Memoirs of Aramis, Book 5

The Memoirs of Aramis, Book 5

Annotation

The fifth book of the fan fiction "The Memoirs of Aramis" tells about the events that took place between the end of Alexandre Dumas's novel "Twenty Years Later" and the beginning of the novel "The Vicomte de Bragelonne, or Ten Years Later."
But the memoir genre has its own rules. Aramis is familiar with the trilogy "The Three Musketeers," "Twenty Years After," and "The Vicomte de Bragelonne, or Ten Years Later." Dumas himself, in the preface to the first novel of the trilogy, points out that these are simply slightly edited memoirs of the Comte de la F;re, or Athos.
Having accepted the theory that this trilogy (according to Dumas) already existed during Athos's lifetime, we should be surprised that it even describes Athos's death and some of what happened later. We still don't argue with the great novelist and agree with his assumption that such a book did exist at that time. But in that case, having analyzed many passages in the book, we, like our hero Aramis, have come to the conclusion that this could only have happened if such a trilogy had been written by someone who was closely acquainted with all the characters and was at the center of the events, but this could not have been any of the musketeers.
Aramis suggests that Athos's servant, Grimaud, wrote the trilogy because Athos forbade him to speak. However, in his old age, Grimaud was not burdened with great responsibilities, living at the Ch;teau de Bragelonne, where he had an extensive library. He read contemporary books and eventually decided to write his own book, describing the adventures of the Musketeers but embellishing it with some fantastical episodes for greater appeal.
So, Aramis, having the trilogy at his disposal and calling it Grimaud's memoirs, decided to write his own. For this reason, he refrained from recounting the events already fairly accurately depicted in Grimaud's trilogy. However, noticing obvious errors and contradictions, he did not fail to point them out and present his own version of events.

The first book described events that took place before d'Artagnan's arrival in Paris . The second book is connected in time to the events of The Three Musketeers. The third book recounts the events between those described in that novel and those described in Twenty Years Later. The fourth book offers a parallel perspective, differing in many details from Twenty Years Later. Finally, the fifth book begins with the heroes, having received their desired rewards, departing for their homes. Porthos became Baron du Valon, Athos received the Order of the Holy Spirit from King Charles, and then its French equivalent from Queen Anne at the suggestion of Cardinal Mazarin, d'Artagnan received a patent as captain of the king's musketeers, and only Aramis asked for nothing for himself, but negotiated privileges for his beloved, the Duchess de Longueville, as well as for her son, Charles-Paris, who had just been born. Isn't Aramis the father of this royal child?
The book begins with Chapter 175. The first wave of the Fronde had subsided, but Mazarin had not yet firmly established himself in power. D'Artagnan, however, chose the Cardinal as his lord, master, boss, employer, and benefactor.
Chapters 1–44 can be found in the first book, chapters 45–92 in the second book, chapters 93–133 in the third book, and chapters 134–174 in the fourth book.
Enjoy reading!

Chapter 175

The treaty that Mazarin concluded with the leaders of the Fronde was fragile.
He was far from able to fulfill all the promises he made.
Perhaps in that case one should not promise the unattainable?
Nonsense!
How often do the fates of states depend on the choice of certain princes or human communities, and this choice depends not at all on what each contender can actually deliver, but only on what each contender promises! And it doesn't matter whether they subsequently kept their promise or not. When a choice is made, promises matter. And when it becomes clear that promises are being broken, no one can reverse their choice. Everyone who wins and no one who loses knows this. Therefore, those who make only promises they can actually keep lose. Honest people have no place in politics. Mazarin was a true politician, so he had enough courage, wisdom, or impudence—call it what you will—to promise not only what was within his power, but also what was completely beyond his control. And once he began breaking his promises, he could also disown those he could have kept but didn't want to because he changed his mind. This is what all true politicians do.
If Mazarin had been able to calculate in advance the damage that would result from commanders like the Prince de Cond; and the Vicomte de Turenne becoming Frondeurs as a result of broken promises, perhaps he would have strained himself and accomplished a little more than he had allowed himself to. But the rule: "If he had been a little more honest, everything would have been much better" also applies to any politician. Or almost any. You ask, what does the Prince of Cond; have to do with this? Of course he did! After all, if you bestow generosity on those who fought against you, you cannot neglect those who fought on your side! Otherwise, the injustice would be too obvious! Surely Mazarin could not have bribed the Fronde leaders without offering anything to the victors who made this bribery possible! After all, if the defeat at Charenton had not occurred, the Fronde leaders would not have been so accommodating!
So, no one expected the betrayals of the Prince of Cond; and the Viscount de Turenne; they were another blow not only to Mazarin, but also, of course, to the Queen.
Turenne sided with his brother Bouillon not only out of solidarity with him, but also because he believed the army's irregular supply of funds was solely due to Mazarin pocketing all the money for himself. This legend, spread by Spanish agents, certainly had some basis, but the cardinal's mercantilism in the Mazarinades was exaggerated to completely unrealistic proportions. However, these satirical pamphlets in verse did their job. Furthermore, Mazarin had promised him the governorship of Alsace, but he had not kept his promise. The Queen would have preferred a Catholic to hold such a key post, and Turenne was a Protestant. Remembering that the Queen's father-in-law, Henry IV, had converted to Catholicism in order to conquer Paris, for, as he said, "Paris is worth a Mass," Anne of Austria was convinced that the Viscount de Turenne might also take a similar step. But Turenne was a man of an entirely different cast. Unlike Henry IV , who had to repeatedly convert from one religion to another and who generally had no attachments, including attachments to women, Turenne was more likely to betray the Queen than his God. He did not agree that since God is one, it doesn't matter how you serve Him or which path you take to reach Him. But what was important and dangerous was that Turenne was the official commander of the royal army, meaning he was essentially trying to turn the Queen's own army against her. Perhaps his decision was influenced by the mood of his officers, who were primarily German mercenaries. Turenne joined the Spanish troops that left the Spanish Netherlands and intended to invade France.
Spain intended to regain Catalonia, Arras, Dunkirk, and only then begin negotiations.
The Queen's formerly beloved brother, His Catholic Majesty Philip IV, was confident of victory and even hoped that his beloved sister would be deposed. He wrote: "If the Queen, my august sister, is forced to leave France with her son, I demand that she not be granted asylum in my states."
After this, all the malicious tongues that still believed Anne of Austria might have dealings with Spain against France's interests would have been silenced once and for all. The Queen had become so truly the Queen of France that she sacrificed her family loyalties for her adopted country, and her family did not hesitate to reciprocate.
Mazarin set himself the task of separating Turenne from the army he led, and he succeeded. He dispatched Ruvigny to Turenne, accompanied by d'Artagnan and Porthos. While Ruvigny negotiated with Turenne, d'Artagnan communicated with the Viscount de Turenne's generals and officers, offering them precisely what was required in the Queen's name. He acted in exactly the same way as before, convincing Porthos to serve Mazarin in order to obtain a barony. Porthos, however, demonstrated with his whole demeanor that d'Artagnan was right, simply because d'Artagnan is always right—it's one of his qualities—and produced the barony charter, thus dispelling any claims that Mazarin was not fulfilling his promises.
“If Monsignor His Grace, our glorious cardinal, did not fulfill some promises in relation to some gentlemen, then, consequently, these gentlemen themselves are to blame, since they, in all likelihood, did not fulfill everything they promised on their part,” said Porthos, and he said this with such conviction that no one wanted to argue with him.
It must be said that few people argued with Porthos, probably because everyone saw in him not so much the persuasiveness of his arguments, but the simple-minded expression of the kind face of a giant who did not even admit that one could argue with him, remembering that he had inadvertently crushed some five or slightly more idiots who did not understand this, so that they no longer thought of having an opinion different from Porthos's.
By this time, Mazarin had found a sponsor in Barth;lemy Ervart, who lent the cardinal one and a half million livres, allowing him to bribe the men he needed and still have some for himself. Prudent "economy" was always second nature to the cardinal. Turenne was forced to realize that his betrayal had become the betrayal of just one man; the army did not follow him. Left without troops, he was forced to flee to Heilbronn. It seems the governor there offered him the opportunity to train new recruits in military affairs. A fine undertaking for a former military leader, no doubt!
This news plunged the Frondeurs into despondency.
Moreover, Mazarin, having sensed the full force of the pamphlets penned by Coadjutor de Gondi and the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, as well as the Spanish agents sent to Paris to sow discord, decided to fight the Parisians with their own weapons. He opened his own printing press in Saint-Germain, entrusted it to the newspaperman Renaudot, and began scouting the nobility for talented writers with a gift for wit and a lively literary language. This initiative laid the foundation for the circle of witty literary figures that would later gather around Nicolas Fouquet, a man Mazarin had certainly not created selflessly.
It was against this background that the peace of Rueil was signed, but the peace was concluded with the Parisian parliament, and not with the most noble nobles who considered themselves the leaders of the Fronde.
Sensing that true peace was being negotiated not with them but with Parliament, and that they were left out in the cold, they attempted to outsmart Parliament with their "peace initiatives," as they called it—"attempting to become even more Catholic than the Pope." Conti, Bouillon, Beaufort, La Rochefoucauld, and others—all wanted to sign the peace agreement, selling it at a high price, not realizing that Mazarin no longer needed their signatures.
They wanted to take all of France piece by piece, and Prince Cond;, of course, joined them. He had some justification for this, since for most of that absurd civil war, Cond; had sided with the Queen and even allowed the bulk of his family jewels to be pledged to the banker Ervart as collateral, guaranteeing the future repayment of the millions he had provided to Mazarin.
He tried to curry even more favor with the Queen by bringing the Queen herself, the King, and Little Monsieur back to Paris, providing them not only with guards and a guarantee of safety but also with a triumphal entry, since the people always applaud a brilliant army that enters the city fully armed. And the greater the weapons and the number of troops, the louder the applause. Of course, only if the army isn't engaged in plunder. And by this time, there was nothing left to plunder in Paris. It's astonishing how quickly the richest and most beautiful city can be reduced to a slum in the hands of a rebellious mob!
Mazarin made sure that he, too, received the cheers of the crowd, although this cost him dearly, but the starving Parisians would have applauded anyone who organized the delivery of food.
That afternoon, a ball was held at the town hall, which the King opened by dancing with his cousin Mademoiselle, who was two heads taller than him. This irritated the King, but he resigned himself for the time being to the necessity of honoring her.
At this time, an episode occurred that ultimately undermined the relationship between the Queen and Mazarin with the Prince of Cond;. His prot;g;, a certain Captain Georges, had for a time displayed such ardent devotion to the Queen that she included him in her inner circle, along with Mortemart, Guitant, and other trusted confidants. This upstart, apparently recalling the behavior of his father, who, under Henry IV, had displayed unacceptable ardor and rashness toward Marie de Medici, for which Henry IV publicly ridiculed him—or, more accurately, never forgot this paternal example—he decided to conquer the Queen. Beginning with open displays of devotion and declarations of his willingness to die at his Queen's doorstep, he gradually became more daring in his expressions, praising her beauty and femininity, and continually searching for new words of compliment. The Queen, not at all spoiled by compliments, was indulgent about this, so Georges persuaded Madame de Beauvais to allow him to slip a letter of love onto the Queen's dressing table. Naturally, the Queen took it with good humor.
"It seems I have a lover!" she exclaimed in the presence of a large number of ladies of the court, pointing at him.
Zhorze didn't understand the sarcasm and irony in these words, so he apparently took them as encouragement to further action. However, when, instead of disappearing from the Queen's sight, he reappeared before her the next day as if nothing had happened, she decided to publicly reprimand him.
"And here comes my dear suitor!" she exclaimed with even greater irony. "Listen, you inspire me with pity. You should be sent to Petit Maison! Really, I'm not at all surprised by your madness, since it was obviously passed down to you from your father; it runs in your family! Go now, so that I never see you again."
Mazarin advised the Queen to also expel Madame de Beauvais, but Her Majesty limited herself to a reprimand, since she had become accustomed to Crooked Kato and tolerated her because she did her hair beautifully.
Oddly enough, Prince de Cond; saw Georges's expulsion as an insult to himself and attempted to intercede on his behalf. In doing so, he exposed his own plans, which consisted of influencing the Queen through his prot;g;. He tried to find out from the Queen exactly what his prot;g; had done wrong and why she had removed him.
"The kind of people to which we belong," the Queen replied, "have no need to justify our actions or to deny honor to those who insult our reputation. I tried my best to warn him and caution him not to overstep the bounds of decency, but it was no use. Since he refused to understand, I had to remove him."
Cond; took these events too seriously, interpreting them as a personal insult, and spread rumors everywhere that Georges's removal was for political reasons, claiming that the Queen was removing those close to him, unwilling to see Cond;'s supporters around her. The Queen could no longer tolerate this.
When she expressed her indignation at the Prince to the Cardinal, he sadly informed her that it was only to protect her peace that he did not tell her everything that the Prince of Cond;, his brother Conti and his son-in-law de Longueville had said about her behind her back.
"Why haven't you arrested these impudent troublemakers yet?" the Queen demanded indignantly. "Or does a Queen's honor mean nothing anymore? They failed to take the throne from me, and now they're attacking my good name?"
"Your Majesty, the order for their arrest has long been ready," Mazarin replied, pulling out the relevant papers. "All that's missing is your signature and the date."
So, on January 18, 1650, Cond;, Conti, and Longueville were arrested. The Duchess de Longueville took refuge with me, after which I organized her escape to Normandy with her son, Charles-Paris.
These events had both short-term and long-term consequences. The short-term consequence was that they were perceived as an act of the greatest lawlessness by all the remaining nobles, who had united in their hatred of the cardinal. Lords who had no basis for friendship found it in their shared enmity and began to ally against Mazarin. This greatly undermined his power and even led to his temporary overthrow. But the long-term consequence was the establishment and practical consolidation of the monarch's supreme right to punish any nobleman for treason, no matter how close to the throne they stood. This separated the King or the reigning Queen from all other subjects and elevated them to unprecedented and unattainable heights. When Louis XIV came of age, Anne of Austria herself called herself his subject, so he no longer had to spend so much effort to strengthen his power by creating an absolute monarchy, since most of this work had been done before him by the Queen, continuing the work of her father-in-law Henry IV and the great Cardinal Richelieu.
But more about this later and in due time.

Chapter 176

It's finally time to explain the reasons for my cooling toward Marie de Chevreuse. Indeed, she, like me, had participated in the Fronde, and it would seem I should have maintained a friendly relationship with her, or even the closer one we had in our youth.
Marie inherited her father's cheerful disposition, further enhanced by lessons in frivolous behavior from her first husband, the Duke of Luynes, and then her second, the Duke of Chevreuse. Marie's father, the Duke of Montbazon, had married Marie d'Avaugourt de Bretagne, ten years younger than his stepdaughter. The two Maries were close and intrigued together. Marie de Montbazon, Marie de Chevreuse's stepmother, was one of the most beautiful women at Queen Anne's court. This dazzling brunette was rivaled only by the charming blonde Anne-Genevi;ve, Duchess of Longueville, daughter of the Prince of Cond; and sister of the victor at Rocroi, the Duke of Enghien, who by then had inherited the name of the Prince of Cond; and even began to be known as the Great Cond;. These two ladies were constantly at odds. Before marrying the Duke of Longueville, Marie de Montbazon was his mistress, but after his marriage, she switched to the Duke of Beaufort, whom Anne-Genevi;ve had previously rejected. Anne-Genevi;ve had no particular love for her husband, so Marie de Montbazon took him too. Then Anne-Genevi;ve began an affair with Coligny. The incident with the letter led to a duel, as I have already written about. Having lost Coligny, Anne-Genevi;ve turned her attention to me, as well as La Rochefoucauld. In this rivalry, I initially gained the upper hand, but La Rochefoucauld's persistence eventually bore fruit. There were even rumors that the Duchess of Longueville's son, Charles-Paris, was not her husband's, but La Rochefoucauld's. But I knew whose he really was. The Duchess forced the Duke of Longueville to acknowledge Charles-Paris as her son by cornering him with some letters from his mistresses to him, after which they concluded a non-aggression pact and stopped interfering in each other's personal lives.
Marie de Montbazon and her stepdaughter Marie de Chevreuse formed a circle of friends and admirers, and a similar circle formed around the Duchess de Longueville. But the problem for both of them was that they were each trying to lure away the most noble princes and dukes, and the most gallant lovers. Thus they battled for La Rochefoucauld, Beaufort, and others. Anne-Janevi;ve, uninterested in her elderly husband's amorous ardor, was nonetheless offended that he had joined her rival's circle.
Finally, during the Fronde, these ladies began to compete for the Coadjutor of Paris, Paul de Gondi. Marie de Chevreuse beat Anne-Genevi;ve to the punch because, although older, the Duchess de Longueville was unable to enter the fray due to her advanced pregnancy. Chevreuse celebrated her victory. Although Longueville was younger and more beautiful than all the noble Frondeurs, Chevreuse was more accessible, and this played a role. Chevreuse, of course, included her young stepmother, the Duchess de Montbazon, in her squadron of seductresses, but during the Fronde, she remained in the Queen's entourage. So Marie brought in the heavy artillery—she brought her daughter into the gallant circle! It was too much!
I will make a confession. Marie's children from her first marriage were dear to me. Yes, the Duke of Luynes spent most of his time in the bedroom of King Louis XIII . Marie was passionately in love with me at the time, and I have every reason to believe that Louis-Charles d'Albert de Luynes, born in 1620, was my son, and Anne-Marie, born two years later, after the death of de Luynes, was my daughter. Marie forbade me to think of them as my children, forbade it so categorically that she declared that if I ever even hinted at such a possibility in her presence, she would break with me forever. I loved them from afar. But when Anne-Marie died in 1646 at the age of twenty-four, Marie forbade me even to attend her funeral. I will not hide the fact that I violated this prohibition; I appeared disguised as a Franciscan monk, with my hood drawn down over my face. But it seemed to me that Maria recognized me and was extremely displeased. Could I not come?
Marie de Chevreuse had three children by her second marriage. Anne-Marie was born in 1625, only three years younger than her sister, who bore almost the same name. Charlotte-Marie was born in 1627, and Henrietta in 1631. I don't know exactly who Henrietta's father was; perhaps I do too. In any case, I feel a paternal attitude toward her. But I have no doubts about the two younger children. I have the right to be concerned about their fate. As for Anne-Marie, I made every effort to ensure that she dedicated herself to God, so she became the abbess of Pont-aux-Dames. I am proud of her, my girl, although fate did not grant her a very long life; in 1652, at the age of twenty-seven, the Lord took her too. I also introduced Henrietta to the Lord, and she became Abbess of Jouarre, and later Abbess of the Palais-Royal. But I missed Charlotte-Marie. She was young and charming. Marie de Chevreuse did the unthinkable with the poor thing. She introduced her daughter Charlotte-Marie, our daughter, to the Coadjutor Jean-Fran;ois Paul de Gondi, and through her, became close to him. In 1648, the Coadjutor, at the age of thirty-five, set his sights on the twenty-year-old Charlotte-Marie, and at the same time tried to secure the favor of her mother, forty-eight-year-old Marie. I used all my influence, I was certain that my Charlotte-Marie would marry the Prince de Conti. I supported the Cond;-Longnville-Conti family for this very reason! I already saw in my dreams this girl, my angel, as the happy Princess de Conti! And what happened in the end? Chevrette became Gondi's mistress, and arranged for her daughter to live with him on the same terms! She, my charming daughter, remained nothing but Gondi's mistress for the rest of her life; she never married! So what if Gondi acquired a cardinal's cap and became Cardinal de Retz? Better to be the wife of a simple nobleman than the mistress of a cardinal! That's my opinion. And the fate of the wife of the worthy Prince de Conti should have been strikingly different from that of a mere mistress of Cardinal de Retz!
I have never forgiven Marie de Chevreuse for this. She cared nothing for her daughters, and all her daughters, except those I cared for, were unhappy. Only her son, Louis-Charles, did she treat with due maternal tenderness; to him she bequeathed the Ch;teau de Luynes, which, in addition to his title as Duke of Luynes, constituted a most worthy inheritance, allowing him to live a tranquil life, free from intrigue and conspiracy, neither hiding from court nor displaying himself. He is still alive, my boy, and I pray to God that He grant him a long and happy life. But Charlotte-Marie is no longer alive. She died in 1652, the same year as Anne-Marie, but she was only twenty-five years old! Three of Marie de Chevreuse's daughters did not live to see thirty! Those three daughters were mine too! I cannot forgive her for such neglect of her maternal duty, no matter how charming, sweet, intelligent, cheerful, and captivating she may be... My God, I feel like I still love her as I write these lines! No, the thought of it breaks my heart! Why give birth to such beauties, and then neglect their upbringing, not care for them, and allow them to perish at such a young and flourishing age? We all walk under God, we have no control over our own lives, and we don't know how much time the Lord will give us. All this is true. But to make your own daughter the mistress of one of your lovers!.. That's too much.
No, I have not forgiven Maria.
Can I, the most depraved of musketeers and abbots, condemn her? I have had various mistresses, among them Chevrette herself, and Chevrette's cousin, the Messieurs de Bois-Tracy, and her daughter Marie de Bois-Tracy, and the Duchess de Longueville... Well, as you see, I myself have visited both mother and daughter. If a mother allows her daughter to be her lover's mistress, the lover will not object. Therefore, I do not condemn Paul de Gondi. I am like him myself. But I would not want my daughter to be the mistress of her mother's lover. If I were the husband of the de Bois-Tracys, I would challenge Monsieur d'Herblay to a duel and kill him. But her husband had already passed away by that time. I, Monsieur d'Herblay, should have challenged Paul de Gondi to a duel and killed him. That is precisely what I intended to do. But she begged me not to do it.
When I say "she," I mean my daughter, Charlotte Marie of Lorraine. She was Gondi's mistress, and she loved him. I couldn't kill her lover. I hated and despised him, but I could no longer kill him with my own hands, knowing it would not bring happiness to Charlotte Marie. She begged me to forgive them all—him, Gondi, and her, my daughter, and her mother, Marie de Chevreuse.
I forgave only Charlotte-Marie. I did not forgive Gondi, but I spared him. I did not forgive Marie, I did not seek revenge, but from that hour on, Marie de Chevreuse became a stranger to me.
However, she punished herself. Her former lover, Gondi, wrote of her in his memoirs that she treated her lovers the same way she treated her petticoats: "As long as they pleased her, she took them to bed, and two days later, in disgust, she burned them in the oven." That was the slap in the face she received from her former lover, from her daughter's lover. What could one expect from her? Her father, in his seventies, kept a small harem in Dampierre, where at Easter the same carriage brought both his confessor and no less than five pretty girls, with whom he amused himself until new ones arrived. This carriage carried away only the confessor, who had absolved old Hercule de Rohan-Montbazon from past sins but could not avert him from future sins. Meanwhile, his young wife, along with his daughter, was intriguing at the court of Queen Anne.

