under the foot of the king's musketeer, it's no accident, and therefore it's bound to remain there until the right time comes to pick it up, then you shouldn't have come to Paris at all."
"Perhaps I will leave Paris, but not until we have finished with you," the Gascon replied boldly. "You are probably in a hurry to return the handkerchief to its owner, but I hope that tomorrow at two o'clock in the afternoon, behind the Luxembourg Palace, we can discuss all the subtleties of your views on what a Gascon should and should not do in Paris."
I must say, I liked his answer, and he chose the place very sensibly.
"Why behind the Luxembourg Palace?" I asked. "Does this place look familiar to you?"
"Not at all!" replied the young Gascon. "I only know that conversations of the kind we are about to have are best conducted there."
After these words, he turned sharply on his heels and walked in the direction opposite de Treville's house, looking as if he had just shot a squirrel in the eye with a musket from a distance of one hundred and fifty paces.

Chapter 43

In the evening Athos asked me to be his second at a duel, which he had appointed for twelve o'clock the following day.
"Athos! You're wounded, and the wound is far from healed!" I objected.
"Yes, my friend, that's true, but a duel was inevitable, and my opponent isn't one who requires much force," Athos replied. "However, I don't plan to kill him. I simply want to inflict on him the exact same wound I received yesterday, so that he'll learn that a man with such a wound shouldn't be pushed in the shoulder."
"Exactly like this?" I was surprised. "But you were attacked from behind!"
"It would truly be a shame if he showed me his back," Athos agreed. "But from what I can see, the boy isn't the cowardly type, so I'll content myself with inflicting a similar wound on his front. I'll be careful not to hit any vital organs. So, is that okay?"
"Of course, Athos!" I replied. "I agree in any case, but I regret that you will have to fight without having properly recovered from yesterday's wound."
"It's nothing," Athos replied. "I can handle it."
We all knew that if Athos had decided on something, there was no use in trying to dissuade him, and if he had promised something, it would happen.
Porthos was the second. We agreed to meet at the designated place for the duel, that is, at the Dechaux monastery.
When I arrived at the meeting place, Athos and Porthos were already there, and next to them stood a tall young man whom I recognized even before he turned and showed his face. It was the same young Gascon with whom I had scheduled a duel for two hours.
"What a story!" I exclaimed. "And you, young man, haven't wasted any time! It seems you've managed to quarrel not only with me, but with Athos as well?"
“And the same with me,” added Porthos.
“Yes, but with you, Monsieur Porthos, we will discuss this only at one o’clock, and with you, Monsieur Aramis, at two o’clock, so the present time belongs entirely to Monsieur Athos,” replied the Gascon.
"We all know the reasons for the duel with Athos, but what did you do to displease the good-natured Porthos?" I asked.
“It would take a long time to explain,” Porthos replied.
“We didn’t agree on clothes,” replied the young Gascon.
"And you, Aramis, why are you fighting him?" Porthos asked in turn.
“We had a disagreement over the interpretation of a text from the scripture,” I replied.
“Yes, yes, we argued about one passage in Saint Augustine,” the Gascon replied.
Everyone knows that Saint Augustine was a prodigal in his youth, so the impudent fellow dared to hint at my relationship with the fair sex. I think I even blushed slightly in surprise, and Athos chuckled and looked at the young man with approval, while Porthos understood nothing at all.
I was filled with vexation, for if Athos wounded the boy as he had been wounded, then a fight with him would not be a duel, but simple murder. Besides, he still had to fight Porthos, who would finish him off even if he were unwounded. I decided that if the boy were wounded, we would postpone the duel until he had fully recovered. Although I believed him to be the Cardinal's spy and longed to dispose of him once and for all, a nobleman should not kill an unarmed nobleman, and wounded as Athos was, he would be utterly helpless. Having made this decision, I was completely at peace with him.
"Gentlemen Porthos and Aramis," said the Gascon, "I beg your pardon most humbly..."
"Ugh! What a wimp!" Porthos exclaimed.
"Yeah, it was worth coming here to hear something like that!" I supported Porthos.
"Gentlemen, please do not interrupt me!" the young man objected, drawing himself up proudly. "I have not finished yet! I ask your forgiveness only for the fact that, should Monsieur Athos have the good fortune to kill me, my obligations to you regarding the debt of honor will not be fulfilled. In this case, Monsieur Aramis, your chances of receiving satisfaction from me will be reduced to almost nothing. I asked your forgiveness only for this. And now that all is said, let us begin!"