Chapter 177

The King and Queen Mother returned to Paris, but it was a very different Paris. They were leaving the rebellious but respectable capital and returning to a conquered den. While they were away, affairs in the Fronde had spiraled out of the nobility's control. The mob had become completely unruly, experiencing complete freedom away from their King.
Public morality sank to the level of the pavement. Violence and debauchery permeated all levels of society; no one worked, everyone stole, and those who didn't steal indulged in debauchery, squandered their fortunes, and lived as if they had only a week or two to live. This loose morality gave birth to freethinking. These freethinkers, who began by condemning Mazarin, turned their attention to the Queen, then even the King, and eventually went so far as to attack God Himself. Lents were neglected, and religious rites were almost completely abandoned. The mob began to attack priests, declaring them supporters of the Cardinal. Church vessels were looted in some places. Parliament hesitated to punish such acts, as every member of Parliament began to fear for their own lives. In Paris, abandoned by the King, there were no police, no army, no guards, and consequently, no order.
It was a camp of troublemakers, in which the remaining nobility tried in vain to convince themselves that they were still in charge of something and someone, although their power extended only to their own troops and guards, their own servants and lackeys.
Mazarinades, pasted on walls and sung in the streets, even accused the Queen of having fathered her firstborn son by Cardinal Mazarin! Yet at the time Louis XIV was conceived , Mazarin was not only not among the Queen's trusted friends, but he was simply absent from France. But who cared? Slander, as we know, is more effective the more improbable it is.
The Cardinal was portrayed as the corrupter of the entire royal family, the Queen as an easy woman, and the King as a young fool. Only the tongue-tied, handsome Duke de Beaufort, king of the markets, was beloved by the mob; no caustic verses were written about him; he was idolized because he was seen as a protector. Why would he defend the mob? Simply because he had reason to hate Mazarin, who had imprisoned him?
Before me lies a twenty-six-stanza Mazarinade against the Queen. It's called "The Queen's Keeper, Who Speaks of Everything." This vile little thing is written in verse from the Queen's bedside. It recounts the vulgar intimacies of the Queen and Mazarin, which it claims to have witnessed. The most vile verses! It was this very thing that finally turned me away from the Frondeurs. I won't claim that La Rochefoucauld wrote it, but whenever I suspected it, my desire to challenge him to a duel doubled, even tripled.
I could forgive him for Chevreuse and Longueville's advances, but this was going too far. If that vile Gondi wrote it! Perhaps it was a mistake not to challenge him to a duel. Athos stopped me. If he hadn't, there would have been no Fronde, no such libels!
Even Parliament was horrified by this libel. A certain Morlot, merely a publisher, was accused of authorship and sentenced to death by hanging, but some men rescued him while he was being transported to the execution site in the Conciergerie, after which he disappeared without a trace. All this happened just as Parliament and the court were making peace and nearly ruined both sides' plans. That's why I consider this no coincidence. Parliament sent an extremely elaborate apology to the Queen, knowing her temperament when it came to her honor. Mazarin spent an hour persuading her to show restraint. Ultimately, the Queen managed to maintain her dignity; without a trace of anger, she replied that she regretted that the slanderers had not spared the royal person, who should be sacred to every true Frenchman. These words, spoken with calm dignity, were more effective than any angry speeches. The parliamentary representatives once again humbly apologized for their blunder. At that moment, each of them would have been ready to quarter poor Morlot, whom I continue to consider merely the publisher, not the author, of this libel.
In 1649, the Queen ordered order restored in Paris, while she herself traveled to Compi;gne and further to the kingdom's northern border. The Spanish were in control of these lands, having won over the Viscount de Turenne. D'Artagnan accompanied the Queen on this trip and provided her security through the company of musketeers entrusted to his command, where he now held absolute sway as its captain.
In 1650, after the arrest of the princes, the Queen traveled with the young King and Mazarin to Normandy to pacify the province, which had fallen into rebellion thanks to the efforts of the Duchess de Longueville. It would have been better if Anne Genevi;ve had been responsible for raising our son. But that wasn't her nature. The Queen and the Cardinal managed to settle Normandy in twenty days. The Prosecutor of Normandy was removed, and Pierre Corneille was appointed in his place. This poet was in Mazarin's pay, and therefore they had confidence in him, since the Frondeurs hated him.
Having settled matters in Normandy and returned to Paris, the Queen, a little over two weeks later, traveled to Boulogne, then to Guienne via Fontainebleau, Pithiviers, and Orleans. She acted as a peacemaker and unifier of the French lands, and these trips undermined her health. She was forced to return to Paris lying in her carriage, in short marches. The Frondeurs of Boulogne demanded, as one of their peace conditions, the removal of the Duke of ;pernon, one of the Queen's most loyal military commanders. She was forced to agree to this, although I believe it was a mistake. Meanwhile, Monsieur, who remained in Paris, felt his complete power over it, and Spanish agents, as well as all sorts of flatterers and scoundrels, surrounded him and began to tempt him. The princes' relatives promised him their full support if he released Cond;, Conti, and Longueville. What did this support mean if not the overthrow of the King and Queen in order to seize the throne? Gaston constantly dreamed of this almost attainable, yet constantly elusive, throne of the King of France. These lackeys knew how to entice him. He was surrounded by Gondi, Chevreuse, old Ch;teauneuf, the clergy, and the princes' relatives. Parliament also joined this camarilla. Since princes of the blood were legally immune from prosecution, Parliament considered them illegally arrested. They were transferred from one prison to another without trial, without trial, or sentence. First they were placed in Vincennes, then in Marcoussis, and finally in Le Havre, far from their Parisian friends and the rebellious de Turenne.
On January 30, 1651, the Old Fronde struck a deal with the Young Fronde to secure the princes' release. A key role in this deal was played by the Princess Palatine, n;e Anne de Gonzago, sister of the very same Marie de Gonzago whom the unfortunate Cinq-Mars had courted, hoping to become related to the Kings of France.
At one time, Mazarin expressed his opinion on this matter to the Spanish mediator Don Luis de Haro during the conclusion of the Treaty of the Pyrenees.
"It's easy for you Spaniards to rule your country, since your women only interfere in matters of love!" said the cardinal. "In France, it's far from the case. I can name at least three, any one of whom could easily subjugate an entire state. They are the Duchess of Chevreuse, the Duchess of Longueville, and the Princess Palatine."
"You forgot to mention Queen Anne," Don Luis objected softly. "Isn't she the woman who not only can rule a country, but does?"
"She doesn't count, she's the Queen!" Mazarin retorted. "She takes her place and carries it out with a wisdom and dignity that's unmatched. I'm talking about those ladies who are capable of taking what doesn't belong to them, and who have the determination to do so."
"You must be having a hard time preventing them from achieving the power they, as you say, could easily seize!" Don Louie said out of politeness, since he himself doubted the ladies' abilities.
"You know, I think it might be better to let them give it to you!" Mazarin suddenly replied with a smile. "They can only take, but they couldn't hold on to it. Any one of them would hand over the power they'd gained to the first handsome man they came across, even one who couldn't be trusted to manage a henhouse with a dozen hens!"
After these words, Mazarin stroked his mustache with self-satisfaction. Queen Anne knew who should be entrusted with the governance of France. And in this, too, she stood out from all those Chevreuses, Longuevilles, and Gonzagas.
The unification of the old and young Fronde took place against the backdrop of Mazarin's brilliant victories. He defeated the Spaniards at Rethel despite not having such brilliant commanders as the Prince de Cond; and the Viscount de Turenne with him. D'Artagnan was with him, and Turenne fought on the Spanish side.
Peace reigned in Paris, but it was short-lived. The Frondeurs demanded ever more concessions, the Queen fell ill again, and Mazarin, fearing the worst, remained at her bedside, showing truly remarkable concern for her, and somewhat neglecting political affairs. The pressure from Parliament and the nobility on the King and Prime Minister intensified as soon as they sensed weakness. Then Mazarin, despite his usual calm and measured demeanor, lost his temper and accused the Parisian Parliament of behaving like the English Parliament, which had overthrown and executed its legitimate monarch, King Charles.
This accusation was unfair, as everyone thought at the time. But I believe that by hurling this unjust accusation, Mazarin forestalled all Parisians, pointing out to them where the roads of constant disobedience by subjects, of constant opposition by Parliament to the monarch, lead. He was right in his suspicions, and this is precisely what infuriated everyone. Monsieur left the Palais-Royal in anger, his whole demeanor expressing the profound insult he felt at the accusation. But I believe he was frightened, for the cardinal had peered into the soul of Gaston d'Orl;ans more deeply than he himself had ever seen before. The others were equally outraged. Gondi was simply shaking with rage.
Monsieur defected to the Fronde. But Mazarin's words were merely a pretext, a pretext he'd long awaited. The true reason was his constant resentment of fate. If the Queen hadn't given birth to two sons, he would already be King of France! There was reason to hate the Queen! For twenty-one years, he'd considered himself the first heir to the throne, and now, after twenty-one years of agonizing anticipation, his dreams had become ephemeral. He still held out hope for the Dauphin's poor health, but when the King's brother, Philippe, was born, Monsieur's chances became negligible. He could never forgive the Queen for this, and that was precisely the reason he defected to the Fronde, and not Mazarin's words. Indeed, if Monsieur had been a supporter of the Queen, how could the words of her first minister have made him her enemy? What kind of ally was that? With such friends, no enemies were needed!
But Monsieur pulled out his unbeaten cards. He solemnly refused to attend Parliament while Mazarin was in session. He refused to meet the Queen either at the Palais Royal, or at the Luxembourg Palace, where he resided, or anywhere else. He ignored the fact that he was her subject, and it was not fitting for him to dictate the terms of a meeting and negotiations with her. The Dowager Queen, the Queen Mother, the head of the Royal Council, stood immeasurably above the King's uncle! Mazarin should have simply arrested Gaston or exiled him again, as Richelieu would have done. But Mazarin was no Richelieu. His power was based on the fact that the Queen had entrusted it to him, and the Queen was exhausted by these years of rebellion. The Cardinal lacked the resolve to put an end to Gaston's rebellion. Meanwhile, Gaston summoned all the marshals of France as if they were his personal majordomo, and declared that henceforth they would obey only his orders. This was a rebellion, a coup d';tat, it was treason. The Queen could not only arrest Monsieur after this, but even execute him! Cardinal Richelieu, with the support of Louis XIII , would certainly have found a way to deal with him. No, he wouldn't have executed Gaston; a simple private conversation with him would have sufficed, and Gaston, that worthless wretch, would have surrendered all his positions. And if he hadn't, a week or two of deliberation in the Bastille would have rendered him pliable forever and ever.
But Mazarin is not Richelieu, as I have already said.
He had two choices: defeat Gaston or save his own life. Without Gaston's arrest, Mazarin himself would be in grave danger of remaining in Paris! Gaston had declared him an outlaw. So, on the night of February 6–7, 1651, Mazarin secretly left Paris, wrapped in the cloak of the Millet de Jars and wearing the hat of the captain of the Musketeers pulled down over his eyes. He stayed in Saint-Germain, hoping that the Queen would soon realize she could not manage the task of governing alone and would recall him.

Chapter 178

"You called me, Your Majesty?" d'Artagnan said this phrase in such a way that it simultaneously contained a question and a statement, and yet neither one nor the other.
"Listen, Captain d'Artagnan," the Queen said, embarrassed. "I know you've recently been appointed captain of the King's Musketeers and would like to do your best. But there's a much more important job for you."
"Command me, Your Majesty," the captain replied. "Command me to die for you, and I will only regret that I can do it only once!"
"Oh, those Gascons!" said the Queen with a smile. "No, there's no need to die yet. I'm asking you to do something I know you won't like, but do it for me."
"Doing something for you is my profession, but to do something special is also an immeasurable honor and an immense pleasure!" d'Artagnan exclaimed with a fervor that seemed beyond his years. "I await orders."
“I know that the Musketeers must form the King’s guard, and that the Captain of the Musketeers must be at the King’s side, but I ask you to go into exile with another man who, believe me, is also very important for the state, although, as I see, no one understands this and no one appreciates it,” said the Queen.
“I must accompany Mazarin,” d’Artagnan guessed, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not hide his disappointment.
“Understand, Monsieur d’Artagnan, I am no less worried about the King than I am about the Prime Minister, for I am, after all, a mother!” the Queen said hastily, not giving the captain a chance to object. “Don’t think that your Queen is more concerned about the fate of some Italian than about the fate of her own children! But the King and Little Monsieur have someone to protect! All the nobility are ready to draw their swords and lead the troops to defend them from anyone. And the man I speak of will hardly find two or three defenders, while all of France is overrun with people who hate him and want him dead, and these people are powerful and influential! I alone cannot protect him from them. But believe me, you believe your Queen, don’t you, Monsieur Captain? Believe me, I know what I’m saying.” My children face a thousand dangers that only a man like the Cardinal can recognize and prevent, and if my enemies deal with him, this most wise of statesmen, then neither I nor anyone else will be able to protect them. And now, when the King will reach his majority in less than a year, the danger threatening him is as great as it could be! I pray to God for only one thing. I wish to pass my husband's throne to my son in such a way that he can exercise his birthright. That no one and nothing will hinder him in this matter. The princes and dukes will protect my children from the mob, but who will protect them from the princes and dukes themselves? Only he, the Cardinal, could do that.
"I dare not doubt your words, Your Majesty," replied d'Artagnan. "And recognizing your words as true, I am forced to love the Cardinal and to make every effort to ensure that he returns to his duties as First Minister."
"Do it, Captain!" the Queen said with uncharacteristic fervor. "I know you have a right to expect my gratitude for what you've already done for me in the past, but do what I ask of you! I promise you no reward, but I promise you that all my influence with the King will be directed toward instilling in him respect and gratitude for you."
"I beg Your Majesty not to devalue my efforts with the promise of a reward!" d'Artagnan replied just as fervently. "You have commanded, and that is enough! I will do everything possible, and I also swear to do everything impossible, so that the Cardinal will return to you alive, healthy, and cheerful, ready for further labors for the good of the state."
"Look at this diamond ring, Captain! " said the Queen. "Twice I have given it to you, and twice you have sold it to raise money for the task you thought necessary."
"Only dire necessity compelled me to do so," d'Artagnan replied sadly. "If it had been up to me, I would never have parted with your gift."
"I know about the deeds to which the proceeds were put, and I approve of your action," the Queen replied. "Take this diamond and do not sell it unless your life or the salvation of the person I am sending you to depends on it. And so that you will not be in need of money, take this."
With these words, the Queen handed d'Artagnan a diamond ring and an order to receive two thousand pistoles from the royal treasurer.
"Captain-Lieutenant d'Ervieu of the Guard will replace you during your absence," said Queen Anne. "He will be notified that his post must be vacated immediately upon your return. Take with you as many musketeers as you deem necessary. Select the very best. Promise me you will not abandon Mazarin until he returns to Paris victorious."
"I swear to bring him back or die for him!" d'Artagnan exclaimed passionately.
"I'll have to feign indifference to the decision to remove the cardinal," Anna said. "Explain to him that this is just a mask, just a game for those around me. And with the cardinal's departure, and with your departure, I will be surrounded by nothing but traitors. I know this, and I'm going to do this with all the determination I can muster. Perhaps it's not enough, but there's no other way."
"Your Majesty, summon the Comte de la F;re!" cried d'Artagnan. "Then you will have at your side at least one man so devoted to you that he will, at any moment, at your request, lay down his life for you, shedding every drop of his blood in your defense."
"Ah, no, the Comte de la F;re is a very poor courtier," the Queen countered. "His nobility and integrity are so perfect that they seem hypocritical. The court will not accept him. And I will not be able to protect him from the court; I will have enough to worry about without that. The court will simply devour this man, or else corrupt him."
“The Count de la F;re cannot be spoiled, and he cannot be eaten; he will eat anyone himself,” d’Artagnan dared to object.
"Your noble Count cannot bear the slightest sign of baseness, treachery, slander, or deceit," the Queen insisted. "If he were to serve at court, within the first twenty-four hours he would challenge half the court to a duel, and either slaughter them all or be shot from around the corner. No, enough scandals at court! This letter, which, as you know, has pitted the Chevreuse-Longueville clan against the Bourbon-Cond; clan, this duel that took Coligny's life—it's too much! If the Count were to cause another duel, he would be doing a disservice to the state. Besides, are you sure the Count would want to be at court?"
“I am convinced that he would not want this, but you only have to order him, and he…” answered d’Artagnan.
"I will not order anyone to be with me against their will," the Queen answered firmly, and d'Artagnan realized that the matter was finally decided. "How many musketeers will you take with you?"
"No more than a dozen," d'Artagnan replied. "Too large a convoy would attract too much attention. If the cardinal has gone into exile, his escort should be slightly larger than a prisoner's escort, but much smaller than an honor guard."
"Do as you see fit, I trust you completely," said the Queen, her heart trembling at the word "prisoner." "Go today. You will find the Cardinal in Saint-Germain. Tell him that I will continue to write to him. With the people who deliver my letters to him, he will be able to send his replies."
D'Artagnan bowed, kissed the Queen's hand, and left.
A day later, at midnight, the Queen summoned the Marquis de Navaya.
"Marquis, go immediately to Mazarin in Saint-Germain and tell him that I will be forced to release the princes," she said. "I couldn't do anything. Monsieur insisted on it, the entire royal council supported him, and Parliament too. Give him these documents. After that, return to the Louvre; I need you here."
Upon receiving the news, Mazarin rushed to Le Havre, which was under the command of the young Duke of Richelieu, the great cardinal's nephew, who nevertheless sympathized with the Frondeurs. The cardinal was allowed into the fortress but forced to leave his escort outside its walls. Mazarin tried to portray the princes' release as the result of his efforts. But they didn't believe him. Conti and Longueville hurried into their carriage and left the hated fortress, eager to appear before the Parisians free and ready to continue their struggle against the Queen's absolutism. But Prince Cond; knew he had committed grave guilt, having initially been loyal to the Queen and only later defecting to the Fronde. Betrayal is no honor; traitors are held in less esteem than outright enemies. And so Cond; was glad of the opportunity to secure, if not a friendship with Mazarin, then at least a way to mitigate their enmity.
"Your arrest, Your Highness, was initiated solely by the machinations of Monsieur and the support of the ill-intentioned Gondi!" Mazarin said after he and the prince had shared a glass of delicious wine over a shared meal to celebrate the release of the three princes. "I resisted this with all my might, and, as you see, my efforts were crowned with success! You are free and cleared of all charges!"
"Well then, to your health, Your Eminence!" replied Cond;, raising his second cup.
"Lie all you want, you old fox," Cond; thought. "I won't believe a word you say! You probably tried to get us arrested yourself, and now that you realize you'll have to free us, you've come galloping here to take credit for the decision to free us!"
"It seems he doesn't really believe me," thought Mazarin. "The hell with him, even if he doesn't believe me, at least he doesn't object, and that's something!"
"You know how I've always respected you and valued your talent as a commander!" the cardinal continued to pour out his unction. "All of France calls you nothing less than 'The Victor of Rocroi, the Great Cond;'! And, as you recall, it was I who first called you that."
"We had a tough time at Rocroi," Cond; replied, spooning a delicious foie gras into his mouth. "Did you know what kind of battle there was? A real massacre!"
“I am more of a peacemaker than a commander,” replied Mazarin.
"Come on, don't be modest!" Cond; retorted. "I've heard of your victories; you even defeated Turenne, didn't you?"
"What are my modest talents worth compared to yours!" Mazarin fawned.
"It seems you're not happy in Paris right now, you're uncomfortable," Cond; guessed. "You probably won't go back there now?"
“I will go where Her Majesty directs me, where I will be more useful to His Majesty and France,” Mazarin answered modestly.
"So you've been expelled!" Cond; chuckled and downed his next glass of wine with pleasure.
“I will make a short trip to the north of the country to restore order there,” Mazarin answered evasively.
“Well, good luck,” Conde replied indifferently.
From that moment on, Prince Cond; began to behave as if Mazarin were not in the room at all, and devoted all his attention to the meal and wine.
“Allow me to take my leave, since I am already full,” said Mazarin, and, bowing, he left the refectory.
He might as well have said goodbye to the wine bottle or the suckling pig on the table, for Cond; said nothing, as if none of what had been said concerned him. He did, however, make a vague gesture with his hand, which could equally well have been interpreted as a farewell to Mazarin or a greeting to the suckling pig.
After leaving Le Havre, Mazarin headed for P;ronne, where he was joined by his three nieces, his nephew, and no more than thirty pages, footmen, cooks, and coachmen—a total of barely fifty, including d'Artagnan and his dozen musketeers. Mazarin was soon forced to dismiss even half of these remaining servants, as he was forced to economize in every way. Fortunately for the Cardinal, maintaining d'Artagnan and his musketeers cost him nothing, as the Queen had provided d'Artagnan with the funds for this expedition. When Mazarin learned from him that this escort would cost him nothing, he was filled with gratitude and respect for the captain, which, in addition to the admiration and trust he had previously cherished, significantly distinguished Captain d'Artagnan from all the other nobles in the Cardinal's eyes.

Chapter 179

Paris rejoiced at being rid of Mazarin. Parliament declared him persona non grata and offered a reward to anyone who encountered him within France, turned him over to the authorities, or facilitated his removal from the kingdom.
Mazarin was forced to leave France and seek refuge with the Archbishop-Elector of Cologne, who provided him with his castle in Br;hl. To get there, Mazarin had to cross the Netherlands and request passage from his former enemies, the Spaniards.
D'Artagnan and his small detachment accompanied the cardinal to the borders of the kingdom, where he ordered his detachment to Paris for further service under d'Hervieu. He himself deemed it necessary to accompany Mazarin, as he was bound by the promise he had made to the Queen. Mazarin highly appreciated this loyalty, not fully realizing that it stemmed not from his personal qualities, but from the captain's promise to the Queen.
Mazarin understood that if he had followed Richelieu's methods, he could have nipped the second wave of the Fronde in the bud and prevented his exile. But his primary character traits were loyalty to the Queen and leniency toward others, especially the misdeeds of those of higher birth.
The Spaniards not only issued Mazarin a pass but also provided him with an escort that accompanied him to Juliers. He was also presented with tempting offers if he would agree to defect to their side. But what tempted the Viscount de Turenne and later the Prince of Cond; failed to entice the far less noble Mazarin, who refused to entertain the thought of betraying his Queen. Even in another kingdom, far from his beloved Anne of Austria, he continued to think only of her welfare, closely following events in France, and regularly writing her tender letters, which were equal parts assurances of devotion, loyalty, and love, and, above all, very sensible and clear advice on governing the country. It can be argued that he continued to participate in the country's governance, only this time not in person, but remotely and through his recommendations, which the Queen always heeded, with the exception of his sole recommendation, which was to prevent his expulsion from the country. In this matter the Queen simply could not do as the Cardinal begged her to do.
Of course, Mazarin would have been more at peace if he had remained with the Queen and King, or if the Queen had left Paris with him again, taking the young King and little Monsieur with her. But Anne of Austria understood perfectly well that both options were fraught with even greater rebellion, a rebellion that would be much more difficult, if not impossible, to suppress. Therefore, the Queen went against her better judgment and allowed Mazarin's temporary exile.
Many claim that by that time the Queen and the Cardinal were already secretly married. My information on this matter is precise and reliable. I can report that, until this exile, they had been bound only by a platonic relationship, feelings to which they dared not give themselves. Only Mazarin's departure made the Queen realize how dear he was to her. Only his passionate letters, in which he used conventional symbols and an intricate system of agreements about which person to call by which names various literary characters from dramatic works, modern or ancient, familiar to them both, made her believe in his love, understand how selfless and unchanging it was, and allow herself to reciprocate this feeling as a woman, not a Queen, can. Only after transferring power to her adult son, making him King and herself his subject, did Anne of Austria decide to secretly marry Mazarin, but more on that later. For now, Mazarin was simply a private individual without a position, without a status, without an income, merely the experience of leading one of Europe's greatest countries during one of its most difficult periods. He was simply a gallant cavalier, madly in love with the Queen of France and achieving a certain reciprocity, albeit only platonic. In their letters, Mazarin and the Queen used asterisks to denote the phrase "Mazarin loves the Queen," while a cross with three horizontal bars meant "the Queen also favors Mazarin." These symbols were scattered throughout their correspondence, in every letter from the Cardinal to the Queen and in every letter she wrote back, but they felt this was not enough. They expressed this idea in other ways, resorting to allegories, and the Cardinal was particularly successful in this. The Queen, who had not yielded to Richelieu, who had not yielded to the Duke of Buckingham, who had not yielded to her first minister, who was constantly at her side, surrendered herself entirely in her replies to a private individual, Giulio Mazarin, who, although a cardinal, was not a priest, and was not bound by the vow of celibacy, so he had the right before God to enter into a lawful marriage with the object of his love. The Queen, however, considered such a marriage possible only after transferring full power in France to her son, and to do so, it was necessary to preserve and strengthen it for the remaining period, this difficult period of the last year before Louis XIV formally came of age .
Captain d'Artagnan, seeing that Mazarin spent all his days in front of a map of France and Europe, studying the news and composing his next messages to the Queen, was filled with respect for him and decided that, perhaps, the Queen had the right to love such a devoted, hard-working, selfless and far from stupid man as Cardinal Mazarin.
In one of his letters, the cardinal recommended Nicolas Fouquet to the Queen as the intendant of finances, and also recommended his brother, Abbot Fouquet, as a completely loyal and reliable man.

Chapter 180

Parisians feared that the Queen would secretly leave Paris again, taking the King and little Monsieur with her. The trick played on Paris in 1649 was not to be repeated. People formed pickets, and women attempting to leave the city had their masks torn off to ensure they were not the Queen. Ladies were forcibly deprived of their inalienable right to travel incognito and protect their faces from the sun, dust, and wind, concealing them from prying eyes. They were effectively deprived of a privilege they had long enjoyed.
The palace was watched by patrols commanded by Monsieur. It was at this very time that the event occurred, which Grimaud, in his memoirs, mistakenly attributes to the First Fronde. A delegation of Frondeurs demanded to see the King, and when they were told he was asleep, they insisted on seeing him asleep. The Queen was forced to receive a rather large delegation, led by a militia captain, in her chambers while the young King slept, or, most likely, only feigned sleep.
The Queen remained awake for half the night, terrified of the townspeople gathered around the palace. Toward morning, she pulled herself together, left the chapel, and called to two of the townspeople guarding her to prevent her from escaping.
"Thank you for your faithful service," she said in a tone that made it difficult to suspect her of insincerity. "I have never felt so safe as I do today, thanks to the reliable protection you have provided me. Please convey to your officers that I greatly appreciate such touching concern for our safety."
For a whole month, the Queen was under the surveillance of the militias under Monsieur's command. She recalled Mazarin's words about the Palais-Royal being a completely unreliable place, in no way ensuring the safety of the King and his family. When Marshal du Plessis-Praslin proposed moving to the Arsenal, Mazarin preferred to feign trust in the Parisians rather than stir their unrest with such a move. Indeed, if the mob had rebelled, even the walls of the Arsenal would not have stopped them. I even believe that, if properly aroused, the citizens of Paris would have been able to raze not only the Palais-Royal or the Arsenal, but even the Bastille, leaving no stone standing. However, perhaps I am exaggerating. Be that as it may, the Queen remained in the Palais-Royal.
At the Luxembourg Palace, Gondi, who had incited Monsieur to revolt, urged him to exile the Queen to a convent, kidnap the King, and declare Monsieur regent. However pleasant this idea might have been for Gaston d'Orl;ans, he was nevertheless far-sighted enough to refuse such a gamble. Indeed, only the French people's immense reverence for the sacred persons of the King and Queen was the basis for Gaston's own significance, as the King's uncle and the brother of the late Louis XIII . Had they even attempted to attack these important figures, the wave of popular anarchy raised by this storm would have left Gaston himself untouched. The example of England confirms the truth of my argument. Popular indignation is much easier to arouse than to calm, and all those nobles who courted the people walked a fine line, balancing on the thin wire of popular popularity. This wire could be cut by any event, perhaps as little as a witty and well-timed libelous piece of writing and sufficiently reproduced. Gondi didn't understand this, exploiting the power of popular anger for his own ends, but Monsieur had a more acute sense of the line that should not be crossed.
The arrival of the Great Cond; in Paris on February 16th sparked rejoicing among the Parisians. Festive lights were lit throughout the city, and innkeepers treated the Parisians, offering a handsome discount to those who wished to drink to the Prince's health. The princes reclaimed their estates, palaces, and servants, while the Queen was rapidly losing power. If all these conspirators had united, they really could have imprisoned the Queen in a monastery, kidnapped the King, declared him ill or insane, and then installed Monsieur first as regent and then as the new King. This plan existed in the mind of the desperate Gondi, who dreamed of becoming a cardinal, or even something more.
All this was laid out to me by the Coadjutor of the Order, whom I ask not to be confused with the Parisian Coadjutor Paul de Gondi, of whom I wrote above. This time, it was a man whose name I would not like to mention even in these notes. I will call him, provisionally, Messire Inconnu, since he himself ordered that I be called by that name.
"I will call you Monsieur Sabr;, and you will call me Monsieur Inconnu," he said. "We must help the Queen of France, Monsieur Sabr;."
“I’m listening,” I replied.
"You don't want to ask why the Order previously offered to help you with the Duchess of Longueville and facilitate the release of the Duke of Beaufort, and now you're being offered assistance with Queen Anne?" Sabr; asked, surprised by my dispassion.
“I believe that the Order is guided by higher goals, and that the leaders of the Order can judge better than I what is desirable for the establishment of the true faith of Christ, and what is contrary to this goal,” I answered.
"That is commendable, Monsieur Sabre," replied Messire Inconnu. "You understand the situation generally correctly. Perhaps later you will be able to receive a detailed explanation of the reasons, but a person who has joined the Order is obliged to obey without attempting to understand the reasons for any decision."
I nodded obediently, considering it unnecessary and even indelicate to repeat my words.
"You must devise and implement a plan to disunite the princes and dukes in order to strengthen the position of the Queen, who is already halfway to the convent," continued Messire Inconnu. "The Order desires the accession of Louis XIV , whose coming of age is only a short time away. The Queen must transfer her power to her son upon his coming of age, but to do so, she must regain it in full. The intrigues and plots of Cond;, Conti, Longueville, Gondi, Chevreuse, and, above all, Gaston d'Orl;ans, must be put to an end. They must be driven into conflict among themselves, sowing doubts and suspicions in each of them. The Fouquet brothers will assist you in this."
“They…” I tried to ask.
“No, they are not members of the Order,” Messire Inconnu replied, forestalling my question. “Tomorrow, a man will come to you who will help you establish acquaintance with them. These people were loyal to Mazarin, and they are interested in his return. You can also rely on a certain Pierre Corneille in this matter. Also, recruit two more young men to your camp, one named Jean de La Fontaine, the other Jean-Baptiste Poquelin. Your main weapon will be pamphlets. History has already shown that pamphlets are very powerful. In England, they forced the King to betray his first minister; in France, they helped Richelieu become a cardinal and disavow some of his enemies; in modern times, they incited the Parisians first against Mazarin, then against the Queen, and even against the King. You yourself are a good writer, but more will be needed. You simply must win over these three. That’s all I have.” Go and do it.
I bowed, kissed the hand of Messire Inconnu and left.
It wasn't all that difficult to separate the Rohan, Chevreuse, Lorraine, and Guise clans from the Bourbon, Cond;, and Conti clans. History itself had continually driven them apart. Individual marriages between members of these clans hadn't eliminated their rivalries or created a lasting, active alliance. But they could unite to overthrow the Queen, and they had already done so. True, Monsieur hesitated. But Gondi wielded great influence over him after convincing him that he had been the one to pacify the Fronde and had managed to rekindle this force of popular indignation. I must say that he only imagined the influence he claimed to have, but on Monsieur, this conviction had an almost magical effect. It was enough for him to pretend just once that he had been able to calm the anger of the crowd, and Gaston became convinced that Gondi was the true leader of the Parisians.
I must confess that one of the reasons for the quarrel between these clans was a circumstance to which I not only had no part, but which I would have opposed had I had my way. I am speaking of the daughter of the Duchess de Chevreuse, my daughter, Mademoiselle de Chevreuse. She was tipped to be the wife of the Prince de Conti, and it would have been a brilliant match. Unfortunately, Marie de Chevreuse, having fallen madly, hopelessly, but very briefly, in love with Gondi, as was her wont, made her daughter his mistress. Monstrous! Naturally, there were "good people" who informed the Prince of this. He broke off the engagement, which contributed to a serious rift between the Bourbons and the Guise, Luignes, and Rohan families. Marie de Chevreuse, stung by this rupture, for which she herself was to blame, openly opposed Cond; and attracted all her supporters to her side. Messire Inconnu assumed I was behind it, which elevated me in his estimation, but God knows I'm not to blame. Instead, I focused my efforts elsewhere. Through the Duchess de Longueville, I convinced the Bourbons that removing the Queen from the regency would mean unlimited power for Monsieur, who would betray all the Bourbons, as he had already done more than once. Cond;, Conti, and Longueville began to seriously consider this. Their friendship, rooted in hatred for Mazarin, lost its strength as soon as the source of that hatred disappeared from view. Another action I took was to explain to Paul de Gondi that the decree removing the cardinals from power in France, which the princes were pushing through the Estates General, was further restricting him, the coadjutor, personally. Considering that the Queen had promised him assistance in obtaining a cardinal's cap, he should side with the Queen to achieve what he desired, to finally become Cardinal de Retz, and to make every effort to ensure that this title of cardinal would not become an empty phrase, so that, having become a cardinal, Gondi could fully justify his claim to membership in the Royal Council. Naturally, this had the effect on Gondi exactly as I had intended. Messrs. Corneille, Lafontaine, and Poquelin did indeed possess literary talent, and my acquaintance with the Fouquet brothers was very useful to me. Thus, I gradually became a secret agent of the Order's influence at the very top of the government. My efforts to disunite the country's highest clans were successful; each of them ceased to trust their former comrades in the fight against Mazarin, and they all turned their hopes to the Queen. Very soon, Queen Anne felt that the idea of confining her to a convent had lost its popularity, and that the princes and dukes began to court her favor again.
"What do they know about me that I don't?" the Queen must have thought. "Perhaps it's the result of the active efforts of my friend Giulio?"
Well, I do not exclude the possibility that Mazarin, with his advice, greatly strengthened the Queen’s position in anticipation of the King’s coming of age celebration.

Chapter 181

D'Artagnan said: "When the impossible is asked of you, do everything possible, that will be enough, sometimes even too much."
Indeed, I did everything in my power to split the camp of the Queen's ill-wishers, and the rift I had created began to spread like an avalanche. Everyone felt their own weakness and, with great apprehension, began to suspect the strength of their opponents, and they all began to seek the Queen's protection.
It must be said that Mazarin left the Queen with four capable advisers: Colbert, Lyonne, Servien, and Letellier. All of them helped her hold out until September 5, 1651, when the King reached his majority. They offered their advice when Mazarin's rescue letters were delayed. Indeed, even the most wise advice, if it arrives late, becomes useless and can even prove harmful if the situation changes too quickly, as it sometimes did.
The rift I'd managed to sow within the Second Fronde grew to such a pitch that Gondi, hoping to gain the Queen's favor, even went so far as to persuade her to send assassins after Prince Cond;! But the Queen rejected this cruelty; she didn't even want him arrested again, even though, God knows, Cond; deserved it.
At that time, I learned that my beloved Anne-Genevi;ve, Duchess of Longueville, had contributed to the annulment of the Prince of Conti's engagement to my dear Mademoiselle Charlotte-Marie de Chevreuse, my adored daughter! She had dissuaded her younger brother from this marriage in order to maintain her influence over him, to prevent him from joining the Chevreuse-Rohan and Guise-Lorraine families. It was truly a simple matter to antagonize the grandees when they themselves were constantly looking for reasons to quarrel!
Meanwhile, Anne-Genevi;ve de Longleville herself was becoming more and more like Marie, Duchess of Chevreuse, in her behavior. People began to say that she disliked innocent pleasures. After me and Duke Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, she flatly refused to return to the marital embrace, pretending not to forgive him for his intimacy with Chevrette, when in fact she was only glad to have found a pretext to dismiss her aged husband, who fulfilled all the duties of a noble and wealthy husband but was not allowed to assume the responsibilities of a passionate husband. The cheerful Longueville, barely recovered from her pregnancy, began to amuse herself with Turenne, then with the Duke of Nemours, and, it seems, with two or three other noblemen who were no longer considered grandees, but were still quite acceptable in her hospitable bedroom. To have yet another excuse not to move in with her elderly husband, the Duchess de Longueville encouraged her elder brother, the Prince of Cond;, to join the civil war. This led to Cond; defecting to Spain and devoting the next eight years to devoting his military talents to France's enemies. Did the Queen regret not consenting to Cond;'s assassination when she learned of it? Hardly. But I imagine she regretted not having him arrested. It would have been better for him to rest in the Ch;teau de Vincennes under the watchful eye of guards loyal to the Queen than to lead enemy troops. Treason will never find sympathy in my soul, even in me, who during my life was not only a citizen of my homeland, France, but also managed to be a citizen of Spain, even fulfill some advisory functions in Turkey, and finally, to end my years in Italy, in Rome. For after this, I will never move to any other country and intend to die here in the post that God has deigned to entrust to me. Truly, if I were Cond;, I would prefer to be killed by the dagger of some new Ravaillac or Cl;ment than to fight against my homeland. He ravaged the northern provinces of France quite successfully until Mazarin, returning from exile, made peace with him, forgiving him all his crimes, preferring to have him as a subject rather than as a restless neighbor, since Spain had already offered him separate provinces in northern France, a gift he was considering accepting. While Mazarin's heart bled from the twin sorrows of separation from the Queen and the loss of the fortresses he had so painstakingly won, Paris lived as if Paris were all of France. Power continued to be divided there, oblivious to the territorial losses France was suffering. The Queen was outraged by Cond;'s behavior; she brought a case of treason before the jury, and Monsieur was forced to support her, though he seemed very reluctant. Gaston, however, made a counter-condition: he demanded that the King's coming of age be delayed, and, accordingly, the regency be extended. However, the day before, the King, who was soon to turn fourteen, the officially established age of majority, bluntly asked Gaston whether he was his friend or foe.
"My dearest uncle, you have so often said that you love me!" he said. "Today, my dear uncle, you have a wonderful opportunity to prove it. Tell me, then, to whose party do you belong? To the Prince's party, or to mine?"
"Your Majesty, I have been slandered, slandered in your eyes by envious people and enemies," Gaston explained sheepishly. "I have always been Your Majesty's most loyal subject, and, of course, a loving uncle!"
"Is it worth paying attention to what others say about you when you have such a wonderful opportunity to shut them up by showing true love for your nephew?" the King retorted. "Silence them by openly demonstrating that you are of my party, not the Prince's, and that you support me, your King!"
Meanwhile, the head of parliament, Mathieu Mol;, tried to convince the Queen that the Prince of Cond; was not as bad as he seemed, and that his disobedience was provoked by unfair treatment towards him.
“Drop all charges against him and he will become obedient again,” Mole lied shamelessly.
"What prevents the Prince from first becoming obedient, so that I, seeing his obedience, will clear him of all charges?" asked the Queen. "And how can you, Monsieur Molay, vouch for Cond;'s behavior when even I cannot vouch for him? And yet I am both his relative and his mistress!"
Molay launched into lengthy discourses on forgiveness and other virtues to which the Lord called.
"I think I have plenty of virtues, such as indulgence and kindness and the like," the Queen retorted. "Who hasn't, as you have seen many times, confirmed this? Meanwhile, why shouldn't Cond; display at least a small measure of such virtues as repentance and obedience?"
Gaston, for his part, also began to persuade the Queen to publicly pardon Cond;. Strange people! And why should they? Oh, yes, princes of the blood were considered immune from prosecution! So they'd already served their time in the Ch;teau de Vincennes! Wasn't that enough?
The Queen promised to send a letter of pardon to Parliament for Cond;, but said the monarch should not be inconsistent. A pardon after a condemnation without cause would not be understood by his subjects. A suitable opportunity must be awaited. The King's coming of age was precisely the occasion for announcing a pardon. Monsieur was forced to relent, but demanded a new, even stricter declaration against Mazarin. The Queen relented, so long as Louis's proclamation of adulthood was not delayed.
So, on September 7, with a delay of only two days, Louis XIV was solemnly declared of age. All the grandees of the realm were present at the ceremony. Only Cond; was absent, but his younger brother, Prince de Conti, solemnly presented the King with a letter of congratulations from him.
The King, without dismounting from his horse, took this letter with a contemptuous expression on his face and immediately handed it over, without opening, to his tutor Villeroi, demonstrating how little such congratulations from a traitor meant to him.
The ceremonial cavalcade rode down the main street. Louis, hat in hand, greeted his subjects, who emitted wild, joyful cries that merged into a single roar. The Queen followed her son in the carriage, along with Monsieur and little Monsieur, Louis XIV's brother .
At the Palace of Justice, the Queen delivered a short but heartfelt speech, thanking God for blessing her labors and crowning them with this joyful event, preserving his precious life until the moment he would assume control of the kingdom. She acknowledged herself as his subject and expressed her confidence that his reign would be prosperous with God's help.
In his response, the King thanked his mother for her care and management of the state until he reached the appropriate age.
“I ask you to continue to give me good advice and I wish that after me you will be the head of my council,” he said at the end of his speech.
The King's accession, of course, didn't solve all the monarchy's problems at once, but it greatly strengthened the situation. Shortly after Louis XIV's coming of age, Cond; opposed the inclusion of Ch;teauneuf, Molay, and Lavieville in the Royal Council. Monsieur supported this demand and even threatened that if it wasn't met, he would not appear at the Palais-Royal. Upon hearing this, Louis XIV immediately demanded the royal seals from S;guier and handed them over to de Molay, after which he invited Ch;teauneuf and Lavieville to the council scheduled for September 8. Monsieur was forced to pretend he had forgotten his threats, so the next day he attended all the events as if nothing had happened, including the King's rousing. Three years later, when Parliament was about to table the edicts on stamped paper, the King came to Parliament from a hunt, without even changing his clothes, and put everyone in their place with one simple phrase: “The state is me!”
Almost immediately after the King's accession, Anne of Austria began preparing for Mazarin's return. Even the Cardinal's supporters begged her not to rush the matter, having first achieved a full reconciliation with Cond;. But the Queen objected, declaring that the Cardinal would only come to answer the accusations and justify himself, after which he would simply live the life of an ordinary man, since he had no ambitions for state power. Even Ch;teauneuf didn't believe in such a prospect, but what difference did it make what he believed? The important thing was that the decision had been made. Mazarin didn't want to delay any longer; the diamond casket would prove useful to him in hiring a competent guard, which would form the core of the future army. The Cardinal's return was carefully and meticulously prepared, with the participation of his most trusted supporters. Marshal du Plessis-Praslin, the Marquis de Navaille, Prince Thomas de Carignano of the House of Savoy, the Duke of Mercoeur, and, of course, d'Artagnan, were all involved in this affair. Also involved were Ond;eil, Brachet, Berthet, and Millet de Gers.
The Queen handed Barthes an order, written by the King, ordering Mazarin to return to France. But Barthes deliberately revealed this order to Ch;teauneuf, Monsieur, and Retz, who vied with each other in advising the Queen to delay Mazarin's return.
The Queen met Mazarin in Poitiers, and despite the Parliament's insolence, which led to another decree of Mazarin's arrest, no one dared to carry it out. Mazarin was accompanied by d'Artagnan and his musketeers, many of whom he had summoned for this purpose.

Chapter 182

The King showed the Cardinal the highest honor by coming out to greet him and escorting him to his assigned chambers. This event instantly restored Mazarin to the very top of the court. The Queen retired with the Cardinal for a long, private conversation on all matters requiring resolution and, perhaps, on other important matters. Ch;teauneuf resigned, preferring not to wait to be asked to do so.
Turenne suddenly remembered his duty and helped Mazarin defeat Cond;, just as Cond; had previously helped Mazarin defeat Turenne.
Cond; hoped to capture Paris with a swift attack from the banks of the Loire, but Turenne and his army caught up with him and began threatening his rear, leaving the army of Cond; and the princes caught in a pincer movement, threatened by attacks from two sides. To avoid being destroyed by Turenne or Auquincourt, the Prince of Cond; took refuge in ;tampes, intending to await the arrival of Archduke Leopold's Spanish army from Flanders.
Turenne besieged ;tampes, but lacked the strength to storm it, so the marshal instituted a siege, which would either defeat Cond; by starving him or force Cond; to leave the city and accept a battle, where Turenne would have a better chance of victory than by storm. His plans were thwarted by the invasion of France by Duke Charles IV of Lorraine with an army of ten thousand. At this time, Charles of Lorraine, having lost his possessions after they were already occupied by our troops, behaved like a hired brigand, differing from a land pirate only in the size of his army and his noble title. He assured Mazarin that he had no intention of aiding the princes' army, but this was all a deception; in fact, Charles of Lorraine was advancing steadily toward Paris, threatening to join forces with Cond; and demanding that the siege of ;tampes be lifted.
The campaign had reached a critical point, when its outcome could be decided in a matter of hours. If Cond; and Charles of Lorraine had united, they could have taken Paris. Therefore, Turenne lifted the siege of ;tampes and hastily advanced through Corbeil to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, where Charles of Lorraine had taken up a position.
Cond; also moved there, but Turenne got ahead of him, passing through the new river along the right bank of the Seine and capturing the strategically important bridge that Charles of Lorraine had ordered built to connect with Cond;.
Mazarin, in exchange for a large sum of money, persuaded Charles of Lorraine to abandon the princes' cause. Charles, having signed the agreement, left France, which placed Cond;'s army in a critical situation. Turenne occupied the Lorraine camp, Cond; advanced on Paris, and on June 17, 1651, he arrived at Bourg-la-Reine and encamped between Saint-Cloud and Suresnes. The Parisians refused to allow him into the city.
In Paris itself, riots and bloody clashes between the Frondeurs and the royalists continued.
Having crossed with part of his troops to the right bank of the Seine, La Fert; created the threat of encirclement of the prince's army, and Cond; was forced to secretly cross the river at night and retreat east beyond Charenton in order to again take cover behind the water barrier on the ledge formed by the confluence of the Seine and the Marne.
Cond; did not dare to go through Paris, fearing that the Parisians would refuse him this, which would undermine the discipline of his army.
Having received news from Paris that the princes' army was enveloping the city beyond Montmartre, moving between it and the Faubourg Saint-Martin, Mazarin ordered Turenne to advance. Turenne, without waiting for artillery, deployed his troops in battle formation on the plain between Saint-Denis and Paris, advancing several squadrons that drove Cond;'s rearguard from the heights of Saint-Denis.
Cond; decided to defend himself in the Saint-Antoine suburb, taking advantage of the barricades erected by the townspeople, but luck finally abandoned him.
The Faubourg Saint-Antoine is divided by three main streets: the Rue de Charenton, the Rue Saint-Antoine, and the Rue de Charonne, which radiate out in different directions. These streets converge on a large square just outside the capital's gates, where the Bastille fortress, with its powerful artillery, is located.
During the battle in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, Cond; risked capture or death. His daughter, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, seeing this danger, took charge of the defense and ordered the city gates opened, admitting Cond; and his nearly routed force. She then ordered the commandant of the Bastille to fire a volley at Turenne's army.
At first Mazarin decided that these volleys were directed against Cond;.
"Aha!" he exclaimed. "Our glorious Parisians seem to have decided to fry the ass of that scoundrel Cond;!"
"Monseigneur, they are firing at us, and the first volley was simply a sighting salvo," d'Artagnan objected. "Order the troops to be withdrawn immediately to within firing range of the fortress walls."
"Get away from the walls!" Mazarin ordered.
"Execute! Hurry!" d'Artagnan shouted decisively, and the King's troops hastened to retreat, saving many lives.
"But who dared give the order for the artillery salvos?" Mazarin asked in surprise. "Cond; simply couldn't have physically managed to climb the towers so quickly! Did the Bastille commander really order this at his own risk?"
"Cond;'s daughter, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, is currently in the Bastille," d'Artagnan suggested. "Who else but she could have ordered the city gates opened and Cond; admitted? She was the one who gave the order to fire all the cannons."
“With this salvo she shot away all her hopes of marrying His Majesty,” said Mazarin, shrugging his shoulders.
“It is clear that she loves her father more than the King,” replied d’Artagnan.
"Yes, unfortunately, such oddities still happen," Mazarin agreed. "But what's even stranger is that she apparently loves her father even more than herself."
"Now that's truly an extraordinary occurrence!" d'Artagnan chuckled. "But in that case, she's done him a disservice, since he's already saved; these volleys only complicate his future reconciliation with the King and Queen."
"Do you think he should be thinking about reconciliation now?" Mazarin asked in surprise.
"He should have thought about that constantly, even before he became a rebel," d'Artagnan replied. "Be that as it may, in the end we will win."
"Why are you so convinced of this?" the cardinal asked with interest.
"How could it be otherwise?" d'Artagnan was surprised. "It's only a matter of time and the price of this victory over our own fellow citizens, damn them! Why should they shed blood for the ambitions of these damned princes of the blood! If I had my way, I'd completely eradicate these privileges, make them equal to common nobles. They're being coddled too much."
Mazarin once again looked at d'Artagnan with respect and undisguised surprise.
The cardinal's comment regarding Mademoiselle's marriage was prophetic. Indeed, Mademoiselle de Bourbon's marriage to Louis XIV , despite the age difference, had been discussed earlier, but after this volley, it became impossible. Mademoiselle was then forced to settle for a dubious marriage with Lauzun, for whom, moreover, she had to wait a long time to be released from prison, where the King had placed him.
La Rochefoucauld was wounded in the eye in this battle and lost his sight for a long time, so poor Kitty's joke about the Duke de La Rochefoucauld being wounded in the eye proved prophetic. Mazarin's fifteen-year-old nephew, Paolo Mancini, died in this battle.
In this terrible battle, Frenchmen perished on both sides. The Queen knelt for hours in prayer in the Carmelite chapel of Saint-Denis, asking God to grant peace to France. She personally tended to the wounded.
Cond;, thanks to his daughter, became master of Paris, but this didn't save him; on the contrary, it undermined his already precarious position. The city was devastated, and the army needed to be supported. Cond; imposed exorbitant taxes on the citizens, his soldiers looted and committed atrocities, and fires, violence, and robbery became commonplace for Parisians.
Mazarin made a wise decision, voluntarily retreating into a second exile to prove to the citizens of France that his presence was not the cause of the civil wars. But this exile was merely territorial; in reality, the Cardinal continued to govern France from Sedan through Faber. He brought his supporters and friends into the Royal Council, dictated a declaration to the King absolving him of all previous charges, which was registered by Parliament and posted in Pontoise. Now Mazarin's enemies were outlawed. The seven months Mazarin spent with the Queen demonstrated to everyone that he was an integral part of the royal family, that the Queen would never abandon Mazarin, and that the King respected and loved the Cardinal and followed his advice. No one now doubted that a secret marriage had been concluded between the Queen and the Cardinal.
Eventually, the Parisians began to create all sorts of obstacles for Cond;, and he became so weakened that a week later the King and Turenne's troops solemnly entered Paris.
The cardinal returned with another triumph and returned to the affairs of government.
Mazarin could not help but notice d'Artagnan's unwavering loyalty, which he maintained during the Cardinal's two exiles, the first forced, the second temporary and at the Cardinal's own initiative. D'Artagnan was simply fulfilling a promise he had made to the Queen. But Mazarin interpreted this as a sign of deep respect, the result of ideological convictions, or something else equally strong and reliable. I cannot deny that d'Artagnan may have already felt some of these feelings for his new sovereign, but his primary loyalty was to the Queen. Understanding that the Queen expected precisely this form of devotion from him, he no longer asked any questions and guarded the Cardinal as carefully as if he were the Queen herself.

Chapter 183

At the end of 1652, Cond; and Conti were accused of lese-majeste, and Paul de Gondi was arrested. The following events occurred the following year:
The triumphant return of Mazarin, the capture of Rethel by Turenne, the condemnation of Claude Joly by the Parlement des Maximes, the appointment of Nicolas Fouquet as Superintendent of Finances, and the capture of Rocroi by the Spanish under Cond;. Meanwhile, in England, Cromwell became Lord Protector and established a united parliament for England, Scotland, and Ireland. By royal decree, Bordeaux received an amnesty. Other notable events of that year included the siege of Landrecies.
Parliament called on Louis XIV to emulate his grandfather, Henry IV . A highly ambiguous calling! After all, it seemed that Parliament was in some ways condemning King Louis XIII , while in others preferring his grandfather over the current King's father. Well, the most obvious difference lay on the surface. While Louis XIII was strangely captivated by handsome young men and had no love for women, including his own wife, and only occasionally admired very young ladies while they remained virgins, unwilling to personally lead them out of this state, dubious for the entire court, Henry IV saw women primarily as a source of carnal pleasure and never missed an opportunity to take from them everything they deigned to offer their monarch, and they, as a rule, were quite susceptible to his pressure. Parliament, of course, had in mind Henry IV's active efforts to strengthen his personal power, diminishing the authority of princes, and to strengthen the state's borders, ensuring the unity of territorial lords' subordination to the King. But in that case, it's unclear how Henry IV could have been a preferable example compared to Louis XIII . Perhaps they meant that Henry IV ruled personally, while Louis XIII relied more on Cardinal Richelieu, giving him the position of first minister? One could counter that Henry IV also had Sully, whom he trusted in everything, and who determined state policy. Moreover, Louis XIII's reign was such that he died peacefully in his bed from illness and old age, while Henry IV was stabbed to death by a fanatic, who undoubtedly had forces behind him who wished to shift policy from collaboration with England against Spain to collaboration with Spain against England. Not without reason, Marie de Medici and Concino Concini, as well as the Duke of Epeornon, Henry III's last minion, are accused of this . So the example of the King, who allowed a conspiracy against him among his closest associates, can hardly be considered worthy of emulation, whereas Louis XIII , who trusted Richelieu completely, had every reason to do so, since the cardinal uncovered no less than six conspiracies, any one of which could have cost the King his life.
So, I don't blame Louis XIV , who heeded the Parliament's wish to be like his grandfather in everything, and indeed became so much like him that he almost surpassed him in gallantry. He wasn't as lustful as his grandfather, however, and didn't have affairs with as many women, but his relationships were long-lasting and practically open. He took mistresses with almost no embarrassment in front of his wife, although, of course, at first he concealed his feelings and his intimacy, which only happened during his intimacy with Mademoiselle de La Valli;re. It was probably she who persuaded him not to advertise this relationship, but life showed, and quite quickly, that the King’s personal life cannot be a secret, that there will always be those who will find out what is hidden and pass it on to others, for among the thousands of eyes that never leave the King, there will always be two or three couples who will see what they should not have seen.
At that time, the King was still quite young, and thanks to Madame de Beauvais, he had already become familiar with the science that taught the differences between women and men and how these differences should be exploited to mutual satisfaction. Mazarin's charming nieces appeared at court; they were well-bred, beautiful, intelligent, and dignified, yet they understood who was the master of France and realized that a master should not be denied that small gift, which a woman gives without becoming the poorer, while a man feels a hundred times happier and richer. They were also wise enough to understand that the initial presentation of a gift so coveted by men is the most valuable, becoming less and less valuable over time as the favor is frequently repeated. Therefore, they clearly understood the need to hold off on distributing these favors until the heightened intensity of passions would give them their greatest value, so that the recipient of this favor would not seek to buy off with gifts or handouts, but would be prepared to give their all, and only on the altar before the Lord. Thus, the traps were laid, the bait was loaded, and the hunt began.
Mademoiselle de Bourbon, who by birthright possessed sufficient nobility to lay claim to the King's hand in marriage, shot her hopes of such a marriage to the ground with cannons from the walls of the Bastille, as Mazarin figuratively put it. The nieces were only too glad to have one less willing companion, especially since their age and beauty gave them a significant advantage over the short-sighted princess. One of Mazarin's nieces, Laura Mancini, had already married the Duke of Merc;ur. But Mazarin still had eight nieces left. Along with three nephews, they all arrived in France from Italy in two batches: the first arrived in 1647, the rest arrived in 1653. Collectively, the nieces became known as the "Mazarinettes."
Here is a complete list of them.
Laura Mancini was born in 1636, so she was somewhat older than the King.
Olimpia Mancini, born in 1638, was the same age as the King. She later married Eugene Maurice of Savoy.
Maria Mancini, a year younger than the King, 1639, the first passionate love of Louis, who later became the wife of Lorenzo Onofrio Colonna, Duke of Tagliacoli, Prince of Paliano and Castiglione.
Margherita Mancini, born in 1643, also briefly attracted the King's attention, but soon entered a convent, dedicating herself to the Lord. Realizing that she could not be the King's only chosen one on earth, she decided to become God's bride. Although, if one believes that all nuns will be God's brides, one must sympathize with him: how could God possibly manage such a multitude of brides?
Hortense Mancini, born in 1646, was rightly considered the most beautiful of the Mazarinetes, and, of course, she also captivated the King, who captivated her, but much later. Her husband was Armand Charles de la Porte, Duke of La Meilleure. However, she later escaped from her husband and became the mistress of Charles II of England.
Anne Mancini, born in 1647, was not overlooked by the King, but she, too, failed to captivate him enough to become his wife. However, it was Mazarin himself who refused to allow the King to marry any of his nieces, considering each of them unworthy of the honor and seeing the King's marriage merely as a political tool for better governing France. So, it's completely unfounded to accuse him of dreaming of becoming related to the King through one of his nieces. He had already become related to the greats, but he understood perfectly well the limits that could not be crossed. Thus, the marriage of Laura Mancini and Louis de Vend;me, Duke of Merc;ur, was sufficient to bring Mazarin closer to the royal family, not to mention Mazarin's own secret marriage to Queen Anne.
Finally, mention should be made of Anne Marie Mancini, born in 1649, who was thus eleven years younger than the King, although this did not prevent her from becoming his mistress, after which her husband was Maurice Jodefroy de La Tour d'Auvergne, Duke of Bouillon. This lady was a patron of the arts in her time, supporting La Fontaine and Racine.
So, I've listed the children of Mazarin's sister, Girolama, but he had another sister, Laura. She had two daughters, also Mazarin's nieces.
Laura Martinozzi, who was only slightly older than the King but looked his age and even slightly younger, also left her mark on the King's heart; her husband later became Alfonso IV d'Este, Duke of Modena.
Her other daughter, Anna Maria Martinozzi, was born two years after the King, in 1637. Her husband was Armand de Bourbon, Prince de Conti. His Majesty also had time to meet her, but they tried to conceal this close acquaintance from Armand de Bourbon. Damn it, if not for the Duchess de Chevreuse's overly cheerful disposition, the Prince de Conti might have married not this Mazarine, but a girl worthy in every respect! However, all this is nonsense; I should not deviate from the sequence of my narrative.
So, in 1655, the gaze of the ardent and young King stopped on Olympia.
The marriages Mazarin managed to arrange for his sister Laura's daughters speak not only of Mazarin's own foresight, but also of his sister's tenacity, who understood the situation. Unlike Chevrette, she refused to entertain the idea of her daughters being simply someone's mistresses, even if their lover was the King himself. She cared for their happiness, which she saw in the observance of propriety and morality. For happiness, a woman needs love and marriage. If this requires two different men, well, what woman has ever stopped? The nieces managed to form a spiritual and other alliance with their King, which did not prevent them from seizing the opportunity to form a profitable match with the Princes of the Blood. They received affection and pleasure from the King, and position and stability from their husbands. Money, in turn, came from both worthy sources of this blessing. Cond; seized the opportunity to marry Anne Marie, as at that very time his elder brother, the Great Cond;, was sentenced to death for treason, so such a marriage was necessary to defend himself against the just accusations of treason he deserved. This marriage also officially elevated Mazarin to the rank of grandee, strengthening both Mazarin's position and that of the princes, but only on the condition that they obeyed the King and even Mazarin, and also cemented peace in France.
In 1655, at a ball in the Louvre, the King was expected to invite Princess Henrietta, daughter of the Queen of England, to the first dance, but he preferred Madame de Merc;ur, that is, the Mazarinette Laura.
Queen Anne rose from her throne and separated the dancing couple, reminding her son that he should invite Henrietta to dance.
“I don’t like little girls,” the King objected.
Henrietta was only eleven years old, while the King was already sixteen and a half, looked twenty, and had the ardor of an eighteen-year-old. Naturally, the King had no intention of consummating his desires with Madame de Merc;ur, since Louis de Vend;me belonged to the royal family, and the marriage had to be respected, at least outwardly.
If only the Queen had known then that she would soon have to reproach the King for his overly attentive treatment of Henrietta, who would become the wife of his brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans, and thus be known as Madame! I believe that at that very moment, Henrietta was offended by the King's reluctance to dance with her, and perhaps even that she promised herself to become beautiful, flirtatious, and desirable to the King, to make him desire her, and then refuse him. In any case, she kept the first part of this promise to herself; she truly became desirable to Louis XIV and elicited from him confessions that would have flattered any Frenchwoman, regardless of her status or position.