With these words he threw off his hat, drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance.
"Athos, leave me a piece of this braggart!" exclaimed Porthos. "I, in turn, promise to leave something of him for Aramis."
"So, gentlemen, are we going to take turns killing this brat, almost a child?" asked Athos. "Are you really going to fight a wounded man, Porthos?"
"I was joking," said Porthos. "I'm sure my chances of a duel are zero, since I'll have to fight what's left of him after Athos has given him a good beating."
"Should we draw lots?" I asked. "Any one of us can kill him, no doubt about it, so why should we line up in a line where only one can win the prize?"
"No, gentlemen, we will not break the rules of dueling," Athos replied. "I challenged him first; our meeting was scheduled for twelve, and it is now ten minutes past twelve. To battle!"
And he drew his sword. I could see that even this simple movement caused him great pain.
At that moment, Porthos and I saw a small detachment of the Cardinal's guards, consisting of five men, including their commander, de Jussac, appear from around the corner.
"Swords in their sheaths, gentlemen!" I exclaimed.
"The Cardinal's Guards!" Porthos exclaimed almost simultaneously with me.
But we were too late, since de Jussac had already noticed that Athos and the young Gascon had taken up positions for a duel.
"Gentlemen Musketeers, you are under arrest for violating the royal edict!" exclaimed de Jussac. "Be so kind as to give us your swords!"
"That damn Gascon!" I thought. "That sly fellow warned the Cardinal's guards to come and stop this duel! Now I understand why he started this conversation with his apologies for the fact that Porthos and I wouldn't get to fight him. He was simply stalling for time, since the Cardinal's guards were a bit late! He tricked us!"
Apparently, Porthos thought the same thing, because his face, full of anger, was not looking at the guards, but at the young Gascon.
"There are five of them, and only three of us," Athos remarked quietly. "We will be defeated, but we have no other choice. I would rather be killed than be seen by de Treville after allowing myself to be arrested."
"What are you planning, gentlemen?" asked de Jussac. "You seem to be conferring? Are you really planning to resist and disobey our legal demands?"
"You are mistaken, gentlemen!" exclaimed the young Gascon. "There are four of us!"
"What?" Porthos was surprised. "You? A boy! Are you comparing yourself to seasoned musketeers?"
"Young man, you may leave," said de Jussac. "You are no musketeer, and these three men have certainly provoked you to come here with a sword for a duel. It's quite clear you didn't do it of your own free will, so be glad you weren't killed this time, get out of here, and don't interfere in the affairs of experienced soldiers."
"Now everything's clear," I thought sadly. "The provocateur has done his job, the provocateur can go, and we, like stupid mice, have fallen into a treacherous mousetrap!"
"Gentlemen, I am with you!" the Gascon exclaimed, looking pointedly at Athos, intuitively sensing a leader in him.
“Young man, your help will only make our situation worse,” he replied sadly.
“There are only three of us, one of whom is seriously wounded, and a young man, almost a boy, but they will say that there were four of us,” I said.
"But retreat? No, it's impossible!" Porthos exclaimed.
"Give up your arms, gentlemen!" de Jussac persisted. "Don't make your guilt worse by disobedience."
We would probably still have hesitated, but the young Gascon resolved all doubts with his desperate act.
"You insolent gentleman!" he addressed de Jussac directly. "How dare you speak in such a tone to His Majesty's musketeers?! I have the honor of attacking you immediately!"
With these words he drew his sword and sprang towards de Jussac with the most warlike air, so that his intention to fight to the death left no doubt.
"You brat!" cried de Jussac. "Just you wait! I'll teach you a lesson! Grab these three, and I'll deal with this brat!"
At his signal, four guardsmen rushed into battle with us, while de Jussac himself pointed his sword at the young Gascon and made the first lunge quite seriously, fully intending to finish the insolent fellow with a single blow. But it was not to be. The young Gascon deftly dodged his sword, feinted, then leaped to the right, lunged again, and then shifted to the left. I did not see the rest of their battle, as four guardsmen advanced on the three of us. Porthos and I tried to draw the three of them away from us , so that the wounded Athos would have a better time.