Chapter 184

The Duchess of Merc;ur was already married and had no intention of abandoning her marital duties. Louis XIV 's gaze turned to the younger Olympe and lingered for a long time. For about a year, the lovers enjoyed each other's company, believing that nothing could hinder their happiness. However, when talk at court began to circulate about the possibility of such a marriage, and, naturally, Mazarin himself began to be accused of harboring hopes for such an outcome, the cardinal was the first to put an end to this ambiguous situation. Convinced that no persuasion, orders, or threats had any effect on Olympe, he married her to Prince Thomas's son, Eugene of Savoy, for whose sake the title of Count of Soissons was restored, which would have been extinct, as his mother was the last representative of this branch of the Bourbon family.
Mazarin's eldest nieces, including the Duchess of Merc;ur, the Princess of Conti, and the Princess of Modena, lived through the Fronde, experiencing the hardships of exile and the humiliation of public contempt. They dignifiedly assumed positions befitting their rank and aspired to no higher positions. His younger nieces, Olympe, Hortense, Marie, and Marie-Anne, who arrived in Paris after the Fronde, were spoiled and unaware of the danger lurking in the public outrage, initially subtle and later insurmountable. For this reason, these Mazarines occasionally lost their sense of reality, which made them the cause of yet another scandal.
Hortense, who married Lameyer, who became Duke Mazarin, was forced to leave her husband, unable to come to terms with his incestuous affair with her brother, Philippe Mancini, Duke of Nevers. In despair, she turned to wine, drowning her freshness, beauty, and prudence in it.
Olympe de Soissons continued to receive the King from time to time as if she were still Olympe Mancini, and Louis XIV continued to visit her even after he had already switched to Mademoiselle d'Argencourt.
The Queen Mother might have looked indulgently upon her son's youthful passions, but his obvious inclination toward gallant polygamy, apparently inherited from his grandfather, she, as a true Catholic and Spaniard, resolutely condemned, so the King was forced to listen to unflattering moralizing from his mother, and Mademoiselle d'Argencourt was removed from court.
Olympe's marriage forced Louis XIV to turn his attention to her younger sister, Marie Mancini. Marie was dark, thin, bold, and playful. While this personality certainly displeased the Queen, Louis XIV found it fascinating . He understood that her boldness stemmed from her lively mind, education, and intelligence. In her innovative moral aspirations, she outstripped Madame de Rambouillet and Madame de Sabl;, as she sought to prove that a woman had a right to her own opinion. Such boldness! It was from her that Moli;re later modeled his coquettish women.
Indeed, the protracted civil war brutalized men and tamed women. Men who spent six months at war craved quick victories, having no time for courtship, flowers, or sweet words. Women, starved for male affection, were also ready for a speeded-up version of the courtship period and mutual languor. So, the preludes to a heartfelt friendship that their grandmothers had spent weeks and months on, they likely wanted to compress into half an hour. Therefore, in a spirit of contradiction, some of them set their lovers to trials that lasted many years. This is why they were called coy, as the way they set the courtship period seemed too much like setting a price for their favors.
As for the courtship times their grandmothers set, who knows whether they were truly as uncooperative as they claimed, or whether they merely concocted these tales for their granddaughters? I don't think I encountered a trace of such slowness in establishing relationships in Chevrette when I first arrived in Paris.
The Queen tried to instill in Louis a love of high literature, but Marie Mancini, who had a passion for reading of a different kind, taught the King gallant behavior with ladies, which made him a skilled seducer, although it is very possible that his best means of temptation was that he was the King of the state in which he spread his nets of seduction.
The King's gallant affairs with Mary did not bother the Queen, who called the Mazarinettes nieces, which further supports the general suspicion that the Queen had entered into a secret marriage with Mazarin, so she had every reason to address them as such.
Well, I don’t need proof of this marriage, since I know about this fact reliably and can indicate the day and time of this marriage, as well as the name of the priest who performed this sacrament.
The Queen dreamed of marrying her son to the Spanish Infanta, her niece, and thereby establishing and firmly cementing peace with Spain. Of course, she remained Queen of France, so she wanted peace on her own terms, with the retention of all conquered territories, which should be called liberated. Philip IV , the Queen's brother, was furious that his sister had severely curtailed his possessions. The idea of Louis XIV marrying the daughter of Philip IV had been discussed even before the Fronde and was favorably received by both sides. However, since Spain supported the Fronde and the rebellious princes, which exacerbated the military confrontation between France and Spain, Philip IV pretended to lose interest in the marriage.
Mazarin was particularly gloomy and instead of his usual greeting to d'Artagnan, he merely waved his hand.
The captain bowed to the cardinal with exaggerated politeness, without bending a millimeter lower than he considered sufficient.
Mazarin came to his senses and tried to make up for his rudeness with an equally emphatically polite greeting.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, good afternoon!" he said. "It's wonderful weather outside, isn't it?"
"Is Monseigneur preoccupied with some complex political problem?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Why did you decide that?" the cardinal perked up.
"Your Eminence doesn't tend to engage in small talk with his subordinates, so you simply wanted to gloss over the slight you showed me, which I attribute to the fact that Monsignor is preoccupied with serious matters," the captain replied. "And for Your Eminence, there are only three serious topics: politics, the Queen, and the King. Since the Queen and King are healthy and extremely well disposed toward you, that leaves only politics."
"You are observant, Monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Mazarin. "I am concerned about the King's marriage."
"His Majesty has become very attentive to your niece," said d'Artagnan. "Are you worried that he will deceive her and not marry her?"
"On the contrary, I'm worried that he might even think he's seriously in love with her and plans to marry her!" Mazarin objected.
“But this marriage will be a blessing for your whole family,” d’Artagnan noted.
"This marriage would be a misfortune for France," the cardinal replied with a sigh. "And the Mazarin family will never build its personal happiness on what is a misfortune for France."
"Would you like to arrange a marriage between the King and the Spanish Infanta?" asked d'Artagnan.
"It's practically impossible," the cardinal sighed. "Philip IV abandoned the idea. "
“Or pretends to have refused,” replied d’Artagnan.
"What did you say?" Mazarin asked in surprise.
"It's simple trade," the captain replied. "Whoever is actively engaged in this matter will have to make greater concessions to the other side."
"Do you think Philip is still interested in Maria Theresa's marriage to His Majesty?" the cardinal asked.
“If Monsignor names more attractive options for the Infanta, then I will perhaps doubt the correctness of my assumption,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And you Gascons are almost as cunning as the Italians!" Mazarin admired.
“More cunning,” objected d’Artagnan.
“Why?” asked the cardinal.
“Because we don’t show it,” the captain replied.
Mazarin bit his lower lip thoughtfully.
"So he wants this marriage too? But he's pretending to have cooled off to the idea? Well, well," said Mazarin, drumming his fingers on the table. "What can I do to spur him on?"
"There are at least two options," d'Artagnan replied. "The first option is obvious, but undesirable. Significant victories on the French-Spanish fronts."
"Why undesirable?" asked Mazarin.
“Every extra day of war means greater sacrifices,” said d’Artagnan.
“Well, that’s understandable,” the cardinal, who considered himself a peacemaker, languidly agreed.
“And a lot of extra expenses,” added the captain.
"And this is very, very sad!" the cardinal exclaimed with feeling. "What is the second way?"
"Make it clear to the King of Spain that this opportunity is about to cease to be an opportunity for him," said d'Artagnan. "Begin to make tentative steps toward another marriage option for the King, and make sure these steps become known to Philip IV ."
"What other marriage is this?" Mazarin asked thoughtfully. "With Princess Margaret of Savoy?"
"An excellent choice, Your Eminence!" said the captain. "Although if I were the King, I'd say, 'Let me see everyone first!'"
"Let me see them all!" How ridiculous! Mazarin laughed. "But do kings really marry for love? Does the appearance of the king's future wife really matter?"
"Charles I of England held precisely that opinion," said the captain. "And he was not alone."
"So, we begin negotiations for the King's marriage to the Princess of Savoy. Philip IV will be worried that the opportunity to marry Maria Theresa to our King will soon evaporate. He will step up his efforts, offer his daughter to our King, and we will accept," Mazarin concluded. "Not bad, but how then will we explain the refusal to the Duke of Savoy and his sister, whom he treats tenderly, as if she were his own daughter?"
"Monseigneur will certainly find suitable arguments and clothe them in even more suitable words," replied d'Artagnan. "But if a certain sum of money is added to these words, then the apology will be accepted."
"But the sum must be quite considerable!" exclaimed Mazarin.
“Still, no more than you would spend on the first option, that is, on continuing the war and achieving new territorial conquests in order to make the King of Spain more accommodating,” d’Artagnan noted.
"Hm, hm," Mazarin said thoughtfully. "If this thing works out, I should make you my political adviser."
"Honestly, it's not worth it," d'Artagnan objected. "Make me a field marshal instead."
“The path to becoming a marshal lies through military victories as a general, and you, as I see, advocate for peace,” Mazarin replied with a fair amount of sarcasm.
"If peace is established in France, I am prepared to remain captain of the king's musketeers for the rest of my days; that is enough for me," replied d'Artagnan. "Would it please Monseigneur to set a password for today?"
"Today's password will be Theresia," Mazarin replied cheerfully. "In honor of the idea you gave me."
“Thank you, Monsignor,” the captain replied, bowed and left.

Chapter 185

"Your Majesty!" Mazarin said to the Queen. "A wonderful idea has occurred to me."
"Your wonderful head is constantly emitting wonderful thoughts," the Queen replied sincerely. "But from what you're telling me, you needed my help to bring your idea to fruition."
"You are, as always, extremely perceptive, and you are right, I need your help," the cardinal agreed. "The fact is that a marriage between His Majesty and the Infanta of Spain would, of course, be very desirable, but your august brother, it seems, does not wish to give his daughter, or your niece, to our King."
“Unfortunately, this marriage seems unrealistic to me, although it would be a magnificent step towards establishing and maintaining peace between our countries for a long time,” the Queen agreed.
“I propose that we turn our gaze to Princess Margaret of Savoy,” said the cardinal.
“I’m afraid you’re right, and this option is the best of the remaining ones,” the Queen replied with a sigh.
“We will go to Lyon to raise this question very carefully beforehand,” said Mazarin.
"What's there to be cautious about?" the Queen asked in surprise. "We only have to tell the Duke of Savoy about this, and he himself will rush to Paris along with his younger sister, Marguerite Violante!"
“We will begin by taking a very cautious step, and I ask you to think about how to make sure that your august brother Philip IV learns about this trip long before we arrive there, and of course, so that he does not learn about it from you.
"Good heavens!" the Queen exclaimed. "That's truly a wonderful idea, Giulio! Do you think my brother will immediately send a delegation to dissuade us from this marriage and suggest Maria Theresa?!"
"I only hope so," Mazarin replied in his ingratiating voice, lowering his eyes. "In any case, in his place, I would think a thousand times before letting this last opportunity slip. That is, I wouldn't hesitate; I would hasten to break off this engagement and secure an engagement with the Infanta of Spain."
"Giulio, I've already told you that your mind can produce thousands of brilliant ideas, but this is one of the most brilliant!" the Queen replied.
"You are too kind, Your Majesty," replied the flattered Mazarin, kissing both of the Queen's hands in turn. "So how about a useful leak?"
"Oh, don't worry about that!" replied the Queen. "I'll tell Gaston, and he'll let La Rochefoucauld and Paul de Gondi know about it, which means Chevrette will hear about it right away, and so Philippe will be informed."
"Won't he sense a catch in all this?" Mazarin asked worriedly.
"Gaston?!" the Queen asked. "Are you kidding? When would Gaston d'Orl;ans have ever sensed a trick in anything? He's manipulated by anyone and everyone! Besides, I'll tell him about the preparations for the trip to Lyon and confide the supposed purpose of this trip, so that he'll blab it not only to La Rochefoucauld and Gondi, but to everyone else as well. Secretly, of course! They'll all think I don't know, that they know what I know.
"Excellent, Your Majesty!" the cardinal exclaimed with genuine admiration. "We will prepare for the trip with particular care, so that the Spanish envoy will have enough time to get ahead of us and be in Lyon by the time we arrive."
"Of course, I'll need a new wardrobe for this trip!" the Queen replied.
The cardinal bit his lip, but overcame himself and, overcoming his own nature, added.
“A new wardrobe and a new necklace, and also a wardrobe for the King and Little Monsieur,” he said, saddened by the thought of how much it would cost.

The very next day, the Duchess de Chevreuse wrote the following letter in her personal code to King Philip IV of Spain :

"Your Catholic Majesty!
I appeal to you as your most faithful friend, who can be found in all of France.
You should know that the Queen and the Cardinal have conspired to marry the King to the Princess of Savoy. I am outraged that they could forget the duty of close kinship and friendship between your two royal houses! What? Forget that Your Majesty deigned to marry the sister of our King Louis XIII on the very day that your august father, Philip III , blessed our King Louis XIII with your ungrateful sister, Anne of Austria! Forget that our King is your nephew in two lines of kinship, just as your august daughter, Infanta Maria Theresa, is also a niece in two lines of kinship to Queen Anne? This marriage would have been the crowning achievement of the political development of the two greatest European states, contributing to the establishment of a lasting and much-desired peace—the dream of the peoples of our two countries! And suddenly such a misalliance, which is an insult to Your Catholic Majesty, to Your entire state, if it takes place!
I beg you to save my country from dishonor! Do not allow this engagement!
Only an ambassador arriving in Lyon in a timely manner on behalf of Your Catholic Majesty will be able to stop attempts to arrange this marriage, which is offensive to both our countries, in defiance of the undoubted rights of Her Highness Infanta Maria Theresa.
I beg you to put aside your grievances and do the noblest thing, to extend the hand of sire, consent and mercy, for this marriage can now take place only in the event of mercy shown by you in relation to your foolish sister, who, contrary to all common sense, has previously shown foolishness and shortsightedness in waging war against your state, which, among other things, is also her homeland, and now also intends to deprive your august daughter and her niece of the privilege of being the first to hear the proposal of marriage from His Majesty King Louis XIV of France .
I remain devoted to you with my soul and heart, keeping in my heart those unforgettable days when I had the good fortune to experience all the advantages of being in your wonderful state, close to Your Majesty, to be your friend and, I dare to hope, something more than that.
I kiss your hands and pray for your well-being.
"Marie, Duchess of Chevreuse."

Chapter 186

The royal family was, indeed, in no hurry to depart. Upon arriving in Lyon, the cardinal received notice that Don Antonio Pimantel was also on his way and would soon arrive, authorized on behalf of the King of Spain to discuss the possibility of the King's marriage to the Infanta. The young King was already content to travel in the company of Maria Mancini, who preferred to ride alongside His Majesty rather than travel in a comfortable carriage, but far from him. Louis had recently suffered a terrible illness, so severe that the court seriously feared the worst outcome. At that time, Maria Mancini shed sincere tears of grief for him, almost as much as those shed by his mother, Queen Anne. Fortunately for everyone, the King recovered. They did not fail to tell him of Maria's grief, and he was filled with even greater attention, sympathy, and affection for her, something that could even be called genuine love. The Queen did not want to upset her recently recovered son by marrying a woman she did not love. As a mother, she did not want to break her son's heart, but she was, first and foremost, a Queen, and therefore hoped that the Infanta, her niece, would be able to make the proper impression on her son, so that he could finally make the right choice from the standpoint of the political needs of the state.
However, contrary to the cardinal's calculations, the Spanish ambassador arrived late, bringing the royal family with him, so the court had to fully feign the purpose for which, as had been announced, the court had come to Lyon. The King conversed with the Princess of Savoy and declared that he liked her very much, and was ready to marry her. However, even then, he was gradually becoming the Louis XIV he would become known as—a man who, without much moral qualms, would reject one match for another, more advantageous or more pleasant. Fully aware that the Infanta of Spain was a far more advantageous match, he calmly accepted the fact that a marriage with a more noble cousin might become a reality, and so that choice should be preferred.
Thus, the cardinal's cunning achieved the desired result, but he was forced to demand half a million livres from the Superintendent of Finances, Nicolas Fouquet, for the House of Savoy in order to appease the Duke of Savoy and the rejected Princess of Savoy with appropriate gifts. True, Mazarin managed to keep part of this sum to cover travel expenses and a new wardrobe for the royal family, but he wouldn't be Mazarin if he didn't do so.
The King, who had previously looked with great affection upon Margaret Violante of Savoy, spoke to her the following day with exaggerated politeness but coldness. The Princess of Savoy, Christine of France, who was the sister of Louis XIII , had likely hoped for the Queen's sympathy and even, apparently, her participation in arranging a marriage for her husband's younger sister, Margaret Violante, to another prince, in order to smooth over the situation. However, as usual, there was no cordial relationship between the Queen and her sister-in-law, so Anne of Austria merely spoke dismissively of Christine of France's concerns.
"Am I supposed to sympathize with this one?!" she exclaimed indignantly, and this pronoun summed up her entire attitude toward her sister-in-law.
However, the rejected bride was soon consoled, almost immediately marrying Ranuccio II Farnese, the son of Duke Odoardo Farnese and Margherita de' Medici. As Duchess of Parma, she gave birth to two children: a stillborn girl and then a boy who died at two days old. She herself died in childbirth, so had the same fate befallen her in her marriage to Louis XIV , it would hardly have been a happy one.
Since his marriage to the Infanta was still some time away, Louis returned to courting Maria Mancini, with whom he spent much time. During the day, he played ball with the Musketeers, and in the evenings, he spent time with Maria Mancini, initially riding with her carriage, then sitting on the box next to the coachman, and finally, moving into the carriage and taking a seat next to her. What they did in the carriage with the curtains drawn remains anyone's guess.
Curiously, this attention to Maria Mancini upset the Count of Soissons, who wondered why the King had ceased to pay so much attention to his wife, Olimpia Mancini. It's astonishing how some courtiers strive to acquire a headdress that would only suit Actaeon and, perhaps, the ancient Vikings!
Maria Mancini, meanwhile, had reached such a close relationship with the King that, tired of physical contact, she decided to provide him with spiritual entertainment by telling him details of her uncle's relationship with the Queen, which probably embarrassed the King, although, perhaps, she convinced him that there was no need to show excessive scrupulousness in the matter of non-spiritual intimacy between people equally inclined to know each other.
Louis XIV became so much closer to Marie Mancini and gradually began to distance himself more and more from his mother that this caused justified concern to the Queen Mother, and she decided to remove the impudent niece from the King as quickly as possible.
The King's close relationship with this Mazarinette worried Philip IV , who, through his envoy Pimentel, asked Mazarin whether this overly affectionate friendship would interfere with the King's marriage. Mazarin replied that it was merely childish pranks and advised him to ignore them. Nevertheless, it was decided that Marie Mancini should leave court.
Having said goodbye to Marie Mancini, Louis XIV went to be sad and seek new entertainment in Chantilly, which had been taken away from Cond; again.
Meanwhile, d'Artagnan served Mazarin faithfully all these years, convincing himself that he served not the Cardinal, but the King. He didn't hide this position from the Cardinal himself, who might have been offended had he heard it from anyone else. But over time, he became convinced that d'Artagnan was demonstrating true loyalty, understanding that Mazarin himself also saw serving the King and Queen as his true calling and sole purpose. The captain of the Musketeers managed to achieve the impossible.
For example, when the flood washed away all the bridges across the Aisne, d'Artagnan heard Mazarin exclaim: "We need a bridge!"
The captain of the musketeers took this as an order and ordered the quartermaster to build a bridge. The quartermaster was horrified, but d'Artagnan personally surveyed the banks and, finding that only the supports of the old bridge remained, pointed them out to the quartermaster.
"Monsieur Chamfort, the Lord has preserved the supports from the previous bridge for you," he said. "Furthermore, the Lord has grown magnificent pine trees nearby for you. Please be kind enough to dispatch skilled sappers to supervise the work, and for the simpler tasks, use as many soldiers as necessary. But the bridge must be restored tomorrow, for the Cardinal needs it."
The next day the bridge was restored, and Mazarin could only marvel that his complaints were taken as an order, which was immediately carried out.
During his six years in Mazarin's service, d'Artagnan managed to save six thousand livres. When he learned that the position of head of the aviary at the Flore pavilion would likely soon become vacant, and when someone mistakenly told him that the position was worth precisely six thousand livres, he wanted to buy it with all his savings, knowing that it brought a small but steady income and, most importantly, that the person in charge, a nobleman, was entitled to an apartment near the Louvre. However, the position entailed no actual duties. For these six years, d'Artagnan was forced to rent an apartment quite far from the Louvre, which was inconvenient and sometimes interfered with his duties, as arriving at the palace took a considerable amount of time. He was sometimes even forced to forgo lodging at home and spend the night wherever and whenever possible if his duty fell late in the evening or early the following morning.
He approached the cardinal with a request to purchase the position and naively offered to pay the full six thousand livres for it immediately. The cardinal graciously agreed, and d'Artagnan left inspired.
Meanwhile, Colbert's cousin, ;tienne Lecamus, head of the accounting department and superintendent of construction, approached him. He asked him to intercede for the position for twenty thousand livres. Colbert promised to make an effort and, after reviewing all the duties and benefits accorded to a nobleman in this position, decided he would be happy to purchase it himself. So he went to Mazarin and asked for the position for himself, offering twenty thousand livres.
"Twenty thousand?" the cardinal asked, trying to appear dispassionate.
“That’s the price of this position,” Colbert replied.
"I'm very sorry," replied Mazarin. "I've already promised this position to someone else."
"Just a promise?" Colbert asked. "Couldn't we use some plausible pretext..."
"This position was promised to Monsieur d'Artagnan," Mazarin clarified. "Do you want the Prime Minister to go back on his word? If I had two similar positions, I swear the second would be yours. I will do something similar for you as soon as the opportunity presents itself. But I am bound by my word, and although Monsieur d'Artagnan named a different price, I have not had time to verify its true value. But the word has been given, so nothing can be done about it.
"Oh! I didn't know Monsieur d'Artagnan was applying for this position!" exclaimed Colbert. "If I had known, I would never have asked for it myself. I am extremely glad that this position has gone to such a distinguished officer as Monsieur d'Artagnan! You did absolutely right in bestowing it on him!"
Colbert emphasized the word "granted," which made it clear that he was hinting that this distribution of this attractive sinecure was more a gift than a purchase, having calculated in his mind that the captain of the Musketeers had bought it for less than a third of its true price.
I don’t know what exactly Colbert was more offended by: the fact that d’Artagnan had passed him over in this purchase, or the fact that he had managed to save so much, or the fact that Mazarin had made it clear to Colbert that he valued d’Artagnan somewhat more highly than Colbert; but most likely, all three of these considerations combined in his heart and sowed the seeds of deep hostility towards the Gascon who had passed him over in the Cardinal’s favor.
Having received the coveted commission as captain-concierge of the royal enclosure at the Tuileries, d'Artagnan immediately moved into his official quarters, which were far more luxurious than his rented bachelor apartment. In the new pavilion, just steps from the Louvre, d'Artagnan told himself that his service to the cardinal had finally begun to bear fruit. The new apartment was so cozy that he even briefly considered how wonderful it would be if all the wars finally ended, and his duties as captain of the musketeers were reduced to serving only as an honor guard and carrying out other duties, of which the musketeers and their captain always had a great many. However, the very next moment he told himself that this was nonsense, and that only in the military would he make a worthy career, becoming, at the very least, a count like Athos, and perhaps even a marshal like de Grammont.

Chapter 187

At that time, d'Artagnan became close with a comrade from our former musketeer exploits, Bemo, as it's pronounced, but spelled Besmo, or Bezmo, as you prefer. This former musketeer had also served under Mazarin in the same field as d'Artagnan, so they were more than colleagues. They were comrades, competitors, and everything in between. Each of them was trying to arrange their affairs as best they could, that is, to secure a cushy position if possible, and also to save money for a good position that would bring in a sufficient regular income, or even better, a service apartment, as happened with d'Artagnan.
Bemo was courageous, though not reckless, so Mazarin appointed him captain of the guard, which, of course, is not the same as captain of the musketeers, but still a very respectable position. I should note that Bemo later rose to the rank of general and became marquis and commandant of the Bastille, but that was much later. I also had occasion to deal with him later on, which makes it all the more interesting to describe some of his fate as well.
The cardinal helped him acquire large estates, including the fief of Leser near Castres. Furthermore, Bemo managed to profit handsomely by cheaply acquiring confiscated property—property requisitioned from nobles for dueling or other crimes, as well as from those who had inherited it illegally due to illegitimacy or other reasons. All such property was sold to his people for a quarter or a third less than its true value, or even half the price, with the proceeds going to the treasury. The sale, of course, was open; there were no auctions.
D'Artagnan didn't participate in such hoarding, considering it ignoble and unbecoming of a true nobleman, but he didn't condemn others for such mercantilism. By that time, d'Artagnan had become the kind of man who never judged anyone, at least not out loud.
Bemo made several mistakes while carrying out Mazarin's orders. He was a competent soldier and officer, but a completely incompetent diplomat. Mazarin had mistakenly entrusted him with negotiations with Henri de Lorraine, Count d'Harcourt, nicknamed "Cadet Pearl" for wearing a pearl earring, as did the minions of Henri III , which gave rise to suspicions of similar inclinations, and perhaps not without reason. Mazarin instructed Bemo to persuade the Count to be loyal to the Cardinal, but he did not instruct him to make any specific commitments. D'Artagnan would have handled this task admirably. He could promise anything in such words that they could always be interpreted in two ways—either as a concrete promise or as a literary figurative expression. Even when Bemo attempted to formulate merely meaningless promises, he delivered them in such a tone and chose such poorly worded sentences that they could be mistaken for concrete offers that would be difficult to refuse later. While d'Artagnan could promise something insignificant in such a way that it was perceived as something exceptionally valuable, Bemo, on the contrary, could promise quite substantial sums in such a way that the listener was left with the impression that more should be asked. If d'Artagnan promised that the seduced man would receive a white rose from the Queen herself, it sounded like the Order of the Holy Spirit. If Bemo promised that his interlocutor would receive the Queen's palace, it sounded as if he were being given something no longer useful to anyone, some trifle, a small thing. In other words, diplomacy was not the right assignment for poor Bemo. However, had Bemo been wiser, perhaps he would have joined our circle of four friends, whom I would wholeheartedly call inseparable, despite the fact that we were separated first for twenty years, then for ten, and even during the periods when we did meet, we didn't always act in concert. But what was most important between us was a devoted and sincere friendship. Bemo wasn't for d'Artagnan what any of us were: a friend, a comrade, a colleague.
Mazarin was dissatisfied with Bemo's diplomatic efforts.
"It would have been better if you had done nothing at all than what you did!" he lamented. "The Count didn't become my friend, but considered me his debtor. And I expected the opposite result from you. I would have liked him to switch over completely to my side, but I wouldn't have been obligated to pay him any sums, or, worse, to give up any lands. You should have simply explained to him the benefits of switching sides, and not made promises I didn't authorize you to make in my name!"
"I'm a poor diplomat," Bemo agreed with a sigh. "Order me to lead troops into battle for you and die under fire, and I'll do it, but talking to dukes and princes, persuading them to change their views—that's not something I can do."
"Idiot!" Mazarin probably thought. "I didn't need Henry of Lorraine to change his views! He needed to be convinced that his views, which were all about grabbing more, should lead him to the conclusion that serving me is more profitable than fighting me, that's all! I should have entrusted this matter to d'Artagnan!"
But he didn't say this out loud, as he didn't want to arouse jealousy between one of his lieutenants. The principle of "divide and conquer" works well when dealing with the powerful who stand above you, or with your enemies. Dividing those under your command is not helpful. No one wants the dogs harnessed to your sleigh to tear each other's throats.
D'Artagnan helped Bemo settle this matter, and he also wrote an explanatory letter for Mazarin, in which the matter was presented so cleverly that the cardinal, who had previously declared that Bemo was good for nothing, calmed down and even forgave him for the mistakes he had made.
D'Artagnan's two other companions were Miles de G;roux and Toussaint de Roses.
Our sometimes selfless friend d'Artagnan took Bemo's misfortune to heart. He taught him how to remedy the situation. As a result, Bemo concluded an extremely advantageous agreement with Count d'Harcourt, pledging his life for the fulfillment of the terms. The agreement was indeed a good one, and Mazarin liked it. The Cardinal signed it and sent a copy back to d'Harcourt through Bemo, who was pleased.
Mazarin's secretary, Toussaint des Roses, wrote him the following: "I have carefully studied your letters and have read only an abridged version to the Cardinal, since I had to cross out phrases like 'the devil take them all,' or 'may I fall into Hell right here on this spot.' I have left only the gist, and it is good. Monsieur de Savaillan said he is dying of envy for your talents as a negotiator and can already imagine you twirling your moustache and puffing out your cheeks while discussing affairs of state. You are now at the height of your glory. I can just imagine you appearing before His Eminence, covered in road dust, straight from your horse, and giving him a personal account of your negotiations, to his applause. And may God and all the saints whom you invoked during the storm help you."
It was a pun. Bemo was calling for help from Toussaint Rose himself. The name Toussaint, in this case, was interpreted by Toussaint himself as "all saints," allowing him to interpret these appeals not as a specific request for help, but as a prayer addressed to heaven.
One can only be glad for Bemo that d'Artagnan is not called Toussaint!
D'Artagnan, in fact, helped Bemo entirely selflessly, giving the cardinal the opportunity to believe that d'Artagnan wasn't the only talented diplomat, and that Bemo himself was also capable of something. So, in the subsequent career of this unfortunate fellow, our friend's fellow countryman, there was a considerable share of his personal contribution. But our d'Artagnan, who always remembered that he owed something to someone, easily forgot that someone owed something to him.

Chapter 188

In June 1654, d'Artagnan attended the lavish coronation ceremony of Louis XIV, where we briefly met him. However, since he had too many responsibilities for the ceremony, we were only able to exchange friendly handshakes and, with great regret, parted ways. The ceremony concluded with a grand military parade through the decorated streets of the city.
In the battles against Cond;, d'Artagnan and his men distinguished themselves during the storming of the Sparrow's Nest bastion. Mazarin wrote to Letelier:
"Yesterday the King returned from the camp at Stenay, having seen all the outer fortifications captured before his eyes. Only two small fortifications remained: one at the ravelin and one at the small bastion. At the bastion, one captain and seven officers of the guard were wounded. Among them were Hervilier, d'Artagnan, Lahaille, and the Chevalier de Montaigu; however, only one or two of them were seriously wounded." Incidentally, this Chevalier de Montaigu was one of d'Artagnan's nephews, who took great care of his younger relatives, lending them money indefinitely, effectively giving it away, saying that he lent it only so that they would not be so embarrassed by using his modest resources.
Tragically, Captain Hervilier died from his multiple wounds, but fortunately, d'Artagnan recovered quickly thanks to the care of the regimental surgeon. Along with his comrade-in-arms, Bemo, he also participated in the liberation of Arras—another resounding victory that marked the beginning of France's resurgence in Europe.
D'Artagnan's military career during this period is well known, so I won't dwell on its details. He took part in the siege of Landrecies, then rose to command a separate company. He was effectively a captain, but he still didn't have his patent, as Mazarin delayed issuing it, citing the fact that the King himself was formally the commander of the musketeers, while d'Artagnan was listed as a captain-lieutenant. At this very time, the very elderly Lieutenant Colonel de Vennes decided to retire and sell his position for 80,000 livres. Mazarin chose Captain de Fouril from among many applicants. This left his captaincy vacant. However, Fouril demanded an incredibly high price for it: the same 80,000 livres for which he had purchased the lieutenant colonel's position.
D'Artagnan had long dreamed of becoming a proper captain with a patent to match. He had been promised the position many times, almost granted the patent, only to be gently turned down under one pretext or another, the main one being that he had already been a captain for a long time. To raise the necessary funds, he had to cede his position as captain-lieutenant to Ensign Frassi of the Guards and also sell the lucrative position of captain-concierge of the royal enclosure, which Governor M;zi;res had purchased from him, to Monsieur d'Estrade, with the stipulation that he would be granted the right of succession for his son. And yet, he was still short 4,000 livres. This sum was lent to him by Colbert, on Mazarin's orders.
D'Artagnan and his musketeers participated in many battles and contributed to our army's victorious advance. Under the leadership of Viscount de Turenne, our army liberated Ardres, captured La Motte-aux-Bois and Bourbourg, and reached the walls of Mardyk, which they captured after fierce hand-to-hand combat.
Between battles, d'Artagnan's company guarded the Louvre. Along with the wife of his friend Bemo, the Marquise de Peyraud, he attended the baptism of the daughter of our former comrade and musketeer Pierre de Lalore, who had by this time become a merchant. Bemo, now the Marquis, was already in possession of millions of livres. He had managed to acquire the large seigneurial estate of Piffonet, in the Sens district, for just 150,000 livres. He became a landowner and owner of a magnificent estate and awaited the lifetime appointment of captain-commander of the Bastille, which the cardinal had long since promised him. It must be said that Bemo dreamed of moving to the Bastille, since he was very jealous of his wife towards all the neighbors, so he would like her to live with him in the Bastille, where no admirers could penetrate, and if they, at their own risk and peril, got there illegally, Bemo could leave them there forever.
In May, guardsmen from Calais and Paris united at Vieux-Edun and, under the command of the Count de Guiche, the young son of Marshal de Gramont, headed for Dunkirk. After a fierce battle, Dunkirk was taken, and the King entered it to the sound of fanfare. Unfortunately, Dunkirk had to be handed over to the British, as per a previously concluded treaty. Spain was routed. The guardsmen fought in the front lines and were the first to break into the small northern towns, which one after another laid down their arms. Berge, Furnes, Gravelines, Dismude, and Oudenarde were captured. It was these victories that compelled the King of Spain to seek peace with France.
In September 1659, Mazarin and the Spanish minister Don Luis de Haro signed a peace treaty on Pheasant Island in the Bidassoa River, ending the hostility between our two great nations.
All this time, d'Artagnan had been urging the restoration of the previously disbanded company of musketeers, restoring it to the same form it had held under de Tr;ville. Finally, he decided to appeal directly to the King, and Louis XIV reconstituted the company, appointing Joseph-Henri de Tr;ville, son of the former captain and his old playmate, as standard-bearer. Mazarin's nephew, Philippe Mancini, who also held the title of Duke of Nevers and was a spoiled and lazy child, barely 18 years old, whose only desire was to return to Rome, was appointed captain-lieutenant. D'Artagnan was the de facto commander of this company.
I must say that in the battles with the Spaniards we were helped by the troops of Oliver Cromwell, but, however, this help was not as significant as we would have liked, moreover, in this very year of 1658, General Cromwell died.
During that same royal family trip to Lyon, when Mazarin, on d'Artagnan's advice, feigned the engagement of the King to the Duchess of Savoy—a farce actually intended for the King of Spain—d'Artagnan himself met his future wife, Anne-Charlotte-Christine de Chanl;cy. She was the daughter of Charles Boyer de Chanl;cy, Baron de Sainte-Croix, descended from an ancient Charolais family whose coat of arms depicted an azure column studded with silver drops on a gold background and bore the motto "Virtus mini numen et ensis," meaning "My name and essence are virtue."
He shouldn't have married this exceptionally virtuous woman, for if a woman is willing to torment herself with every virtue in the world, one can only imagine how she will torment her husband with those same virtues! After all, if she lacks self-indulgence, if she is extremely strict in her actions, then this strictness and lack of leniency will be magnified tenfold in her husband's behavior!
D'Artagnan's betrothed was the young widow of a noble lord, Jean-L;onor de Damas, Baron de La Clayette, Clessis, Bennes, and Tr;mont, whose family, one of the oldest in Burgundy, dated back to the 11th century. Her husband was immediately called to the battlefield and died there during the siege of Arras, where he served as a cavalry captain in the Uxelles regiment. The childless, young, and noble widow seemed a perfectly acceptable match to our Gascon. She inherited numerous estates in the province, including the baronial estates of Sainte-Croix on Solman near Louens in the Ch;lons district, which she had expanded through land purchases during her first marriage. This significant estate, located in the Bresse region, first belonged to the House of Atigny de Vienne, the Hochbergs, the Princes of Neufch;tel, and then, in the early 16th century, to the Princes and Princesses of Orleans, the Longuevilles, and the Bourbon-Cond;s. Charles de Chanl;cy acquired these lands in 1626 and bequeathed them to his daughter, Anne-Charlotte. She also held a promissory note for 60,000 livres, according to which the principal was to be paid in annuities established by the Duke d'Elbeuf, and 18,000 livres received from her uncle. To these riches should be added the fine furnishings of the chateau, valued at 6,000 livres. But d'Artagnan never enjoyed this wealth, as the wealthy widow had taken the trouble to draw up a marriage contract stipulating that everything she owned before her remarriage would remain her own property. The prudent widow also took care to stipulate that the debts incurred by her husband could in no way be repaid from her property, while in the event of her future husband's death, she would receive a dower share of the estate, amounting to four thousand livres of rent secured by his real estate. This obligation remained in effect regardless of the property her future husband owned. Everything else, acquired jointly, was to be divided equally. So d'Artagnan invested his entire self into his new family, receiving absolutely nothing in return.
After reviewing the terms of the contract, d'Artagnan silently signed it, but did not invite any of his dear relatives to the celebration, thus showing his displeasure. On his part, only his old friend Bemo attended the ceremony. On the bride's side, her entire family was present. These new relatives of d'Artagnan used their connection to gain access to court, so the Marquis de Pleveux soon became keeper of the wardrobe of Monsieur, the king's eldest brother, though not for long, as Gaston d'Orl;ans died in 1660. In this marriage, d'Artagnan had two sons, born in 1660 and 1661. D'Artagnan himself hoped that the king and his wife, and little Monsieur and his wife, would be godparents to his sons. For this reason, he delayed the baptism of his children, but nothing came of it. And the reason for this wasn't the royal family's rejection, but d'Artagnan's fiery temperament, which he absolutely refused to tolerate, especially in his wife, traits he'd only discovered, to his regret, after their marriage. His quarrels with his wife lasted far longer than the periods of courtship, which were barely long enough to conceive children. So, just as d'Artagnan was about to arrange for their children's baptism, his wife would drive him to the brink of indignation. Afterward, the captain of the Musketeers, recalling the names of every devil he knew, would move back to his small apartment, which he was once again forced to rent, having sold his position as head of the bird pavilion.
I remember that he wrote to me about this in one of his letters.
"My dear friend!" he wrote. "How unfortunate that I have not gained wisdom and learned from you how to behave with women! My modest experience of falling in love with Constance, as well as a few episodes of love which, by mutual consent, had nothing to do with matrimonial plans, have proven completely ineffective in matters of choosing a spouse. How can we, who carefully plan tomorrow's battle, where, at worst, we are threatened only with death, make such terrible mistakes? We do not plan our future family life as we should, and we enter into it completely unconcerned that we may be acquiring lifelong slavery, from which only a bullet or a sabre blow can free us, also taking away life itself! It would have been better for me to lose a leg, an arm, or an eye in battle than to deprive myself of freedom with a single stroke of the pen!" And should I have, at that very moment when my future wife presented me with the marriage contract for signing, instead of tearing it up, as was my first impulse, signed it with contempt? I vainly hoped to prove to my fianc;e, and probably to myself, that financial considerations mean nothing where love reigns! Yet, naive as I was, I believed that a slender figure and a pretty face would be enough to make me fall in love with my future wife over time, and I thought, moreover, that I was still quite handsome myself, and therefore saw no reason why she shouldn't love me too! All these futile and insane hopes, which crumbled within the second week of our marital bliss! We've had two children, and I'd give all my money to stay away from this fury she's become, mainly because she suspects me of sins I'm innocent of and accuses me of every vice, from a lack of understanding of her delicate feminine nature to infidelity, inattention, rudeness, and other qualities she finds unbearable. Just think, she doesn't like the fact that in the evening, when I return from work, I smell like a horse! What else should I smell like, if I spent the whole day in the saddle? And if she'd just stood next to a horse for ten minutes, she wouldn't smell any better! However, it's not for you to explain, my dear friend! In short, I've decided to consider myself free of any obligations to this lady, except those stipulated in the marriage contract, and that only covers financial matters. So I intend to live in Paris, in the garret of the Hotel des Goats, which I rent, where the landlady, it seems to me, is ten times wiser and forty times kinder than Madame d'Artagnan! Damn me if I don't make her my sweetheart, and may the devil drag me alive to Hell if I ever touch Madame d'Artagnan again! Such is my life, my dear Aramis, and I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy the state of mind that comes over me when I think about it all. I remember you once invited me to be your second in a duel. I beg you, for heaven's sake, if such an opportunity presents itself again, don't fail to invite me again, and, by God, this time I will run your opponent's second through the throat, even if he were Satan himself! I myself have long ceased challenging anyone to duels, as I am always in full view, and such a duel would damage me in the eyes of His Eminence. Besides, anyone who would insult me is probably well aware of the peculiarities of my sword, which has always outstripped my opponent's by just the right amount of time to prevent him from ever again being able to insult its wielder. In short, bullies and mockers give me a wide berth, and if they are forced to approach me, they hold their tongues tightly, and only Madame d'Artagnan allows herself to do what no man, including the King himself, would do to me. Don't marry, my friend Aramis! Take an example from Athos, and don't follow Porthos's example! That's my advice to you! I firmly shake your hand and embrace you, ever yours, Charles d'Artagnan."
I followed my friend's wise advice and never married.

Chapter 189

For obvious reasons, d'Artagnan wasn't often at home and didn't spend much time accumulating family treasures. He found more love and understanding from his Gascon relatives—his nephews and cousins, some of whom were old enough to be his nephews. He lent them money without demanding repayment, even trying to forget the debts they had incurred. Admittedly, they didn't abuse this, but they did use it as needed, and sometimes even without absolute necessity. Madame d'Artagnan believed that her husband was throwing money away in this way.
After several years of this "happy" marriage, this lady abandoned the family home and retired to her family estate of Sainte-Croix, where d'Artagnan made only brief visits. In 1665, Anne-Charlotte d'Artagnan, fearing that her entire dowry would be squandered, in the presence of the Ch;telet court clerks, finally annulled the joint ownership of the property based on the marriage contract and retained everything she had acquired and received after the marriage, in addition to what was already considered hers, since it had been acquired or inherited before the marriage. She sued not only her husband but also most of her neighbors, relatives, including her brother, and anyone else unfortunate enough to have had any dealings with her. She was often seen accompanied by her confidant, Messire Jean-Charles Th;venet, and people rumored that she and he were linked by more than just a business partnership. D'Artagnan declared that since she had freed him from all joint family property, he further considered himself free from the obligation to see her and consider her his wife.
"From now on, madam, I grant you complete freedom in your actions, passions, and attachments, releasing you and myself from any obligations to each other," he said. "I deeply regret that I was so foolish as to involve the Church in our relationship; I will not commit such a folly again."
"We are married before the Lord!" Anna-Charlotte objected. "Only a divorce with the consent of the Holy Catholic Church can separate us!"
"We have been separated forever by your character, your behavior, and the shame you make me endure when meeting neighbors, relatives, and any mutual acquaintances," replied d'Artagnan. "If we ever appear together in church, it will only be when one of us is carried there in a coffin."
After these words, d'Artagnan turned around and left the house, which he had long since ceased to consider his own.
At the end of 1659, the court headed south to meet the Spanish Infanta Maria Theresa, who was destined to become Queen of France, wife of Louis XIV. Naturally, d'Artagnan and his company accompanied His Majesty. Mazarin hoped that this marriage would help establish a lasting peace, which became known as the Treaty of the Pyrenees. On the Spanish side, the Spanish envoy, Don Luis de Haro, was extremely eager to secure this marriage. I knew this highly worthy Spanish grandee well.
I recall how, during a meeting with the Spanish delegation on Pheasant Island, Mazarin presented him with a sword whose hilt was adorned with diamonds. He silently drew his magnificent Toledo blade, probably worth no less than the sword he had been given, from its sheath and threw it out the window. With a reverent expression, he placed the cardinal's gift into the now-vacant sheath. Outside, a fight broke out between two soldiers, one Spanish and one French, over the Toledo blade. This was extremely dangerous for further negotiations, as either soldier could be aided by his compatriots, which would have led to a serious clash. And this was happening when both sides were seeking peace! Fortunately, d'Artagnan was nearby, and in a firm tone, he demanded that the dispute cease and declared himself an arbitrator. He then picked up the blade, examined it carefully, and praised it.
"This blade is worthy of a Spanish grandee!" he said. "If it were a trophy of war, I would congratulate whoever acquired it, but we are hosting a Spanish delegation on our soil."
He emphasized the word "his" in such a way that he made all the French people present who heard his words feel proud.
"I present this blade to a Spanish soldier," he said. "Be warned, young man, possession of such a blade obligates you to fight bravely. And may this blade not be turned against the French!"
With these words he gave the precious sword to the young Spanish soldier.
"To you, my friend, I will give the musketeer captain's sword in exchange for yours," he said, drawing his own from its scabbard and handing it to the young guardsman. "Perhaps this sword is of less value in the eyes of a jeweler, but to a soldier who knows who its owner was, it is far more valuable, so do not dishonor the honor of owning it."
After this, d'Artagnan kissed the blade of his sword and solemnly presented it to the French guardsman. He was not being disingenuous; the hilt of this sword was adorned with rubies and emeralds, one of many such trophies. D'Artagnan possessed at least twenty swords in his apartment, no less valuable. He rightly judged that a small sacrifice was worth preventing a clash between the French and the Spanish at a time when the cardinal was desperately trying to please the Spanish ambassador.
However, our captain wasn't entirely selfless. That evening, he told Mazarin about this episode, who gave him three hundred pistoles—the price he'd named for the sword studded with rubies and emeralds.
Success in the negotiations came in waves. One moment, it seemed as if agreements had been reached and no further obstacles were possible, the next, another obstacle would suddenly arise. Accordingly, the court's progress southward sometimes accelerated, sometimes slowed. Therefore, it was only in the spring of 1660, after spending several months in Languedoc and Provence, that the cortege set out for Saint-Jean-de-Luz.
There, our and the Spanish envoys vied with one another, eager to bring the delicate and laboriously progressing negotiations to the signing of a marriage contract. Meanwhile, d'Artagnan, traveling through his native old Gascony, was probably glad that the journey was proceeding so leisurely, and at times even simply stopping. After all, since leaving his ancestral home, he had only been able to visit there a couple of times. One of these visits had some influence on his future, as he met there with a certain Vivienne F;zensac. The meeting was more than pleasant for both parties and left its mark on the Gascon beauty. During this trip, d'Artagnan did not even think about little Vivienne, but if he had found and visited her, he would have been very surprised to find that the consequences of their tender friendship increased the population of Gascony by one stately young man, who by this time had already learned to handle a sword, a pistol and spurs quite well.
Late in the afternoon of late April, Louis XIV arrived in Vic-F;zensac. D'Artagnan and his company provided the honor guard. D'Artagnan found himself close to his family home. He would have been happy to stop by, embrace his brother Arnaud, visit the small church of Notre-Dame-de-Beaubest, and kneel before the graves of his parents, whose remains rested nearby. But he understood that the commander of the honor escort must not leave the King's side during the ceremonial journey, day or night. Therefore, he only visited his father's house in thought and embraced his loved ones in thought.
The royal wedding ceremony in Saint-Jean-de-Luz was a dazzling affair and cost taxpayers a pretty penny.
In addition to the musketeer company, two detachments of the King's Guards took part in the procession, one commanded by d'Humi;res and the other by de Puyguil, who later became de Lauzun. The procession was concluded by the Life Guards.
During a meeting between the Queen and her brother, Philip of Spain, she told him: "I believe Your Majesty does not condemn me for being a true Frenchwoman. My position as the wife and mother of the French King, as well as the country at whose head the Lord placed me, obliged me to do so."
On the morning of June 9, Louis XIV, accompanied by his fair-haired bride, dressed in a lily-strewn gown, took her place under a purple velvet canopy in the Basque church of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Following the wedding ceremony, conducted by the Bishop of Bayonne, the young couple toured the festive city. Then, the entire summer of 1660 was spent returning to Paris.
The royal cortege solemnly crossed France. Musketeers in brand-new blue capes with gold braid rode in front on white horses. The cortege was greeted triumphantly in Bordeaux, Poitiers, Amboise, and Orleans, while Paris enthusiastically cheered the King and Queen. No one cheered Mazarin.
It was impossible not to notice and appreciate the splendid uniforms of the musketeers, riding in four groups, led by d'Artagnan, who sat proudly on his horse, which bore no resemblance to the yellow nag on which he had first arrived in Paris. This time, it was a thoroughbred white horse, its tail and mane braided in neat pigtails, its saddle cloth embroidered with gold, and even its bridle adorned with gold thread. A troop of drummers marched in front of the regiment. Another similar troop brought up the rear. The first brigade of 76 men was distinguished by hats adorned with lush white feathers. The 72 men of the second brigade wore hats adorned with white, yellow, and black feathers. The next 52 men wore white, blue, and black feathers, and the last 60 wore white and green ones. Each brigadier marched at the head of his detachment, and the standard-bearer was in the middle.
Mazarin had a special right to revel in the young King's triumphal entry, but at that moment he felt most acutely that he had spent all his health building a strong state, and only urgent matters had made him forget his illness and weakness. Now, when he could rest a little, his illness descended upon him with renewed vigor.
He wasn't yet 60, but the fatigue accumulated during the years of civil war made him look twenty years older. He still tried to maintain his spirits, but illness was inexorably advancing.
In Paris, Mazarin once again settled in the Louvre and assigned himself modest but luxuriously furnished apartments. These apartments had a long, formal passage leading to the Queen's chambers, and a secret passage leading to hers, much needed by both of them.
During a rehearsal of a ballet in the Royal Gallery, in which the King himself was to dance, a workman's carelessness caused the scenery to catch fire. The Cardinal was barely saved, but his quarters were so damaged that he was forced to move to a mansion on Rue de Richelieu, the former Ch;teau de Chevry, now known as the Palais Mazarin.
political position and wealth were quite prosperous and grew stronger day by day, but the same could not be said of his health. Feeling very ill, Mazarin moved to the Ch;teau de Vincennes, which he had purchased for himself. There he kept considerable treasures and a considerable sum of money, which, to his credit, he bequeathed to the King, not to his nieces. The Queen visited the ailing Mazarin daily, bringing the King with her.
I suspect that toward the end of his life, Mazarin felt ashamed of his possessions, which exceeded the state treasury's resources. He recommended that the King rely entirely on Colbert, but under no circumstances appoint a prime minister after Mazarin's death. He thereby acknowledged that any prime minister acquires more power than his share, and this also applies to the treasury, where the prime minister dabble too deeply, absentmindedly forgetting the difference between the state treasury and his personal treasury.
Perhaps striving to emulate the great Cardinal Richelieu in this regard, Mazarin decided to deliver his political testament to the King on his deathbed. The young Louis XIV trusted the Cardinal so much and valued his opinions that he ordered his secretary to write down all of Mazarin's advice word for word, promising himself to always follow it. Nevertheless, Mazarin managed to bequeath his personal savings to the King in such words that Louis vehemently renounced them and "persuaded" the Cardinal to leave them in the family, dividing them as he saw fit among his nieces and nephew (since the latter had already died).
The Queen ordered endless prayers for the Cardinal's recovery, and she herself prayed tirelessly.