I knew all these guardsmen by name. Lenois and Zidi were advancing on me, Porthos had Bicarat, and Athos had Cahuzac. Fortunately, I managed to deal with Lenois fairly quickly, but Bicarat managed to wound Porthos, but Athos was faring the worst, still recovering from a serious wound. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jussac fall as if mown down. The spry Gascon had struck down one of the Cardinal's best swordsmen. He didn't hesitate, seeing how difficult Athos was going, and immediately came to his aid. A short time later, Cahuzac was killed by a blow from Athos, who found the strength to strike, and then nearly fell to the ground himself. I knocked Zidi's sword out of his hands and offered him a chance to surrender. Only Bicarat remained, who had firmly decided to die rather than surrender, despite the fact that there were already four of us against him, although Athos and now Porthos were wounded, while de Jussac presented a pitiful sight, so serious was his wound.
“Surrender, Bikara, I order you,” de Jussac croaked and lost consciousness.
After this, Bikara broke his sword.
In this battle we took four swords and left the battlefield as victors, leaving Bikar and Zidi to care for their wounded and dead.
"What is your name, young man?" I asked. "I think I heard your name in de Treville's reception room, but I didn't remember it."
"My name is Charles d'Artagnan," the Gascon replied proudly. "If you forget it again, don't hesitate to ask, I'll remind you."
“No, now I’ll remember it,” I replied.
"Why didn't you want to save yourself, Charles d'Artagnan?" asked Athos.
"Such an act never even entered my head!" exclaimed the Gascon. "Could I have abandoned the King's musketeers in trouble?"
"So, for you, 'Musketeers' is far from an empty phrase?" Porthos asked in a condescending tone.
"For me, this is everything!" the Gascon exclaimed passionately. "My father was a musketeer, and I will definitely be one myself! In my heart, if you must know, I've long been a musketeer!"
"Well then!" exclaimed Athos. "Good luck! Today you have saved at least one musketeer from death, and I am in your debt. Your hand, Charles d'Artagnan!"
“Your hand!” I repeated and shook d’Artagnan’s hand after Athos.
"Your hand!" exclaimed Porthos, extending his broad palm for a handshake.
"Be careful, Porthos!" I cried. "Remember, it's only a man's hand, not a bear's paw! Don't hurt our new friend!"
Hearing the words "to our new friend," d'Artagnan shuddered, looked at me with gratitude and shook all of our hands heartily, after which we embraced, being careful not to disturb the wounds of Athos and Porthos.
Thus our inseparable foursome was born: Athos, Porthos, me and d'Artagnan.

Chapter 44

Then came the events which Grimaud, in the name of Athos, described in his memoirs, entitled “Memoirs of the Count de La F;re on some events that took place in France towards the end of the reign of King Louis XIII and at the beginning of the reign of King Louis XIV.”
Perhaps, in relation to the events that are already described there, I will only add what he did not describe.
D'Artagnan settled into the house of Bonacieux, the grocer, on my recommendation, as Marie had asked me to find a lodger from among the Musketeers. Although d'Artagnan was not yet a Musketeer, he met all other requirements Marie sought, for she needed a brave warrior capable of protecting Constance from persecution by the Cardinal's spies. I did not inform d'Artagnan of the particularities of the lady of the apartment that I knew, as such was Marie's condition. I assumed d'Artagnan would sort out these problems himself, and so it turned out. However, if he had not fallen in love with Constance and immersed himself in her problems as if they were his own, it is unlikely that we would have traveled to England to deliver the Queen's diamond pendants, which she had so rashly given to Buckingham, without even considering that she did not have enough similar diamonds to conceal the loss. However, only one of us made it to England.
Doesn't it seem strange to you that the Queen, upon learning that Richelieu had found out about the transfer of the pendants to Buckingham, was mortally frightened, especially after the King had appointed a ball at which he asked the Queen to wear these pendants?
I was surprised by this myself. Indeed, it's worth remembering that the Queen's jewels were kept by Messieurs de Chevreuse. So, had the Queen declared she didn't know where the ill-fated pendants had disappeared to, the question would have been redirected to Marie, who would hardly have been able to deflect suspicion by claiming the Queen herself had given the pendants to Buckingham. Firstly, the King and the Cardinal were already very hostile to Marie at this time and would have been only too happy to blame the Duchess for the loss. Secondly, whom should the King have believed—his own wife, the Queen of France, or some duchess? Thirdly, it was known that Chevrette had traveled to England, so even if it had been revealed that Buckingham had the pendants, it would only have heightened suspicions against Marie de Chevreuse and further cleared the Queen of suspicion. Fourthly, it was believed that Buckingham had not secretly visited Paris, so the Queen would have had no opportunity to give the pendants to the Duke. Therefore, in response to the question, "Where did the twelve diamond pendants go?" she could have replied, "Ask the keeper of my jewels; she should know." Whatever Mary said in this case, no one would have believed her if the Queen insisted that she had nothing to do with the disappearance of the pendants.