Chapter 190

The time has come to tell you about a man whom for some time I quite sincerely called my friend, and who repaid me in kind.
We're talking about Nicolas Fouquet, the superintendent of finances. Nicolas Fouquet wasn't the eldest brother in a family of six brothers and six sisters, but he was the de facto head of the family. Initially, his eldest brother, Fran;ois, was destined by his parents for a secular career, while Nicolas was destined for an ecclesiastical one.
I was just giving some lectures at this college, so to speak, in my spare time. I noticed that Nicolas Fouquet had the mind of a financier and lawyer, and I told him so frankly.
"Listen, Nikola!" I said to him. "Why don't you give up your career as a priest and devote yourself to public service? I see in you the makings of a financier and a lawyer. Out of simple curiosity, you've mastered such complex books on these subjects that everyone else spends months poring over without any success!"
"That's true, Master," replied Fouquet. "But it's fate. My brother Fran;ois has chosen to pursue a career in finance and the judiciary, while I am destined for a career in the clergy."
"Stop it!" I objected. "I can see you won't make a good priest! When you hear confessions, instead of condemning sinners, you'll feel envy for them! Why subject yourself to the schema when you can live a happy secular life?"
"But how can you, Master Teacher, having chosen the priesthood, dissuade your students from it?" Fouquet asked in surprise.
"I'm not dissuading everyone, only those I like and who clearly have nothing to lose by giving up this option," I replied. "And don't call me a teacher; I'm only thirteen years older than you, and I'm ready to be your friend. Would you like me to talk to your brother? If he himself informs your parents that he prefers the priesthood, would you agree to swap your life choices with him?"
“You’ll hardly be able to convince him,” Fouquet replied sadly.
"You don't know me well!" I exclaimed. "If I take on this, I could persuade Satan himself to become a priest! And I won't have any problems with your brother! Besides, it would suit him better! You'll see, he'll become a bishop, at the very least!"
As I said, so it happened. After Fran;ois told his father that he was more inclined toward a career in the priesthood, Nicolas admitted that he was more inclined toward a secular career. With this arrangement, his father had no objection; he consented to the brothers Fran;ois and Nicolas exchanging destinies.
Speaking of Nicolas's father, calling himself Fran;ois IV was certainly presumptuous. After all, the Fouquets were not grandees—not dukes, not princes, not even marquises. The Fouquet family descended from the merchant class that lived in the lower reaches of the Loire. In the local language, "fouquet" or "foucque" means "squirrel." Nicolas Fouquet's ancestors rose slowly but surely, initially amassing wealth in maritime trade and other ventures requiring considerable intelligence, audacity, and enterprise. They invested their savings very wisely, which allowed them to gradually rise and become close to the King's inner circle. This was greatly facilitated by the favor of the Valois dynasty toward people from the region where Fouquet hailed from, where the Valois family had hereditary estates. The name Fouquet, with minor variations, was quite common in this area, which allowed our superintendent's grandfather to claim kinship with an extinct noble family with a similar surname. Upon assuming power, Nicolas Fouquet openly claimed to be a descendant of the youngest son of this extinct family, forging documents to that effect. Fouquet even purchased the Moulin-Neuve estate on the Laure, which had once belonged to this family, declaring that he had simply purchased the property, which had historically belonged to his own family, a claim no one dared to dispute. And who could have disputed it? The true descendants of the ancient Fouquet family no longer existed, and in Paris, Fouquet was the most respected nobleman from the area, which automatically made him the most authoritative expert on the genealogy of the Laure region. No genealogist, no heraldic expert would dare dispute the assertions of the Attorney General and the Superintendent of Finance. Fouquet chose a coat of arms depicting a squirrel as the coat of arms of his noble family, and the motto, "Where I won't climb!"
In case any such experts were to discover the true origins of the family's wealth, Fouquet spread the myth that his noble ancestor had been ruined by his indescribable generosity, and had been forced to turn to commerce to restore the family fortune. The information I possess was provided to me by the Coadjutor of the Jesuit Order, who knew it because Nicolas Fouquet himself, as I have already said, had studied at the Jesuit college in Clermont and apparently for some time seriously considered linking his fate with the Order. However, perhaps believing that this organization lacked influence, or perhaps succumbing to my entreaties to abandon a career in the priesthood, he decided to break with the Jesuits as well, something I certainly did not recommend. In any case, he maintained only mutual respect with the Order, without any obligations. Therefore, the Order favorably regarded his rise, but did not stake a claim on it, and Fouquet himself did not share his plans, influence, or information with the Order. However, this whole business with false ancestors does not bother me in the least. I myself cannot boast of an ancient lineage. What good is that? Athos, who repeatedly spoke of his nobility, comparing his ancient lineage to the Montmorencys and the Rohans, was either ignorant of the true state of affairs or exaggerating. The Comte de La F;re's lineage was indeed quite high, but the count was neither a prince, nor a duke, nor a peer. There were no constables, cardinals, marshals of France, or even field marshals in his family. In this case, one would hardly think that Athos's line could compare with the Montmorencys or the Rohans, who could also compare with the Dukes of Lorraine, the Chevreuses, and a few others. Nor could the Count de la F;re be arrogant before such nobles as the Colignies, the Schombergs, the d';peronnes, the d'Harcourts, the Bouillons, and the Chavignys. However, Athos's personal receipt of the English Order of the Garter from King Charles must be recognized as a very high award, one not bestowed upon every head of these noble families. As for his receipt of the Order of the Holy Spirit from Mazarin, Grimaud simply invented that in his memoirs. Mazarin had no authority to bestow such awards, and Queen Anne herself did nothing of the sort, while King Louis XIV bestowed no such order upon anyone during Mazarin's lifetime. This does not in the least diminish my respect for Athos. And who in those days didn't strive to achieve a position higher than fate had allotted them? Our dear d'Artagnan also slightly exaggerated his nobility by taking his maternal name. The prowess of his sword proved his right to this name. It's worth noting that the S;gurs claimed kinship with an ancient noble clan from Languedoc that bore the same name. Monsieur Colbert, wishing to appear nobler than he was, similarly managed to establish a family connection with the Scottish royal house, while in fact he descended from a merchant family that had received noble privileges based on the exemptions granted by the Decree of Richelieu to merchants who maintained a merchant ship at their own expense for several years.
So, Fouquet was extremely noble in his own imagination and nothing more, but his wealth and influence shut the mouths of everyone who might doubt his nobility.
Fouquet's father, Fran;ois IV Fouquet, was not only wealthy but also intelligent and pious. He had become close to Richelieu when he was still a young Bishop of Lu;on. When Richelieu assumed power, Fran;ois Fouquet joined the Colonial Council, which also included the then Superintendent of Finances, Antoine d'Effiat. When the case of the ill-fated Henri de Talleyrand-P;rigord, Count of Chalais, was investigated, Richelieu appointed Fran;ois to a special court. Christophe Fouquet de Chalain, one of Fran;ois's Breton cousins, was appointed prosecutor. The guilty verdict sent Chalais to the scaffold. The Fouquet clan thus convinced Richelieu of their loyalty, and Fran;ois Fouquet was soon appointed to the Council of State.
Until his death in 1640, Fran;ois was engaged in public affairs in close alliance with Richelieu.
Nicolas Fouquet was born in January 1615. I am thirteen years his senior. Therefore, Fouquet initially paid due attention to my advice, and after seeing that it was accurate and effective, he was the first to call himself my friend. I responded in kind in words, but inwardly I acknowledged it less fervently than true friends. I must confess, in all honesty, that I considered him more of a comrade. A man cannot have too many friends. I already had Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan. I could name many people with whom I was on friendly terms, but only about these three can I say that I would give my life without a second thought for any of them. Would I give my life for Nicolas Fouquet? There is no doubt about that. No, I would not. I would have helped him in everything, in any of his undertakings, in any of his adventures, but I would not have sacrificed my life for him, that is certain. If I had to choose between Fouquet and Porthos, or Fouquet and Athos, or Fouquet and d'Artagnan, I would have sent Fouquet to hell. I regarded him as a purse, as a rung on the ladder I intended to climb, and as a partner in this undertaking, for I understood perfectly well that the higher this ambitious nobleman, who imagined himself the King's equal, ascended, the more useful he would be to me. But I never for a moment forgot that the higher one climbs, the deeper the fall and the greater the blow at the end. And the weaker his ties with the people he called friends if they did not climb with the same speed as he did, or even faster. And if Fouquet were destined to fall, I knew that I would leave him to fall alone. Even then, the likelihood of his downfall could be foreseen by the audacity with which he ascended to the very pinnacle of power, sometimes casting aside those he considered powerless, useless, and harmless. Although, I must admit, Fouquet was generally very considerate of people, and especially of those he considered his friends. His every action was imbued with nobility; his every gesture, every word, every glance always demonstrated his profound respect for his interlocutors . This was not so much sincerity as a useful habit, and it elevated not only and not so much his interlocutors as himself, for those who are respectful are respected. In Fouquet's presence, it was impossible to show irritability, malice, or envy, for he himself exuded gentleness, compliance, kindness, attentiveness, and solicitude. The fact is that he saw every person he considered necessary to converse with as a tool for his own further advancement, and even if he didn't yet know how they could be useful, he preferred to make friends with anyone he spoke to rather than make enemies of them because of a careless word or a less-than-successful action. But then, you can't be kind and pleasant to everyone, since people tend to quarrel over the most trivial matters. And if you treat representatives of two opposing camps equally kindly, then instead of befriending everyone, you risk incurring the enmity of both. In such cases, Fouquet was able to clearly determine which of the warring parties belonged to the group he had joined, and consequently, which side his entire numerous clan sided with.
In the Fouquet family, what was happening in the royal family, where Gaston plotted against his brother, King Louis XIII , then against his widow, Queen Anne, and even against his nephew, Louis XIV , where the King's cousin, the Prince of Cond;, led an army engaged in fierce battles with the troops led by his brother, the Prince of Conti, supported by their shared sister, the Duchess of Longueville, and her husband, was impossible. No, in the Fouquet family, such a thing was impossible. All the Fouquets stood by each other. If Nicolas Fouquet chose to serve Cardinal Mazarin, then all his brothers were loyal to the cardinal.
Nicolas Fouquet's first wife was Louise Fourch;. This marriage introduced Nicolas to judicial circles, as his father-in-law served in the Breton Parliament, and many of his relatives held influential positions in local administration and the judiciary. This marriage soon produced a daughter, Marie, but that same year, Fouquet's father, Fran;ois, passed away, followed by his maternal grandfather, Gilles de Maupeux. Fouquet's first marriage was short-lived; the year after their wedding, his wife died, likely due to a difficult pregnancy. By this time, Fran;ois's eldest brother was already a bishop, but the four younger siblings still needed the help of Nicolas Fouquet, who had now become the de facto head of their family.
After the death of Cardinal Richelieu, and then Louis XIII , Queen Anne retained many of Richelieu's close associates in power, heeding the advice of Cardinal Mazarin. Among them was Nicolas Fouquet, since his father served on the Queen's personal council, and his mother was known to her through a community of pious aristocratic women with whom the Queen maintained close spiritual ties.
Throughout the following years, during the two eruptions of the Fronde movement—first the Fronde of the Parliament and then the Fronde of Princes and Monsieur—Nicolas Fouquet remained loyal to the Queen, the Cardinal, and the young King. Naturally, this loyalty was demonstrated above all by his closeness to Mazarin and his almost unquestioning obedience to him. Only when the Queen urged Mazarin to submit and go into a second exile did Fouquet not side with Mazarin, who opposed the Queen's order. Instead, he sided with the Queen, nevertheless trying to persuade Mazarin that he should submit, assuring him that this exile would be temporary, as short-lived as it was currently inevitable. Since this was precisely what transpired, Fouquet's disagreement with Mazarin left no trace of resentment in the Cardinal toward Fouquet. He proved right, and thus avoided accusations and insults.
Fouquet's devotion and loyalty could not go unnoticed. Fouquet rendered Mazarin his greatest service by skillfully managing tax collection, arranging loans, and raising funds for the cardinal's needs by any means possible. It cannot be denied that some of these methods did indeed provoke discontent among various sections of the citizenry, which ultimately led to the Fronde. But who, at that time, was undertaking such a profound analysis of the causes of political events?
In November 1650, the post of attorney general fell vacant in the Paris parliament. Blaise Mullan, the previous occupant, decided to retire and sell his position for 450,000 livres. Purchasing the position was only possible with royal approval, and Fouquet, in addition, lacked the necessary funds. Nevertheless, Mazarin, aware of Fouquet's loyalty, decided it would be a good idea for him to fill the position, so he lent his loyal assistant the remaining sum. Additionally, 150,000 livres were covered by the sale of Fouquet's position as master of rackets.
Since Fouquet's position had become quite secure after acquiring this position, and also promised to be lucrative, Nicolas Fouquet considered remarrying. As before, he chose a wife who connected him to an influential family and, furthermore, who promised other benefits.
Fouquet's choice fell on Marie-Madeleine Castille, from a family with a secure financial position. Marie-Madeleine was more than twenty years younger than her fianc;, but Nicolas was considered a handsome man. He was charming, slender, and attractive, and, moreover, he was already the attorney general, so the Castille family considered him quite worthy of this match. This family had strong ties to the line of Pierre Janin, under whom Nicolas Fouquet's maternal grandfather, Gilles de Maupeux, had served. Among Nicolas Fouquet's new wife's relatives was the royal treasurer, Nicolas Janin de Castille. Furthermore, her uncle served as senior housekeeper to Gaston d'Orl;ans, the king's uncle, and her cousin, Marshal de Villeroy, served as the young king's tutor. It's worth remembering that Marie Madeleine Castille's cousin, Charlotte de Castille, was previously married to the same Count de Chalais whom Fouquet's father condemned to death in 1626. The advantage of this marriage for both families forced them to forget old grievances, as profit always trumps principle.
The wedding took place in February 1651. Fouquet's new wife's dowry was more modest than that of his first wife, but she was an only child and expected to inherit her parents' entire fortune, which indeed happened just a few years after the marriage. This brought Fouquet one and a half million livres, double the inheritance left to him by Nicolas Fouquet's father.

Chapter 191

During the Second Fronde, when Mazarin was forced to flee France once again, Fouquet, one of the few who believed in the cardinal's triumphant return, defended his benefactor's interests with a zeal that could not go unnoticed. While not interfering in the squabbles between the great princes, he tried to hint to each of them on occasion that only Mazarin could restore peace and, moreover, reward those who deserved it. Not every such effort was successful, but his absentee services to the cardinal, in exchange for future compensation, which contributed to the cardinal's restoration as prime minister, became an effective investment in his personal future—a bright one, though, as it turned out, short-lived.
Fouquet formed a local circle within the High Court of Justice, composed of those who, while not loyal to Mazarin, were more inclined to defend royal power from the princes. His attempts to save the cardinal's art collection from ruin were not entirely successful, but some were salvaged, and this did not go unnoticed by Mazarin.
Fouquet also enlisted his younger brother, Basile, in the cardinal's service. Basile, who received income from several abbeys, became known as Abb; Fouquet, despite not being a priest. Basile was seven years younger than Nicolas. In the cardinal's service, he served as an unofficial representative and courier. D'Artagnan and Besmo served similarly for Mazarin, but they were military men, while Abb; Fouquet was a secular man, quite removed from military service. He negotiated on Mazarin's behalf and helped his brother Nicolas build a network of spies, informants, clients, and agents for the former prime minister. Together, the Fouquet brothers won over the Vicomte de Turenne, as well as several high-ranking members of the Paris Parliament, to Mazarin's side.
It was thanks to timely spy information that Turenne was warned of Cond;'s maneuvers and blockaded him near Paris. Had Gaston d'Orl;ans' daughter, the Duchess of Montpensier, not saved him by persuading her father to open the gates to Cond;'s army, the Prince would have fared badly. As I have already said, the cannons of the Bastille, firing at the King's army, dashed her hopes of becoming Queen by marrying Louis XIV .
"Fate!" Athos said his short but meaningful phrase.
Whether he had in mind the fate of the Duchess, or Cond;, or Mazarin, or perhaps all three, is difficult to say. However, it seems to me that Athos was interested only in the fate of two people—the Vicomte de Bragelonne and Louis XIV , not counting the three of us. The first because he was his son, the second because he was his King. Of course, Athos would easily have sacrificed his life for any one of us, but this speaks not only to how much he valued us, but also to how little he valued his own life.
Since Paris was once again under Cond;'s rule and Mazarin was forced into this second exile, the Queen then signed the order for Mazarin's removal from France. Fouquet supported this order but immediately went to Mazarin with assurances that he considered this measure necessary, but temporary. Mazarin didn't quite trust Fouquet. At that moment, he thought he had been wrong to trust Nicolas Fouquet so much, and that Fouquet had apparently betrayed him. However, Fouquet faithfully served as Mazarin's agent, serving as his eyes and ears, allowing him to monitor events in Pontoise, Paris, and the Campagne region. Together with Basile, they reported everything that was happening to the Minister of War, Michel Letellier, as well as to Mazarin himself. Each of them believed that he alone received these detailed reports.
As I have already noted, shortly after reaching adulthood, Louis XIV made his triumphant entry into Paris, where he assumed power. He banished his uncle, Gaston d'Orl;ans, along with his daughter, the Duchess of Montpensier, whom he particularly hated, both because in his youth he had been forced to dance with her when he would have liked to waltz with Olympe Mazarin, and because she was older than he, and especially because he had not failed to discover his previous plans for marriage with her, something he instinctively feared to the point of disgust. Gondi was arrested. By this time, I had become completely filled with contempt for this hypocrite, this intriguer. Perhaps I found in him too many of the traits I possessed myself, which is why Paul de Gondi irritated me almost as much as Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, or even more. I missed the opportunity to deal with both of them in a duel, and then they both became temporary allies when I became entangled with the Fronde. But, having become convinced that this entire cabal consisted of people who were only trying to snatch up as many advantages and privileges for themselves as possible, not sparing the blood of their fellow citizens to achieve this, I was filled with contempt for the Fronde movement and turned my attention to the Fouquet brothers. These men seemed to me more reasonable, more purposeful, and, most importantly, more firmly on their feet.
By this time, I had become thoroughly disgusted with the musketeers, as well as the abbey. What's good in youth can sometimes be simply ridiculous in maturity. A military career? Sacrificing one's life for pennies? No, excuse me! In the alcove of some duchess, marquise, or countess, I would sometimes receive as a gift a trinket worth more than a musketeer's year's salary. I had no intention of living off my mistresses; such a life would have offended me. I desired the opportunity to bestow gifts on my lovers myself, if not the kind Buckingham or Richelieu showered upon them, then at least the kind the Duke of Lorraine or the Duc de Chevreuse could afford. Not to receive from women, but to give to them—that was what I desired, and to do that, I needed to possess even more, for who gives the last? A gift to a mistress should not ruin the giver, otherwise it is not a gift but a sacrifice, and then she is no longer a mistress but an icon, a deity, an idol. And I had no intention of falling in love so much that I considered my mistress a deity; I simply have never been capable of such a thing, as I consider it foolish. At one time, I believed that the Duchess de Longueville could have been the love of my life, but I soon became convinced that she was not worthy of such a sacrifice on my part. She, as it turned out, like Chevrette, was too easily amorous, and although I did not consider it shameful to share the caresses of a mistress with her husband, knowing that besides me she had another lover, or even several, was tormenting. And it would have been a relief if such a lady's passion had been the young, handsome, and noble Duke de Beaufort, or, say, the Count de Guiche, son of the Marshal de Gramont. But yielding to the arrogant Paul de Gondi or the impudent Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld was beyond my strength. I tried to transform my passionate relationship with the Duchess de Longueville into a tranquil friendship based on tender memories, mutual respect, shared political interests, and a son, but man proposes, and God disposes. Sometimes I would break down, and our meetings would resume with all their passion, like the rendezvous of young lovers who had only recently become intimate.
And yet, we disagreed on policy. I chose Fouquet's side. This decision was all the easier since Nicolas himself felt indebted to me for certain things, most notably for advising him to abandon his priestly career and pursue a career in government service, both judicial and financial. This career had made him superintendent and attorney general—what more could one wish for? His older brother, Fran;ois, who had swapped careers with him, had become merely a bishop! Fouquet felt obliged to repay me, using his money and the connections of the bishop, his brother, and also signing some letters of recommendation to Rome with Mazarin. Fouquet secured me a bishopric. I still don't understand how the cardinal agreed to intercede for me without really knowing me. And the episode in which he happened to meet me and get to know me better hardly contributed to his strong affection for me. I probably underestimated Mazarin; the cunning Italian had calculated my progress and realized that a man whose aspirations he understood and sympathized with might be useful as a friend, but dangerous as an enemy. So our relationship with Mazarin reached a stage of respect and recognition of merit in the complete absence of communication—a respect from afar, so to speak. I believe Mazarin guessed that I occupied a fairly high position in the Order. I can't explain his leniency, and even, in a sense, his beneficence, in any other way. It can hardly be explained by the influence of Nicolas Fouquet. Mazarin wasn't the type to support the advancement of someone he didn't trust, someone who wasn't his. Clearly, Mazarin had me in mind, and only Fate prevented him from carrying out his plans—Fate, which determines not only the rise and fall of people's careers, but also their lives and deaths.
So, when the Superintendent of Finances, Charles de la Vieuville, died in early 1653, leaving his position vacant, Nicolas Fouquet, without a shadow of a doubt, approached the Cardinal and offered himself for the position. This position wasn't so much purchased with money as it depended solely on the King's decision. And the King's decision at that time still depended heavily on Mazarin's recommendation. Therefore, Fouquet told the Cardinal that the post required a man of firm principles, utter honesty, enjoying the deepest public trust, and possessing remarkable intelligence.
"You are right, Monsieur Fouquet!" the Cardinal replied. "These are precisely the qualities a candidate for the position of Attorney General must possess. And I know only one man in France who possesses all of these qualities."
Fouquet bowed respectfully, thinking that the cardinal was talking about him.
"But what can I do? I already hold a position, an even more important one!" Mazarin exclaimed. "I can't be torn apart!"
At that moment Fouquet realized that the cardinal was referring to himself.
“In that case, we must find a man who possesses the same qualities, certainly to a lesser degree than Your Eminence, but who possesses another quality that is very necessary for a man in this position, and which Your Eminence does not possess,” said Fouquet.
"Does he possess a quality I don't have?" Mazarin asked in surprise. "What quality is that?"
"I would describe this quality as follows," replied Fouquet. "I would describe it as unshakable loyalty to Your Eminence."
Mazarin looked closely at Fouquet and thought for a moment.
"You are right, Monsieur Fouquet," he replied with a sigh. "I do not possess unshakable loyalty to myself, for I have often sacrificed my own interests for the sake of my King and my Queen."
“Exactly so, Monseigneur,” Fouquet agreed and bowed even lower.
“You called your loyalty to me unbreakable,” Mazarin mused.
“Even at the risk of incurring your disfavor, at the risk of forever losing Your Eminence’s favor, I, if you remember, recommended that you obey the Queen, being absolutely certain that you would very soon return with even greater triumph.
"That's true," Mazarin agreed. "I confess I didn't believe your prediction then. But why were you so sure of my triumphant return?"
— Because, as you just rightly said, in France there is only one person who possesses in due measure the qualities we just mentioned: firm principles, crystal honesty, the deepest public trust and remarkable intelligence.
“Hm, I can’t say that at that time I enjoyed the deepest public confidence,” Mazarin said doubtfully, who, of course, expected a refutation of this argument.
"There are times when the opinions of ordinary citizens are mistaken, and in such times one must rely on the opinions of those whom God has placed at the head of the kingdom," Fouquet replied. "The profound trust of the Queen and the King is worth the trust of all other citizens combined, and even easily outweighs it."
"We must very soon thoroughly discuss all your future steps as Superintendent of Finances of France," Mazarin said in a dispassionate voice, and Fouquet realized that the position of Superintendent of Finances was now his. "You will have to raise money for a variety of needs. Lots of it. Legally, of course. You know that taxes are the source of the treasury, but they are collected poorly, irregularly, and with arrears. Something must be done about this."
Mazarin easily obtained the King's consent to transfer this position to Fouquet, who henceforth became one of the Ministers of State and occupied a seat in the Chamber of the Royal Council. The position of Sovereign Minister of Finance gave him access to finances, and the position of Attorney General ensured immunity from any prosecution, even from the King.
It must have been at that moment when Fouquet heard from Mazarin the news that the appointment had been approved by the King and the Queen Mother that he remembered the motto on his coat of arms and thought with pride: “Where will I not rise!”
At that moment, he was right to be proud of himself. But one must never forget that excessive pride and complacency are the stepping stones to a downward spiral, at first unnoticed by anyone, and then turning into a dizzying fall. For pride dulls the keenness of the mind, which, like the sight, smell, and hearing of wild animals, warns them of danger.
Chapter 192