The explanation for this strange, self-sacrificing behavior on the part of the Queen, who was generally inclined to self-sacrifice, lies in the fact that there were motives or springs behind these events, of which Athos was far from fully aware, and Grimaud even less so. Indeed, retrieving the diamonds was not so much in the Queen's interests as in those of the Duchess. For this very reason, I didn't explain to my friends that we were setting out not to rescue the Queen, but to rescue the Duchess de Chevreuse, who, incidentally, was already officially in England at the time, and only a few of her friends and a few of her many enemies knew that she was secretly in Paris. The point was that the Queen had long been too close to Marie, and for this reason, out of excessive trust, she had confided in her too many of her own secrets and mysteries, which allowed Marie to keep her on the hook without even declaring the possibility of blackmail. The Queen understood that it was better to save Chevrette than to use her for her own salvation, meaning to get away with slandering her former friend. Anne of Austria was restrained in this regard not by moral principles, but by fear of exposure. Mary could expose Anne to the King, which would inevitably lead to divorce. In this situation, the Queen would have been better off taking the blame than making such an enemy as the Duchess de Chevreuse. Better still, it would have been better to justify herself, that is, to return the pendants. However, I am convinced that if the Queen had been faced with divorce due to the lack of pendants, she would have preferred to shift the blame to the Duchess, come what may, rather than admit to giving them to Buckingham, since the King would then have regarded such a gift as a pledge of love, which it certainly was. No revelations by Mary would have made the situation worse. My friends didn't delve into all these subtleties, and if anyone had opened their eyes to Maria's character, it certainly wasn't me. I saw that Athos had become sentimental in his old age, and I didn't want to be the one to hurt him by exposing the character of the Duchess de Chevreuse and her pragmatic and mercantile approach to any relationship, even the most friendly, as she called them. It seems to me that Chevrette didn't understand the meaning of friendship and love, since her main trait was extreme egotism. However, she occasionally showed flashes of noble aspirations, as a result of which she could be considered one of the most noble and selfless ladies of the court.
Yes, I must admit, during these events, I had a much more positive attitude toward Maria, and weeks later. Athos, however, didn't know her at the time of the events with the pendants, but at the time when he was perhaps recounting these events to Raoul, and Grimaud was writing his memoirs in his name, Athos's attitude toward Maria was far too biased; I would even have supposed he loved her, if I could have conceived of Athos's ability to love a woman again. And in any case, Athos was grateful to Maria for the birth of their son, Raoul, Vicomte de Bragelonne.
Readers have already encountered the name de Bragelonne in these pages, where I reported on the transfer of the bishopric of Lusson from Armand de Richelieu when he became cardinal. We will encounter this name again later.
Regarding these memoirs, supposedly by Athos, but actually by Grimaud, I must also point out the following. The memoirs are divided into three separate books, one of which is subtitled "The Three Musketeers." This would suggest that Athos wasn't writing d'Artagnan's story, but the story of the three of us—his own, Porthos's, and mine. But reading this book reveals that it's more of a description of d'Artagnan's adventures than ours, or at least that he's the main character. For this reason, I believe the title of this part of his memoirs doesn't do justice to its content. The second book of his memoirs is called "Twenty Years Later." The author omitted twenty years of our lives from his account. In doing so, he sought to further separate us, the three musketeers, from his own life, concentrating his account on d'Artagnan's. The author decided to exclude the twenty years during which Athos raised and educated Raoul from his memoirs. But too much happened during that period to ignore them. Furthermore, the author did not explain Athos's motives for participating in the Fronde movement at all, while devoting considerable attention to d'Artagnan's motives. Finally, the third book of his memoirs, which he titled "Ten Years Later, or the Vicomte de Bragelonne," is the most surprising. After all, in this book of memoirs, the author—if it were Athos—managed to describe his own death, as well as the events that occurred after it. I will reveal the secret of this book here, on these pages. The fact is that the events described by the author differ somewhat from the truth, and it is possible that he did this deliberately, hoping that this book would one day be read by descendants who will not know everything that the four of us know. Namely, they must not know that for a time, and not just for one night and one day, the throne of France was occupied not by Louis IV at all , but by his twin brother Louis-Philippe, whom it was not I who placed on that throne, but our friend d'Artagnan. Athos's account deviates significantly from the truth, beginning with the part where he describes how the King was kidnapped, why d'Artagnan guessed my plan and realized that it had been realized, by what means and why he returned the King to his place, and, finally, why, after some time, Louis returned to his throne, while his twin brother Louis-Philippe was removed from the throne. He also did not describe where exactly Louis-Philippe was removed. I have tried to describe all this in the same style in which the author of the aforementioned trilogy described our adventures, and these descriptions are appended here, they are filed with my memoirs at the very beginning. I titled them "D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask, or Two Years Later." Together with Grimaud's memoirs, which, as I've already said, are called "Memoirs of the Count de la F;re on Certain Events that Occurred in France toward the End of the Reign of King Louis XIII and the Beginning of the Reign of King Louis XIV," these manuscripts constitute a fairly detailed and precise account of the events I will no longer describe. In the following chapters, I will describe only what happened after the events described by Grimaud in the first book, before the events he describes in the second book, and, of course, I will also write about what happened after the events with which my appendices end.
At the present time I have time to think through and describe in detail everything that I would like to describe, and, as I have already said, to free my memory from these recollections, or from the unpleasant part of them, since I still have much to remember in connection with the high office of pontiff in which I found myself by the will of God and to some extent by my own efforts.
I'll have plenty to say without interfering with Grimaud's descriptions. Even in places where I find significant deviations from the truth, I won't be overly intrusive with my corrections.
I will only sketch the general picture. As I have already said, the Duchess de Chevreuse played a much more significant role in all the events than one might think from reading Grimaud's memoirs. She, as I have already said, was not as categorically hostile to Cardinal Richelieu as it appeared outwardly, and it was precisely for this reason that the Cardinal always sought her forgiveness, which allowed her to long outlive him and remain first at the court of Louis XIII , then at the court of Louis XIV , who allocated her special rooms in the Louvre so that she could reside near the King and attend all the most important court events, although she also had her own palace, for which she always managed to find the money to maintain. Louis XIV , it must be said, had much to thank her for, and Louis XIII tolerated her as a friend and companion of his own wife, Queen Anne, and, moreover, retained remnants of tender feelings for her from the time when she was still the Duchess of Luynes, one of that merry foursome that included her husband, the King, and the Queen. Cardinal Richelieu was convinced that if the worst was about to happen to him, the Duchess would warn him and prevent it. And so it was, so the uninitiated thought that God himself protected the cardinal from all conspiracies. It wasn't God, it was his informants, among whom the Duchess of Chevreuse occupied third place, since I undoubtedly give first place to the Queen, and second to the King's brother, Monsieur, Duke Gaston of Orleans. They all eagerly entered into all sorts of conspiracies against Richelieu, but when the final, decisive step lay ahead, they preferred to secure his forgiveness and support by revealing all the secrets of the plot to him rather than risk going through with it. A particularly notable incident occurred when the cardinal inadvertently arrived in the midst of the conspirators who had already conspired to assassinate him. Gaston only needed to give the signal for the cardinal to be killed. But he did not give this signal, later explaining that he was under some kind of hypnotic influence, experiencing an animal-like terror and paralysis. In reality, of course, he simply did not dare go through with the matter, realizing that the cardinal's murder would not be the end of it; only one of two things could happen after that. It was also possible that King Louis would also be overthrown, which would not necessarily result in Gaston ascending to the throne, as there were also the Prince of Cond; and other claimants. Although the prince had fewer rights, he was more decisive and likely could have gathered more supporters. Had the King not been overthrown, he would certainly have launched an investigation, in which case Gaston's guilt would have been impossible to conceal, and there would have been no one to intercede for him, since Richelieu always defended the Queen and Monsieur so decisively that the King merely shrugged and deferred to the prime minister in everything.