I must say that Mazarin, immediately after appointing Fouquet as Superintendent of Finances, demanded his active participation in ensuring the Kingdom's financial needs. This was the Superintendent's duty. There were two of them: alongside Nicolas Fouquet, there was also Servien, also Superintendent of Finances. If this would have helped matters, Mazarin might have appointed three or four Superintendents, but the prestigious position itself brought in no money, and the monarchy needed money more than ever. And every conceivable source of income, dating back to the time of the Duc de Sully, King Henry IV 's faithful advisor and Superintendent of Finances , had already been exhausted. There was no money, yet it was needed to wage war, to keep the nobles in line, and to pay the expenses of the Guard and the Musketeers, who alone could keep the mob in line. All problems could be solved with money, but without it everything became a problem.
Mazarin was a proponent of peaceful solutions. Where Richelieu would have executed the ringleaders, imprisoned the suspicious and unreliable in the Bastille, and forced obedience, Mazarin preferred to bribe friends, bribe enemies, bribe anyone he could, if the issue could be resolved peacefully. It must be said, this policy of his was remarkably successful. It was far more profitable to bribe dukes and princes than to fight them , especially since the war could be lost, whereas bribery worked quickly and effectively. The only problem was that, having bribed one of the nobles, Mazarin inspired others to also show disobedience in order to receive his share of the bribe for returning to the King's favor.
The stakes were rising, the appetites of the great powers were growing like mushrooms, and there was a catastrophic shortage of funds. And yet, Mazarin knew how to calculate his commercial machinations so that the profit from a deal always justified the costs involved. Mazarin's main secret was that, with the help of Fouquet and his henchmen, he squeezed money from all sources under promises of a larger return, but later, much later. Thus, the state apparatus, having spent all the revenues of the current year, began to spend the planned revenues of the next year, and the next, and the next...
At first, the treasury was replenished by selling court positions, since the funds received from taxes were not enough to cover even a quarter of the needs, and the increase in taxes, as could not be ignored, led first to the first Fronde, then to its second version, aggravated by the accession of the Prince of Cond;, the Duke of Orleans and other grandees.
"My friend, I need your advice," Fouquet said to me one day. "The Cardinal demands that I lay out a plan for raising money for the needs of the state."
"What else can we propose besides taxes?" I asked. "And another thing! Selling positions at court. Has that stopped bringing in revenue?"
"These are all well-known methods," Fouquet dismissed. "But here's the problem. Taxes are collected once a year, over many months, when the money is needed immediately. The sale of positions presents a different problem. These sales, of course, bring in a tidy sum one time, but over the long term, they spell ruin. After all, a position comes with a salary, as well as numerous benefits. Not only do many positions grant the right to live in the palace at the King's expense, but they are also exempt from taxes! The wealthiest citizens, therefore, prefer to buy a position rather than pay taxes, even though their incomes are such that if they paid taxes, their financial difficulties would either be nonexistent or far less severe.
"I didn't take that into account," I replied. "But there are tax farmers, aren't there? Isn't that the solution?"
"To some extent, yes," Fouquet agreed. "But the tax farmers have become intractable these days. They cite difficulties and demand excessively large, unaffordable concessions for themselves. Of course, if there were compliant tax farmers for all the taxes that need to be collected, things would go better. Tax farmers pay the crown upfront the amount they'll have to collect from taxpayers, which allows them to collect the money immediately. To encourage them to do this, they're allowed to collect taxes in excess of the amounts they should have collected. In addition, they collect their own overhead costs."
“How much is that?” I asked.
"By law, it's no more than five and a half percent of the collected amount, but who controls them?" Fouquet replied. "I fully admit they take more."
“How much more?” I asked curiously.
"I have no idea!" Fouquet exclaimed. "It could be eight percent, or maybe ten, or twelve. How can you keep track of everything?"
"Listen, but you're also the attorney general, aren't you?" I asked. "Surely you have the leverage to keep track of this difference, to apply pressure where necessary, even to let go where pressure is too strong?"
"I suppose so, but so what?" Fouquet said sourly. "I don't meddle in such matters."
"And completely in vain!" I replied. "After all, in this matter, all the shares need to be regulated so that the tax collection mechanism operates smoothly, clearly, and rhythmically. If five and a half percent isn't enough to attract tax farmers, then we need to raise the rate and introduce other benefits for them."
"But raising these rates will be ruinous for the King!" exclaimed Fouquet.
"Why the King?" I objected. "The King must receive a fixed sum, and that sum cannot be touched. And what the tax collectors must collect on top of that is our problem, and certainly none of the King's! That's the tax collectors' problem."
"Are you proposing to change the law?" Fouquet asked in surprise. "Parliament won't pass it. And besides, as soon as the people learn that they'll be taxed even more just to make more money for the tax collectors, there will be a new rebellion, a revolution!"
"I'm not suggesting changing the law, but we could relax enforcement!" I replied. "We could even hint to the tax farmers that they can more than cover their losses if they act carefully, adapting to the circumstances. Where more can be collected, let them collect more."
"Let them get rich off the backs of others?" Fouquet objected sadly.
"Why let them get rich when we can get rich?" I objected.
"Are you suggesting that I become a tax farmer myself?" asked Fouquet.
"Why yourself?" I asked. "After all, a marshal doesn't take a fortress himself, but with the help of his soldiers. You won't be handling the tax farmers' affairs yourself, nor will you even organize them. But you will manage the work of those who will organize the tax farmers' affairs. And in this case, you will be able to control them both as Superintendent of Finance, as the commissioner of the works, and as the Attorney General, as the judicial system. Superintendent of Finance, Monsieur Nicolas Fouquet, will benefit from this in that the money owed to the crown in taxes will be deposited immediately into the treasury, and as the person organizing those who will create this well-ordered machine, you will receive your share of the profits from this undertaking."
"This is all very dangerous," Fouquet said slowly. "However, it doesn't frighten me. If the deal works out, I'm willing to take the risk. But here's the thing. In order for my people, as representatives of the tax farmers, to pay the money into the treasury before the taxes are collected, I need to have it. And I don't have the sums the cardinal demands of me."
"Then borrow it!" I replied. "At the right interest rate, of course, so that lenders are interested in the deal."
"In what name can I make such loans?" asked Fouquet. "My own fortune is not great enough to guarantee the repayment of such sums. And, after all, it's not I who need the money, but the Cardinal. But I can't borrow money in the Cardinal's name! Nor can I borrow it in the King's or Queen's name! Every lender understands that lending money to someone in power is not only awkward, but also dangerous! Getting it back will be very difficult! Better to give it away outright. After all, you can't hold the Cardinal accountable, much less the Queen or the King! And no one would give such gifts!"
"Of course!" I agreed. "You will have to borrow these sums personally, in the name of the Superintendent of Finances, on your word of honor. They will trust you to lend any amount, since, after all, you manage all the finances of France. But the creditors will know that if you refuse to repay the debt, they can complain to the King, who will force you to repay. And in the event of your insolvency, the King or the Cardinal will cover your debt, since the debt was incurred by the Superintendent of Finances. But if the King does not cover this debt, he will order it to be collected from you or your heirs, as the law and the debt of honor dictate, so they can rest assured that their money will be secure.
"The picture seems clear," Fouquet said doubtfully. "And if this works, then it seems to me that Mazarin will be satisfied, and I can make a profit out of it."
"Of course you can!" I exclaimed. "If taking ten percent isn't enough for you, take seventeen!"
I had no idea how prophetic my words were.
"Well, seventeen is too much, but twelve, it seems to me, would solve all the problems," Fouquet said thoughtfully. "And what if even these sums aren't enough?"
“If the deal works out, then we can farm out taxes for next year,” I said.
"Give up next year's income, you say?" asked the astonished Fouquet. "Where are we going to get the money next year then?"
“You’ll hand over the income of the year following this one,” I answered with a smile.
"Damn it, but someday we'll have to pay it all back!" Fouquet said thoughtfully, tugging at his mustache.
"A year later, a year earlier, what difference does it make?" I asked. "Only the weak pay their debts on time. And the kingdom's attorney general is not one of them. Besides, you can repay your debts with a promissory note, a new debt obligation, issue securities that will be as good as gold if you are trusted. And they will trust you. To do that, you just need to start repaying your debts, at least to someone. Take out a small loan to start, and repay it with good interest, so that everyone knows about it."
"Securities?" Fouquet asked. "But where will I get these securities?"
"How much is your signature worth, Mr. Superintendent of Finance?" I asked.
"I never thought about it, because it costs me nothing to put it up, but if it's under a promissory note, it's worth as much as that note says," replied Fouquet. "In any case, it can't be worth more than all the money I have."
"I won't be, if in five years, no, in three years, your signature isn't worth twenty million livres!" I replied. "And in ten years it will be worth a hundred million."
Fouquet said nothing, just looked at me intently. I think he thought I was crazy. But he was deep in thought, and it was easy to read on his face.
"Tell me, my dear d'Herblay, who taught you such views?" Fouquet finally asked.
"King Charles of England," I replied. "His demise was sealed by his misguided attitude toward money and, consequently, toward the taxes he collected. If he had only seen in taxes what they should be seen, just as he saw in money, he would never have met the brutal end I, unfortunately, witnessed with my own eyes."
"Could you please clarify your idea?" Fouquet asked.
“It is not the King’s treasury that gives him power over the country, but the King’s power over the country that fills his treasury,” I answered.
"That's a fresh idea!" Fouquet exclaimed admiringly. "Could you elaborate on it further? I'd like to fully understand your perspective on this matter!"
"Money has meaning for everyone except the King," I replied. "Money is that portion of power the King delegates to his citizens for the purpose of settling accounts among themselves. It has power because the King recognizes it. The King doesn't need it at all. His subjects should obey the King not because he pays them to do so, but because he is the King. And if all the subjects in his state obey the King, then he only needs money for making purchases from foreign countries. But a strong state can survive without such purchases, or this activity can be farmed out to merchants."
"Well, well!" Fouquet rejoiced. "Go on, I beg you!"
"If the King chases money, he'll no longer be a King, but a usurer," I continued. "If the King hoards money, he'll cease to be a King and become a treasurer, or even worse. If the King is overly generous, handing out money left and right, then as soon as he runs out of money—and any generous King will—everyone will turn their backs on him, and he'll lose not only his kingdom, but perhaps his freedom and even his life. After all, Monsieur Fouquet, when you come home, you don't buy the attention of your loved ones by paying them for it?"
"However, I pay my servants!" replied Fouquet.
“Because they need to buy something outside your home,” I replied. “But the King’s servants must remain his servants even if he doesn’t pay them a salary. A salary should be simply a pleasant bonus for the joy of serving the King. Then no courtier will dare ask for more than he is given. And in this case, their appetites will not grow, and money will not depreciate, therefore, it will not be needed in greater and greater quantities. Money is perishable, just a means. If money can buy loyalty, can pacify enemies, make friends out of them, at least temporarily, if money can stop a war, then there is no need to begrudge it. But if there is no money, then one must act as if it were available, and as if there were an unlimited supply of it. When the King’s financial resources are unknown, everyone assumes them to be limitless. When they are known, they always seem insufficient.”
"So you think it's entirely safe for a sovereign to increase his debt to his subjects?" Fouquet asked.
"And who speaks of the sovereign's duty?" I asked, surprised. "A king owes nothing to his subjects, whereas subjects must obey their sovereign, don't you think?"
“Of course, that’s how it is,” Fouquet agreed.
"The King may spend money within his realm to reward those who serve him faithfully, as well as to make purchases in the interests of himself, his family, and state affairs," I continued. "Therefore, if the King underpays them a little, there is no reason to complain, since they are already obligated to obey him. And where does the King's money come from? It comes from taxes! Therefore, it comes from those citizens who, without working for the King, earn this money. That is, even those who do not work for the King must return some portion of their labor to the King in monetary form. If taxes are slightly higher than usual, it is not robbery, but simply a way to force citizens to work for their King a little better than they do! But they are obligated to work so that the state prospers! If the state does not prosper, it follows that the citizens are not working diligently enough." In this case, forcing them to work more diligently is the sacred duty of any government official, and it benefits the state just as much as it benefits the King. If the King redistributes state revenues, that is his right; he is the King. So if, for some work, some worker receives less than usual, and this happens as a result of some action by the King, then this is, therefore, the King's decision, conscious or unconscious. But what difference does it make? Consciously or unconsciously, the King rules the country for the benefit of all citizens. And the citizens should thank their sovereign for this. Therefore, there is not and cannot be any robbery by a sovereign of his subjects; there is only the careful extraction of surplus profits, necessary for their own good, or a careless extraction, which is mistakenly perceived by unintelligent citizens as violence. King Charles of England did not show sufficient firmness in his decisions and was punished by citizens who did not even realize what they were doing. If he had been more decisive, they would not have dared do this to him. Having the means to pay the mercenary labor of an army defending him, he neglected this opportunity. If he did not pay the Scots, he should at least have given them the territories he considered hostile to him to plunder. This would have been a lesson to those who lived there, and payment for the loyalty of those who remained loyal to him. Strength must not be indecisive. Strength without decisiveness is weakness. King Louis XIV must not repeat the mistakes of King Charles of England. Flirting with subjects, showing indecision, calculating how much to pay whom and how much to save on whom—this is not the work of a king! A weak hand extends a cupped hand, asking for favor, a strong hand takes what it deems necessary. A weak king is no king! To become powerful, the King simply needs to build a strong hierarchical ladder, at the very top of which are those who have the right to see him and who are ready to fulfill his slightest wish. These people, and only they, may receive rewards from the King's hands, not in money, but in orders, titles, estates, castles, and fortresses. If the King sees a trustworthy person before him, he can gift him a fortress on the state's border, which this person will guard from external enemies, sparing neither his life nor his treasure. If he sees an unreliable person before him, he can send him to prison or the scaffold, and add his estate to the state property. This is his right! No other rights are needed.
"Interesting!" exclaimed Fouquet.
"But those trusted men who surround a strong and great King have no power as such; they need money to reward their loyal followers, to maintain the army, and for other needs!" I continued. "So where are they supposed to get this money? There are two ways: from the state treasury, or directly from the taxes collected! You must admit that the first way is ruinous for the treasury and worrisome for the sovereign, while the second is a blessing and a support for the state! The King gives his loyal men ranks, and let them earn the money they need to carry out the king's orders using these ranks. This is better than having every marshal, every general, every minister do nothing but beg the King for money for this or that need! The King is not a treasurer! The King has the right never to touch money with his hands or even his eyes. His word is enough for everything to happen in the state as it should be, according to his will."
"Did you also learn this from watching King Charles of England?" Fouquet asked.
"No, I came to these conclusions while reflecting on faith," I replied. "The Lord doesn't need monetary donations, so He rejects them, saying that by giving to the poor, we give to Him. That's the highest ethic of the highest authority! To serve Him not for money, but for faith, for the idea, for devotion itself."
"So the King doesn't need money at all?" Fouquet asked doubtfully.
"Before the King fully becomes King, he must travel this path to the point where anyone will seek to serve him without asking how much they'll be paid," I replied. "You can't change the system overnight. It must be built gradually, brick by brick. But someday, I believe, Louis XIV will become the kind of King who won't need money to enforce obedience."
"And that means that anyone who contributes to this serves the King in the best possible way?" Fouquet finished for me.
"Exactly so, my dear friend!" I replied. "Princes, dukes, peers, marquises, and counts will pay only for the privilege of being close to the King, of attending a ball, a dinner, or any other place the King graces. But they will not pay him, but those who distribute the tickets. Under Henry IV, some courtiers considered it an honor to gamble with the King and lose him a substantial sum."
“I need to think about what you said and do some calculations,” Fouquet said.
"Good day!" I replied, and, having said goodbye, I left Fouquet.
"First, let Louis XIV become a truly strong King of France," I thought then. "And then I will use my knowledge of how to achieve complete harmony with the King of France! I will make it so that the King will obey me completely. Not this King, but another, indistinguishable from him, his own twin brother, who will owe me everything and who will obey me in everything. But only I will know this; for everyone else, he will still be the same Louis XIV , the Great King, whom everyone will obey simply because he is the King!"

Chapter 193

"Gold can be mined from an inkwell," I once said to Fouquet. "Gold, silver, pearls, emeralds, diamonds! All the treasures in the world can be bought with paper with the right words written on it, and bearing the right signatures and seals. Therefore, the financial problem may concern anyone but the King and his Prime Minister! And the Superintendent of Finance must develop, secure approval, and implement the very system that will mine gold from an inkwell without the risk of collapsing the entire state financial system. Debt obligations can be repaid with new obligations of a slightly larger amount. This may work for a while, and then, when the King comes into power, it will no longer matter so much when, how, and by whom these obligations are repaid. Surely creditors won't object if they are offered a slightly larger sum of money a little later? Of course, this can't go on forever, but we don't need eternity; we need to gain five or six, eight years at most." When the King is as unattainable as the Sun is to the common people, all these money problems will seem trivial and insignificant.
Fouquet no longer argued with me. The fundamental factor that could not be ignored was time: the money needed right now, as quickly as possible, could be borrowed from the future, from the future France, and Fouquet could confidently express this idea to Mazarin, since the Cardinal could not but approve. There was a certain risk that the cunning Mazarin might refuse to take responsibility, or, rather, pretend not to understand the cunning and subtlety of the proposed scheme, but it was a justified, predictable, and acceptable risk.
The Superintendent considered the ideas I had expressed and, on this basis, created an extremely efficient state machine for extracting gold from inkwells. His system was flawless and enabled Mazarin to enrich himself, while all necessary expenses were financed promptly. Of course, the state debt to lenders gradually grew, but what harm was that if, at any given moment, the lenders were quite satisfied with the interest they were receiving on the capital they had provided and were firmly convinced that they could withdraw the capital they had lent at any time? It was only necessary to convince them that such a moment had not yet arrived, but would certainly arrive, perhaps soon, and that their investments in the state debt were the best investment. The historical moment justified this approach, since without the necessary sums it would have been impossible to end the war, ensure the obedience of the great powers, or make serious political and economic plans. Paper, turning into gold, helped equip ships, build cannons, recruit an army, provide recruits with uniforms, weapons, ammunition, equip the cavalry with horses and provide fodder.
Fouquet began actively reforming the tax system, starting with tax laws, including the hierarchy from the authorities down to the humble taxpayers, as well as the tax distribution system and the institution for overseeing all these processes. Part of the collected taxes was distributed before they reached the treasury, for example, by paying the salaries of collectors at the very bottom and by paying commissions to everyone managing this process at all levels. It turned out that the treasury itself effectively paid a certain tax to those who ensured tax collection from the population.
Moreover, he began to widely use all sorts of monetary obligations, mandates, patents, and other documents as currency. After he realized that a properly executed document, properly signed and sealed , could be converted into actual cash, he also grasped everything I had tried to explain to him. Fouquet had a keen mind for money and laws that favored him. Moreover, he independently discovered the wide scope for evading unfavorable laws through numerous amendments, conditions, clauses and subclauses, interpretations, precedents, judicial practices, and other tools of professional legalists. In this area, my understanding of all these tools was significantly inferior to Fouquet's talented and agile judicial mind. I felt more like a financier and, if you like, an adventurer than Fouquet, whereas he was much more of a lawyer than I, a formalist, an advocate for everything that benefited him and a prosecutor against everything that hindered him. The system began to work, slowly at first, but soon it gained momentum and demonstrated its effectiveness. Taxes began to be collected better, money began to flow into the treasury, and Mazarin, realizing that part of this cash flow was ending up in the pockets of all participants in this legal system, recognized the inevitability of these losses and sadly resigned himself to them. He was smart enough to understand: a lion does not feed on grass, but a lion can feed on those who feed on grass. Likewise, a prime minister cannot personally rob peasants, merchants, and artisans, but he can effectively devour those who make their fortunes by robbing peasants, merchants, and artisans. This hierarchical ladder, or, if you like, pyramid, is stronger the stronger the connection of each layer with the upper and lower layers closest to it, and the best connection is mutual responsibility, a common, so to speak, somewhat free treatment of the laws.
Governance became a profitable business because, although taxes were poorly collected, this didn't prevent the cash flow from remaining uninterrupted and quite substantial. Sometimes, old taxes, even those no longer legally binding, were still collected. And this was a special source of income for the tax-farming system, in which Fouquet was an unseen participant. After all, the taxed citizens were unaware that the taxes were no longer legal, and the sovereign was unaware that these taxes were still being collected. For example, wines imported through the port of Bordeaux had historically been subject to a tax intended to protect our ships from pirates. Pirate taxes had almost completely ceased, and merchants were considering getting rid of this tax, which was called the "Bordeaux convoy." They were plotting a rebellion.
Fouquet had to consider arranging two or three occasions for ships flying Dutch flags to attack our merchantmen in neutral waters. The intention was simply to intimidate the merchantmen, but the captain of one of the ships, after firing two warning shots to intimidate the merchantman, was surprised to see that instead of raising all sails and escaping pursuit, the attacked ship raised a white flag, signaling its intention to surrender to the victor without a fight or attempt to escape. The captain was forced to loot the vessel. The captives were treated very gently; they were simply tied up and herded into the hold. After taking only the most valuable cargo and cutting down the masts, the crew, posing as pirates, abandoned the captured vessel to the mercy of the waves. Since one of the rather busy trade routes passed through this area, the robbed ship was soon found, the crew was freed, after which the masts were restored and the ship reached port safely.
This incident struck fear into the merchants and thus eliminated any discontent regarding the Bordeaux convoy; this type of tax was once again collected without any problems. Furthermore, the merchants initiated ship insurance. Each merchant paid a small share of their profits so that, in the event of a ship's destruction, they could receive compensation from the collected funds for losses. Needless to say, the insurance was handled by people loyal to Fouquet. So the superintendent also earned income from the insurance companies.
This incident had other consequences. The crew of the ship that carried out this robbery offered their masters permission to continue their activities, but only against Dutch merchant ships. Since relations with Holland were extremely tenuous, they easily obtained this permission. Over time, this became another aspect of the secret financial structure's activities, which Fouquet also directed, but not directly, so that no investigator could uncover his unseen presence in this matter. These pirates knew that if captured, they would not face the gallows, and they were not supposed to know that the attorney general's interest in them protected them from the gallows. Well-organized customs duties at ports, as well as well-established methods for evading these duties, were also under control and became part of Fouquet's financial empire. Money can be made from harvests and crop failures, from peace and war, from piracy, and from piracy insurance. All of this was under the control of completely different people, but a fair share of the income from all of these activities went one way or another to Fouquet, and he sent part of this money to the treasury in order to strengthen his special position both in relation to the treasury and in relation to the law.
The majority of the treasury's revenue came from the taille and various indirect taxes in the form of excise duties, although the amount of these revenues varied greatly from year to year for a variety of reasons. These revenues were called ordinary revenues. The remaining funds, which came from a wide variety of sources, were called extraordinary revenues. These extraordinary revenues consisted of entrance fees collected from those planning to engage in certain professions and trades, as well as proceeds from the sale of annuities, a term used to describe rents secured by future tax revenues.
One of the most important sources of income was the creation and sale of government positions, primarily within the monarchy's judicial and financial apparatuses. The problem, of course, was that by selling a position, the treasury was subsequently burdened with the need to pay the official's salary and various benefits. However, the payback period for those who purchased the position reached twenty years or more. That is, by selling a position, the treasury received twenty years in advance the sums that would later be spent on paying the official's salary. Mazarin proposed further widening this discrepancy between the value of a position and the official income received from it, rightly reasoning that officials also derive unofficial income from their positions, exploiting their privileged position at court.
"Since positions are bought, it must be profitable for them!" he said to Fouquet. "And since there's more than one contender for many positions, it follows that we're still charging them cheaply. So, if prices for government positions rise, it's only fair!"
He was certainly right in this reasoning. If a commodity is in short supply, the price should be raised, and when demand stops, one can consider whether the price is too high. For now, the trade in office was quite brisk, since purchasing a position acted as an investment. Who better than Fouquet knew this from personal experience? An office simultaneously conferred prestige and privileges on its holder, such as tax exemption and sometimes even noble status! Mazarin understood perfectly well that this was compounded by the possibility of earning money through dishonest means for the performance of his duties. Bribes were common among judges and tax collectors, but Mazarin was unconcerned, as he needed to win his quiet war against the great powers to strengthen the power of the King and his own. To do this, he needed money, and he considered bribery an inevitable evil, futile to fight, and therefore necessary to exploit it for his own ends, that is, in particular, to increase the value of these very offices. Fouquet's unspoken motto became: "If you can't fight something, lead it." A position was a commodity like any other, and even a better one, since the rising cost of positions, far from diminishing the rich's desire to acquire them, actually spurred them on. After all, if a position increases in value, it makes it an even more reliable investment! Soon, the creation and sale of new positions became one of the most important sources of treasury revenue.
The church also generated revenue. Although it officially paid no taxes, it was regularly forced to make gifts and voluntary donations to the treasury. Thus, Brother Fouquet became known as Abbot Fouquet only because he was charged with collecting gifts and donations from the abbeys, which, of course, enriched him as well. Nominally, such donations were intended for the lofty goal of protecting the kingdom from foreign and domestic heresy and heretics. The Jesuit Order also contributed to the royal treasury. Taxes were collected from the population by tax farmers, who knew no mercy and extorted money regardless of circumstances such as crop failure, fire, flood, or other unforeseen disasters. Sometimes, after paying the taxes, peasant farms were completely ruined, leaving the livestock-less peasants forced to go to the city to earn money or simply beg. But in the cities there was a surplus of hired labor, so many ruined peasants voluntarily hired themselves out as soldiers, and some even became robbers.
The robbers were sometimes caught and sent to the galleys, but sometimes they joined the ranks of legal pirates, plundering Dutch ships and paying the appropriate percentage to those who covered for them, that is, ultimately, again to Fouquet.
I kept aloof from this activity, even though Fouquet invited me to join him. I preferred to keep my distance, as I valued my moral integrity before God, the King, and my own conscience, but, of course, my primary consideration was that such activity could not continue indefinitely with impunity. While Fouquet could afford not to consider what would become of him in ten or fifteen years, hoping that by then he would be beyond the reach of any prosecution—and, besides, he was already beyond their reach, as the Attorney General—I did not limit my plans to such a short time. I planned to live long and happily, if fate allowed me such a thing, which, however, did not make me a coward. I would risk my life in battle without hesitation, for I remained a musketeer at heart, but I would never undertake a mission that threatened a shameful trial for embezzlement or for breach of the King's trust. If I were to ascend the scaffold, it would only be as a rebel, or as a failed defender of my love. Money was not a value for which I would risk my freedom. Besides, love itself brought me enough; I had learned to be content with little and had no need of money, although my modest income already allowed me to live quite luxuriously. I saw my future in the Order and in that most important matter to which I held all the keys—namely, the possession of Queen Anne's great secret.