Athos showed unconditional trust in all royal personages; he idolized the King, the Queen, and Monsieur, at least until Louis XIV committed the act that forced Athos to rethink his priorities. Indeed, everyone knew how easily the Kings of France took mistresses from among young women, married women, and, especially, from among their wives' maids of honor. Therefore, when Louise de La Valli;re received the position of maid of honor to Madame—that is, Princess Henrietta, wife of Gaston d'Orl;ans—he must have understood that she had joined the ranks of those ladies who become mistresses to the King or Prince. Athos, however, refused to understand this and continued to regard his son Raoul's love for Louise as something significant, something the King, in his opinion, should have taken into account. He was, of course, sorely mistaken. The King treated Louise with great delicacy, and he could have treated her as he had treated many other favorites. He even legitimized their children. But Athos saw this only as an insult to his son's honor, and therefore to his own, paying no attention to the fact that the main culprit of what happened was Louise de La Valli;re herself, her choice, her infatuation, or even her love. Had Louise not felt the feelings she did for the King—which, I believe, were sincere, which doesn't change the matter—the King would not have made her his mistress and mother of his children. Nothing would have happened. So, as I have already said, don't expect an objective assessment of the actions and motives of Raoul, Louise, the Duchess de Chevreuse, Queen Anne, King Louis XIV , and some other participants in those events, which Athos's servant, Grimaud, tried to recount objectively, but in several cases suffered a complete fiasco. Also, don't expect the description of Athos's death in "The Memoirs of the Comte de la F;re" to have even the slightest connection to reality. In the final part of his third book, the author created a myth about the events of those years; he described not what actually happened, but what he wanted people to believe. He wanted to describe Athos's death from grief, and he described it in the most vivid colors.
In the next chapter, I intend to skip over the events connected with the return of the twelve diamond pendants from England to Paris, which have already been described at too great a rate in Grimaud's memoirs. I also do not wish to disturb my memory by describing the struggle with Milady, whom, as I have said, I first knew under the name of the Marquise de Brinvilliers, and whom I first saw at the very moment she shot me in the chest. She is responsible for many murders, including that of her husband, the Marquis de Brinvilliers. She also killed her own maid only so that everyone would think she was dead and, believing her dead, would not search for her. She took up with the Comte de Rochefort in order to aid Richelieu and harm us, which, of course, I would not hold against her, but she made several attempts to kill all four of us, as well as d'Artagnan alone. She is guilty of Buckingham's death, as well as the death of Felton, whom she seduced. She poisoned the innocent Constance Bonacieux. In short, Hell awaited this woman long ago, and I don't regret sending her there at all. Her son was just as evil and treacherous as she was, so I deeply regret that my friends prevented me from shooting him when I had such a wonderful opportunity. He is guilty of the deaths of his uncle, Lord Winter, and many other honest and decent people, but if I had shot him, he would have had fewer deaths on his conscience, and these people might have served their country faithfully and truly. All this has already been described by old Grimaud, and I don't intend to repeat it, but a few things will need to be clarified. So, I will begin the next chapter, as I promised, from the moment of our separation after the siege of La Rochelle.
Without returning to this topic, I will simply say that Richelieu needed to besiege this fortress to end the country's disunity and destroy the last Huguenot stronghold within France. The inhabitants of La Rochelle intended to unite with England against France, the King, and the Cardinal. Richelieu constructed a crescent-shaped dike, preventing English ships from approaching La Rochelle and offering them assistance. He even sacrificed many ships for this purpose, although not all of them were of any value. Most were already quite dilapidated and outdated, so the idea of scuttling them and covering them with earth was not a bad one. It allowed him to leave the city without naval support, resulting in La Rochelle's surrender. Our good King Louis XIII was not as kind to the citizens of the fallen city as his father, King Henry IV, was to the Parisians. Let me remind you that when Henry IV was informed that Paris would soon fall because the Parisians had nothing to eat, he became indignant and declared that he did not want to conquer the capital of his state with such cruelty that he could lose a significant portion of its population. He ordered that carts with food from the countryside be allowed into Paris. Louis XIII , unlike Henry IV , not only refused to allow any food supplies into the besieged fortress of La Rochelle, but also showed great cruelty towards the inhabitants of the defeated fortress city, ordering no aid to be given to the wounded and even enjoying the sight of dying, hungry and wounded inhabitants, mimicking their agonized groans with his disgusting grimaces, finding it amusing. This alone gave substantial support to rumors that he was not the son of the glorious Henry IV at all , but that Marie de' Medici had borne him to one of her lovers. Since I know the name of this lover for certain, I am ready to confirm the validity of this opinion. Well, here I conclude my description of the events that preceded the meeting of our brave four and the musketeers, and I write at the end:

The End of Book One

Afterword to the first book

The second book tells about the events between the novels "The Three Musketeers" and "Twenty Years Later".
In it, you'll also meet Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan, as well as Cardinal Richelieu, King Louis XIII, Queen Anne of Austria, the Duchess of Chevreuse, and the Duc de Rochefort. You'll also learn Milady's story before she met the Comte de la F;re.
You can also find both books on the author's page on the Proza.Ru website.
http://proza.ru/avtor/vadimzhmud
There you will also find both books of the novel "D'Artagnan and the Iron Mask, or Two More Years Later"