Chapter 194

Fouquet's officials operated efficiently and brutally. If they failed to collect the money, they confiscated livestock, land, and any other property of even the slightest value, even when peasants were unable to pay the tax due to lack of income or even obvious losses, most often due to poor harvests or natural disasters. They immediately valued this property at the lowest possible price and sold it through a well-established network of merchants at much higher prices. The peasants had no control over this; there was simply no way to appeal. This constituted another source of income, and this additional revenue, of course, did not reach the treasury, but a significant portion of it went to Fouquet's disposal. The fact is that this money passed through a long chain of different hands, whose functions were strictly delineated. At first, a portion of the collected funds was taken away, intended for the salaries of local tax collectors, officials, stationed troops ensuring subordination and order, and, of course, their commanders.
What little remained of this money reached the central treasury in Paris, and with a significant delay. So the treasury was constantly short of funds, which were desperately needed to supply the troops, maintain the royal household, meet other state needs, and pay the ever- growing courtiers. Since revenues were irregular and insufficient, the treasury was forced to borrow from a small circle of financiers who sympathized with the government party and were therefore called partisans, as well as from so-called contractors, who found it profitable to lend small sums for urgent needs at substantial interest rates. Naturally, these loans could not be made directly to the King, for who would dare subsequently sue His Majesty, let alone demand interest? If loans were requested in the King's name, all potential lenders would swear they had no funds. Therefore, loans were taken out in the Superintendent's name, meaning they were Fouquet's personal responsibility. The loan agreements stipulated that even if His Majesty did not recognize these agreements and refused to ensure the repayment of the debts from the treasury, the Superintendent would still be personally responsible for their fulfillment, meaning he was obligated to repay the money from his own funds.
The question arises: why did Fouquet need this, why take such a huge risk? But the fact is, these were the costs of his position, which brought him income far faster than his personal debts grew, so he was perfectly content with this situation. He had no choice but to abandon this practice and, consequently, the position of Superintendent of the Royal Finances, for who would want a Superintendent incapable of meeting the treasury's needs? Or he had to accept this risk with his own capital, if only because the King had generally promised to repay these loans from future tax revenues, and also because, as I have already said, even if he had to repay these loans from his own funds, the ample opportunity for enrichment at all stages of tax collection more than offset these probable losses.
Fouquet noticed his capital growing like dough with yeast, but he failed to see that his debts were also growing like a snowball rolling down a high mountain—an avalanche. This avalanche was bound to eventually bury someone, but the careless Fouquet never expected that this person would be him. Therefore, he ignored the fact that the repayment of these loans was being secured by future tax revenues from increasingly later years, so that even taxes not yet collected became the subject of state obligations for several years to come and no longer belonged to the treasury. In 1648, the money was borrowed against the 1651 taille.
In some years, Fouquet, in agreement with Mazarin, transferred the state's rights on behalf of the King to a syndicate of wealthy bankers and tax farmers, who provided rough estimates of the amounts planned for collection. During the term of this contract, the syndicate contributed this amount to the treasury, while the King ceded his royal rights to collect taxes and dispose of these revenues. Of course, the actual taxes collected exceeded the approximate amounts the syndicate paid to the King; otherwise, this conglomerate of wealthy individuals would not have undertaken such a task. The difference was appropriated by the syndicate and divided among its members according to rules known only to them. Fouquet also received his share of this profit. Mazarin understood that this was inevitable and was content to shamelessly take from Fouquet what he considered justified, and Fouquet, of course, did not refuse him this. Preliminary estimates of the planned taxes were verified by experts from state treasury officials, and the syndicate understood that for their estimates to be considered accurate, a certain sum had to be paid to Fouquet, and the more this estimate deviated from the true assessment, the greater the amount collected. But, of course, both Fouquet and the syndicate understood the limits within which they could distort the actual estimates, but which they should never exceed.
With the support of the superintendent, the syndicates secured benefits in the form of subsidies to cover tax collection costs, as well as substantial discounts. Typically, no more than half of the money the syndicate collected from citizens reached the treasury.
Fouquet's talent for finding ways to enrich himself flourished in every possible way. He devised ever more sophisticated ways to turn everything into gold. Financiers proposed to the King the introduction of new taxes or changes to the rules or timing of collection of existing taxes. For example, when a successor was transferred, a fee was collected for appointing the successor. To make the King more willing to accept such overt or covert tax increases, these same financiers would advance him a certain sum, which, according to calculations, would appear in addition to the planned revenues. Fouquet also received his share. Thus bribed, the King agreed to transfer the right to collect this new tax to this syndicate. These deals were called contracts, and the participants were called contractors. The wealthiest investors and financiers profited from this practice, becoming even richer.
Financiers came to be the name given to anyone who had ever collected, spent, invested, or otherwise managed royal funds. One didn't necessarily have to have one's own funds to be considered a financier. Instead, one could have the right to manage the King's finances. All these financiers were adept at distinguishing their own money from that of others, but they possessed a peculiar forgetfulness that often led them to confuse state funds with their own pockets, in other words, transferring large sums from the treasury into their own coffers. However, to steal gold, one didn't necessarily have to smuggle it into one's own home; it was enough to sign a warrant for its distribution to the right people, for example, by paying for houses, castles, palaces, or ships for oneself, or by financing their construction on lands acquired in the same way.
These people spread the myth that their wealth was based on their ability to manage money wisely, whereas each of them understood this to mean the ability to take advantage of a situation to pocket treasury funds, which were moving to the right place at the right time under somewhat less control, either accidentally or deliberately, in a predetermined situation. For example, one of the lucrative positions was called "financial consultant." The belief that a certain group of people possessed exceptional knowledge about how to make money from money forced the appointment of only those from this group to lucrative positions, so that an honest and decent person had no chance of becoming a "financier." To protect their good name and safeguard their own security, most "financiers" managed such transactions not personally, but through trusted confidants, clients, their own servants or pages, squires, or distant relatives from among the ruined nobles, who, as dependents, were formally considered the financiers' secretaries. These individuals signed the contracts, while the true owners of the money and the executors of the transactions acted merely as guarantors of these transactions, posing as patrons and benefactors of these secretaries, pages, and squires.
All these mechanisms led to the emergence of a significant handful of wealthy individuals who amassed their fortunes in a matter of years, and these fortunes far exceeded the inherited wealth of most noble grandees, who consequently gradually began to lose their influence on state policy. Indeed, if there's someone nearby who can bribe all your servants, you'll no longer feel secure, and consequently, everyone will develop a certain apprehension toward the excessively wealthy. If this wealth is combined with the position of Attorney General, as was the case with Fouquet, then such a person's power became almost all-encompassing, although, of course, it couldn't yet compete with that of the King or the Prime Minister.
At the same time, virtually all courtiers experienced delays in salary payments, but Fouquet quietly and gradually accustomed everyone to the idea that Fouquet's friends could never have their salaries delayed, while his enemies—as fortune would occasionally do, under one pretext or another, or even seriously reduced due to some mistake. Under these circumstances, everyone made every effort to become friends with the all-powerful Superintendent of Finances, Nicolas Fouquet.
Occasional deviations from the legally stipulated rate of 5.5% for covering tax collection costs could be authorized by a special cash order personally signed by the Superintendent of Finance. Fouquet received his percentage of the interest for such ordonnance de comptant without so much as a bat of an eye. Expenditures made under the Superintendent's ordinance were not subject to audit by the Court of Auditors or other financial officials, since it was believed and accepted that the Superintendent could authorize certain expenditures made in the interests of the state in a sensitive area whose purpose was secret. Naturally, such expenditures were also made, and I dare say, quite frequently and quite effectively. So, despite all the shortcomings of this system, it worked, and worked successfully, to strengthen the power of the King and the Prime Minister.
These methods yielded enormous sums for subsidies to friendly foreign princes, in other words, to make insufficiently friendly grandees extremely friendly. It must be said that under Mazarin, funds spent on state needs, including the bribery of certain influential individuals, reached 40 percent of all government expenditures, although it cannot be ruled out that some expenses were added to this item for the benefit of the financiers who managed these funds. This technique was also widely used to increase interest rates on financing many projects, and any excess of this rate was forever concealed from any audits or inspections.
Thus, gradually, a new power emerged within the state—the power of finance and financiers. The state itself, in part, found itself hostage to this new power. The grandees began to sense their loss of influence, and this was one of the reasons for their personal dissatisfaction with the Queen Mother and Mazarin, and even, to some extent, with the young King. The grandees skillfully channeled this dissatisfaction into the Royal Council and other segments of the population, but Mazarin skillfully acquired supporters, only sighing that this was costing him and the treasury more and more. Yet it was worth it, since, one way or another, the power of the Queen, the King, and the Prime Minister grew stronger, while the importance of the grandees gradually became purely nominal. These people still considered themselves the most important persons after the King, although they had long ceased to be so, but they were still allowed to cherish these illusions.
The gap between expenditures and actual annual revenues grew, leading to a gap between the date of actual expenditures and the date of future receipt of corresponding tax revenues. Having exhausted the current year's uncollected taxes, government needs were met by borrowing next year's expenditures, and then revenues for the next two years, and so on.
I could smell the impending financial disaster in the air, but Nicolas Fouquet was enjoying the increase in his own capital and the sums under his trust management. He exulted in his financial genius, fully realizing the significance of the motto on his coat of arms: "Where won't I climb?" The squirrel, which, as his surname suggests, was depicted on his coat of arms, could certainly climb very high, but it should not forget the existence of the Marten!

Chapter 195

Marshal de Grammont once remarked in the presence of the Viscount de Turenne about a military commander who, having learned that his officer had had an affair with his wife, sent him to the front lines, where he met his death.
"It would be futile to search in this event for traces of a crime against an officer's honor," said the Viscount. "The essence of any military command is complete control over the life and death of all the soldiers entrusted to his command. Whatever one may say, he always has the power to send someone to certain death and to save someone else, by sending them, on the contrary, with an important dispatch to the rear, or by entrusting them with a mission that, although seemingly dangerous, is in fact entirely safe. So there is no court for a commander except the court of the King, and no judge of his actions with regard to the fates of his officers except the court of his own conscience."
"So there is a court after all," Marshal de Grammont objected. "At least the one you mentioned, the court of conscience."
“There is also the judgment of God,” I said, and we all crossed ourselves.
I recalled this episode because Fouquet, at his own discretion, petitioned for the distribution of various financial and judicial positions. Although he didn't make the final decisions, much was done with his knowledge. This allowed him to place his own people where needed, but also, in other cases, allowed him to place others in situations where they were innocently found guilty and condemned. In this sense, Fouquet was the commander of his civilian troops, who, although not engaged in military affairs, were sometimes involved in matters no less dangerous.
His affairs were so cunningly managed that, for example, of the total taxes collected in 1651–1652, a sum totaling forty million livres was distributed so that only twenty-three million went to the treasury, while seventeen million were spent on collecting those same forty million. But at that time, no one considered the efficiency of the financial services, comparing the sums generated by these services with the costs of maintaining them. The main thing was that these services supplied the treasury with the required sums with a sufficiently regular frequency, and the cost of this regularity was of no concern to anyone.
The discrepancy between planned and actual expenditures couldn't yet trouble the young King, who understood little about the subject. If the winter quarters for the troops were estimated at eight million livres, but actually cost three times that amount, twenty-four million livres, the main thing was that the money had come from somewhere, and the troops were quartered. The following year, taxes were collected amounting to one hundred and ten million livres, of which only slightly less than nineteen million reached the treasury. Tax farming became the most efficient activity in the kingdom. It was more profitable to be Superintendent of Finances than King of France!
It is said that Alexander the Great once suggested to Diogenes that he ask him for whatever he wanted. Diogenes replied, "Step aside, or you're blocking my view of the sun." After this, Alexander said, "If I weren't Alexander, I'd want to be Diogenes!"
Fouquet might have said, "If I weren't Fouquet, I'd like to be Louis XIV." But the King might also have said, "If I weren't the King, I'd like to be Fouquet." France nominally belonged to the King, but Nicolas Fouquet was increasingly becoming the master of its finances. The Superintendent of Finances was responsible for finding sources of income and then authorizing its distribution. But he had no direct dealings with money.
All collected funds were deposited in the central treasury. The royal treasurers released them upon the appropriate orders from the superintendent. Initially, Nicolas Fouquet and Abel Servien, the two superintendents of finance, had equal powers. From December 1654, their functions were divided. From then on, Servien was responsible for verifying and approving expenditures and payments, while Fouquet was responsible for raising funds.
Before this official decision, tensions had occasionally arisen between the two superintendents, potentially escalating into permanent hatred and confrontation, but the decision removed the source of this friction. One of Mazarin's personal bankers and business partners, Barth;lemy Hervart, became the financial controller, entrusted with the responsibility for the funds needed to pay bills and loans. This division of duties was proposed by Fouquet himself, based on my suggestions.
Fouquet explained to Mazarin that the state could borrow from its citizens the sums of up to thirty million livres a year, necessary to cover military expenses, only if the creditors trusted it—that is, if they understood the possibility of demanding, not asking, their funds with accrued interest at pre-agreed dates. Creditors could not demand repayment from the prime minister or the king, so the obligations were contracted in Fouquet's name, who would be obligated to repay the required sums even if the treasury lacked funds, and even if he were removed from his position as Superintendent of Finance. Only such a scheme could convince creditors that under no circumstances could the state unilaterally repudiate its debt obligations or demand a renegotiation of the loan terms, as had happened in 1648.
A situation arose in which creditors no longer had to trust the King, since they now trusted Nicolas Fouquet personally, understanding that the King would provide collateral for the repayment of their loans, but they would be able to demand repayment directly from Fouquet, so that only he, Fouquet personally, would guarantee the return of the funds and accrued interest. They had no idea then that demanding repayment from a man imprisoned was just as impossible as from the King—a fact they would soon discover.
Meanwhile, Fouquet's credibility grew with each passing month. The time had come when Fouquet's mere word became the equivalent of money, not to mention his signature. Fouquet built a network of lenders, including his relatives from his second marriage. This financial circle included Claude de Boileuve, the Grune brothers, and Fran;ois Jacquet. Other financiers, such as Nicolas Janin de Castille and Hervart, held positions in the royal financial administration. This allowed them to manipulate transactions and accounts profitably.
Fouquet, relying on his senior clerks, created a credit syndicate, primarily consisting of Charles Bernard, Jacques Delorme, and Louis Bruant. Also included were Mazarin's associates: the brothers Claude and Pierre Girardin, Robert Grune du Boucher, the brothers Nicolas and Pierre Monerot, Claude de Boileu, and Fran;ois Jacquet. Only Fouquet himself could understand the intricate complexities of these financial transactions.
Between 1653 and 1661, the total royal debt reached 216 million livres, while tax farm contracts were concluded for approximately 208 million livres. During Fouquet's tenure, financiers provided the state with only approximately 424 million livres before deductions and exemptions.
Fouquet was not only a full participant in this juggling of debt obligations and real money but also the puppeteer, holding all the secret springs and strings in his hands. He didn't distinguish between his own pocket and the state treasury. At the same time, fearing the loss of his position, he strove to fulfill all his obligations, so he mortgaged his wife's property for two million livres to make up for a shortfall of 1.2 million in the treasury. At another point, he sold one of his estates for this purpose. But he also used state funds to purchase lands in his own name, including Vaux and Belle-;le. During his entire superintendentship, Nicolas Fouquet borrowed a total of over 30 million livres on personal responsibility, which he then lent to the crown. By the time of his arrest in 1661, which I will discuss below, Fouquet's debt stood at twelve million livres, a third of which he had borrowed personally as a private citizen, and two thirds as a government official on behalf of the King. The number of creditors who lent him various sums exceeded five hundred people.
Mazarin understood perfectly well the nature of schemes that would bring immediate cash into the treasury, but this didn't bother him too much, as he understood that the money was needed immediately to strengthen royal power, and if the king's power was strong, his debts would be irrelevant. The Cardinal gambled on the victory of absolutism, and his calculations paid off. When, in November 1655, Marshal Auquincourt threatened to surrender the towns of Ema and P;ronne, under his governorship, to Spanish troops or the Prince of Cond;, Fouquet raised six hundred thousand livres overnight, so that his emissaries could deliver it to the marshal along with a royal pardon. I must admit that if Auquincourt had carried out his treacherous plan, the cost to the treasury would have been much higher, and, furthermore, tens of thousands of people would have paid with their lives. There are many such examples.
In turn, Mazarin himself also used the treasury for his political intrigues, bribery, pacification and appeasement, without forgetting the personal interests and needs of his large family.
The following year, in July 1656, Fouquet's ability to quickly raise vast sums of money was once again called upon. Events unfolded near Athos's estate.
Viscount de Turenne and Marshal de la Fert; were besieging Valenciennes, held by the Prince of Cond; in alliance with the Spanish, whose troops he led. Cond; attacked La Fert; and captured him. Mazarin's headquarters were at La Fert;, where Athos provided the cardinal with magnificent apartments. Unrest broke out among the soldiers, as their pay had been delayed. Mazarin, lacking the talents of Julius Caesar, was unable to inspire them with speeches alone, but he remembered well how Charles of England had ended up with the Scottish soldiers' non-payment of their pay: Parliament had paid Charles I's debts, and in return, the King himself. Fearing a similar outcome, Mazarin, in desperation, turned to Fouquet, demanding nine hundred thousand livres. It was then that Fouquet mortgaged his wife's estate. The money was delivered in carriages under reliable protection, which was also organized by Fouquet.
This was a salvation for Mazarin, who, without hiding his joy and relief, wrote a letter of thanks to Fouquet, in which he informed him that he had informed the King and the Queen Mother of this great service, and they had ordered him to convey their gratitude and promised not to forget how he had helped them in their hour of need.
Feeling like a benefactor of the King and Queen Mother themselves, Fouquet decided that he was now at home in the royal family.
Mazarin was generous with his praise, but refused to repay Fouquet, explaining that the sums had been handed over to the Royal Family, which would not repay them even at face value, much less with interest. True to form, Mazarin sometimes painted such pitiful pictures of his financial situation that he was almost convincing in his complaints. He claimed to know no interests other than those of His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen Mother, and he even flatly insisted that he didn't know what it meant to make even a penny of profit. To communicate with Fouquet, the Cardinal resorted to his trusted servant, Jean-Baptiste Colbert. This rogue handled all of the Cardinal's affairs, and Mazarin trusted him immensely. If Fouquet helped the Cardinal plunder his own country, Colbert even helped him outwit Fouquet himself.
Soon, Mazarin asked Fouquet for another three hundred thousand livres. Fouquet replied that the treasury was empty. Mazarin was surprised, reminding him that he had already repaid some funds, referring to the new promissory notes he had sent Fouquet in exchange for the old debts.
"Monseigneur," Fouquet retorted, "I sent you the sums you requested in a carriage, under reliable guard. When I speak of returning these funds, I do not mean replacing the old receipts with new ones, but rather returning the actual sums that I could return to the creditors, so that they would trust me in similar extraordinary cases in the future. If I give them your receipts instead of money, then the next time I ask them for money, they will return those receipts."
"But the prime minister's promissory note is just money!" Mazarin objected. "How are these securities fundamentally different from gold?"
“Monseigneur, paper is not sent in carriages,” replied Fouquet.
“Diamonds too,” replied Mazarin.
“If Monseigneur wishes to repay the debt in diamonds, I will accept it,” replied Fouquet with a bow.
Hearing this caustic remark, Mazarin smiled softly, showing with his whole appearance that he appreciated the joke.
This minor conflict, which Fouquet himself forgot the next day, was never forgotten by Mazarin until the end of his days. That's why, just before his death, Mazarin refrained from reminding the King of Fouquet's merits, or even mentioning him at all. Instead, he warmly recommended Jean-Baptiste Colbert to the young Louis XIV as a man the King could fully rely on in matters of finance. This meant that Nicolas Fouquet should eventually be removed from his position as Superintendent of Finances, entrusting the management of the finances to Colbert. Louis understood this advice and remembered it.
Nevertheless, Mazarin continued to demand ever greater sums from Fouquet, and Fouquet continued his activities in this field. In late autumn of 1657, Mazarin demanded eleven million eight hundred thousand livres for the army's needs. Fouquet procured ten million two hundred thousand livres and, to cover the remaining one million six hundred thousand, offered his suggestions on where and how to economize.
Fouquet, through proxies, skillfully exchanged old, worthless debt obligations for new, reliable ones at par. His clients drew up receipts, bills of exchange, and securities transaction documents, which were then submitted for review to the council, which Fouquet himself chaired. The finance council, represented by Fouquet, Servien, and Pierre S;guier, approved such transactions as valid. The documents appeared to indicate that real money had been deposited into the treasury, when in reality, only paper was being deposited. Only Fouquet could distinguish between papers that could reliably yield real money and those fit only for kindling.

Chapter 196

In mid-February 1659, an event occurred that paved the way for Fouquet to achieve even greater power. Servien, a Superintendent of Finances just like Fouquet himself, died, leaving his position vacant. Mazarin could have sold the position profitably, but he understood that doing so would be giving another man power, giving him excessive influence over finances and, consequently, politics. There were plenty of contenders for the position, but none inspired sufficient trust. Mazarin considered appointing another of his prot;g;s, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, but he was stopped by one compelling consideration. He had already seen that Fouquet, who had initially been entirely the cardinal's man, had over time acquired such influence that it had already significantly weakened his subordination to the cardinal. Mazarin was well aware of Richelieu's mistakes, having facilitated the success of some of his prot;g;s, such as Chalais and Cinq-Mars, and he was also well aware that these prot;g;s had embarked on a plot to overthrow their benefactor. Releasing Colbert from his influence was dangerous; he had to remain close to the cardinal and, if necessary, act as a watchdog who could tear Fouquet apart. To this end, King Louis XIII kept de Tr;ville close by, so that Richelieu would always be reminded that the King had someone capable of arresting his prime minister.
"Let's not learn from our mistakes, since there's always the opportunity to learn from the mistakes of others!" Mazarin said to himself. "Shouldn't I take this position myself?"
Mazarin fell into deep thought.
"No, it's impossible!" he objected to his reflection in the mirror. "The narrow-minded Parisians would think I wanted to rob them, and perhaps that wouldn't have led to a third Fronde!"
Indeed, popular discontent with the financiers had already almost surpassed the discontent Mazarin had felt with the foreign minister so recently. While hatred of the financiers was still widespread, focused on the accursed foreigner, it would once again fuel a wave of active rage.
Moreover, Mazarin believed that between the chaotic avalanche of transactions and the prime minister's authority, there needed to be an impenetrable barrier, a bridge that could be burned if necessary, leaving no trace. If a third Fronde broke out, it could be fed to Fouquet and his accomplices, leaving Mazarin's person untainted. The state's revenues for two years ahead had already been spent, an explosion was inevitable, and the cardinal's name should under no circumstances be mentioned in connection with the inevitable investigation of these matters.
"I'll focus on political and military affairs; that's already too much for me. Let Fouquet handle the money," Mazarin decided. "No matter how important financial matters are, I must save my energy for the most urgent tasks."
Such was Mazarin: even when refusing yet another luscious slice of the state pie, he found the most sublime and noble motives for his actions, and he found such lofty arguments that it was a pity to waste them merely on satisfying his own vanity. He decided to share these thoughts with the Queen Mother, reminding her once again how difficult it was for him to manage all the affairs of state, and what noble sacrifices he was making to strengthen the throne for her son.
The Queen did not appreciate the Cardinal's verbal intricacies.
"Sire, you always make the right decisions," she replied indifferently. "If you said this position should be filled by you, I would certainly agree with you, but if you insist it should be filled by someone else, then so be it."
Mazarin was horrified by the ease with which the Queen allowed a random person to be appointed to this important position. She didn't even notice that she wasn't talking about a random person, but about someone of his own choosing. The word "other," uttered so calmly by the Queen, startled him to the point of trembling. It suddenly occurred to him that someone "other" might one day become the First Minister of France, and God knows what or who else!
"I'll have to recommend to the King that he appoint no one as First Minister after me!" he thought, acutely aware that he didn't have much longer to live on this earth. "Another Superintendent! It's too dangerous! This mustn't happen!"
"I wanted to propose to the King that he not appoint a second Superintendent of Finance," Mazarin said, fully aware that his opinion would be accepted as final. "Monsieur Nicolas Fouquet is doing an excellent job of ensuring the treasury's revenues, and it doesn't require great talent to spend them. Some of the functions of the late Servien will be transferred to him, fortunately, he had already handled them before, and I will personally oversee the most important expenditures."
"Does this necklace suit me, Giulio?" asked the Queen. "I've been standing before you in it for ages now, and yet you don't seem to notice it?"
"Your Majesty, no necklace could bestow upon you greater beauty than that which God has bestowed upon you!" exclaimed Mazarin. "This necklace should thank the Creator for having been granted the honor of resting upon your captivating bosom."
"Why didn't you tell me about this right away?" asked the pleased Queen.
“I have been postponing the happiness of this confession until the end of our conversation, not daring to discuss with you such base matters as questions of finance and its management, after all my feelings had already been tuned to the motives of delight, which I invariably experience when I am next to Your Majesty and have the good fortune to see you in good health and fully armed with your irresistible beauty.
"Giulio!" the Queen retorted coquettishly, even more flattered. "But I'm far from young anymore!"
"Beautiful women have no age, but the woman you love with all your soul and want to devote your entire life to is always the most attractive age!" Mazarin exclaimed impulsively, kissing the Queen's hand.
It must be said that Mazarin's feelings for the Queen were mutual and quite tender. I have no reason to believe that the Queen and the Cardinal did not love each other sincerely and selflessly. This love, which began with a simple business partnership, reinforced by mutual praise and compliments, blossomed into a powerful emotion when they were forced to part, maintaining contact only through letters. These letters were sent several times a day, and responses were quick to arrive. The passion that gradually ignited between these two people, who occupied the very pinnacle of power in France, was genuine and enduring, worthy of the pens of the finest poets and playwrights.
So Mazarin made his decision, and Fouquet became sole Superintendent of Finances. This decision was ratified by a royal decree recognizing his dedication and valuable past services.
Indeed, Fouquet obtained very large sums of money, including by making millions in loans in his own name.
Left as sole Superintendent of Finance, Fouquet expanded his reach even further. It must be said that he had considerable connections in the worlds of trade and maritime affairs, as well as his own interests in such commercial enterprises. The shares he inherited from his father in various such enterprises, founded during the reign of Richelieu, provided him with income from trade with North and South America, Africa, and Asia. Many of these enterprises were located in Breton ports. Fouquet bought out the shares of some partners and expanded this business, investing substantial sums in new commercial enterprises based in Brittany. There, in Brittany, he also acquired large land holdings. To protect the merchant fleet from pirates, it was necessary to equip warships well armed with cannons, fast sailing, and commanded by courageous crews led by loyal captains. Over time, these warships expanded their functions, from protecting his own merchant fleet to engaging in open privateering against the ships of hostile countries for the purpose of plunder. These pirate ships, called privateers, were nominally registered in Portuguese ports, but in fact they operated in Fouquet's interests. They plundered English, Dutch, and Spanish merchant vessels off the western coast of France. Fouquet armed these ships and profited from their plunder. The ships called at French ports for resupply and minor repairs, including Concarneau, whose governor was one of Fouquet's Ch;lain relatives, and the island of Yeu, which belonged to the noble Breton family of Rieu d'Asserac, also long-standing partners of the superintendent.
The equipping and maintenance of privateer ships was a profitable business, so it was not only Fouquet who was involved in it.
Mazarin, Hugues de Lionne and Abel Servien also participated in privatization.
In September, Fouquet complained to me about a problem.
The fact is that privateering activities began to irritate Mazarin, who had previously condoned them, but only until he realized he was losing revenue from customs duties. The fact is that privateers plundered ships heading to the port controlled by the cardinal, so he lost customs duties from those ships that arrived completely robbed, or even returned to their ports before reaching the shores of France.
"We should abandon privateering activities near the route taken by ships destined for the Cardinal's plunder at customs," I suggested. "Move your ships to other locations."
"But my base is on the island of Y;!" Fouquet objected. "The ships would have to travel a long way from the hunting grounds to the base, which would greatly increase the danger of this activity!"
"Get rid of Y; Island," I advised. "Sell it and buy something else."
"Grua?" Fouquet asked with disdain.
“No, I meant something better than the island of G;,” I objected.
"What could be better?" asked Fouquet. "Ile de R;? Ars-en-R;? Ile d'Ol;ron?"
"Well, not that much better!" I replied with a laugh. "It's not that easy to buy property like that!"
"Saint-Marguerite? Ilot-de-Lion?" Fouquet continued, clearly hoping to make me laugh.
“Belle-Ile,” I said softly.
Fouquet jumped on the spot.
"Belle-Ile?" he asked, surprised. "Do you think that's possible?"
"I'll take it upon myself to speak with Paul de Gondi and convince him that it's inadvisable for him to remain master of this island," I replied. "He's recently returned from exile, he's barely managed to make peace with the royal house, he needs friends within the King's entourage, his wish to become a cardinal has finally come true, but Mazarin could have Cardinal de Retz imprisoned in the Bastille if he continues to be unruly. So Gondi seeks friendship with Mazarin, and with a few others. I have certain friends whose opinions Gondi listens to. And these friends of mine have recently been quite lenient with my requests."
"You'll persuade Gondi to sell me Belle-Ile?!" Fouquet exclaimed.
"I'll undertake it," I said. "It will, however, cost more than you'll get from selling the island of Yeu... I believe Gondi will ask for one and a half million livres."
"I don't care!" Fouquet exclaimed. "I'll raise the necessary sum!"
"Don't give more than one million three hundred thousand," I warned Fouquet. "He'll agree. He needs the money, and no one but you or the King can buy this island."
"If you help me with this deal, I'll do for you... My God, what can I do for you?" Fouquet asked delightedly.
"It seems to me that the position of Bishop of Vannes has become vacant, so if you could put in a good word for Mazarin and the Queen," I said. "In that case, I suppose…"
"Not another word!" cried Fouquet. "You will be Bishop of Vannes, or I will not be Fouquet!"
"You are Fouquet, and Belle-Ile will be yours," I replied. "Gondi will give his consent in two days. I will see him at a reception where he will be, and I will also be there."
Thus, through my efforts, in 1658 Fouquet was able to acquire the superbly located island of Belle-;le, easily transformed into an impregnable fortress from which to control part of the French coastline and, if necessary, to shelter from the pursuit of any sovereign, no matter how powerful, by exploiting the tensions between powers with interests in nearby waters. This island guarded the approaches to Quiberon Bay on the southern coast of Brittany and was an ideal base for privateer ventures. The prospect of acquiring this island inspired Fouquet, although he initially lacked the funds for the transaction. However, as he had promised, he raised the necessary sum, which needed to be added to the proceeds from the sale of Yeu. This purchase served both Fouquet's public and private interests.
I convinced Fouquet that Belle-;le should be transformed into an impregnable fortress with its own fort, ramparts, and cannons at key points along those walls. I took on the task of drawing up the plans for the future fortress.
Even before construction began, I was already Bishop of Vannes. Mazarin congratulated me heartily on this occasion. The cunning cardinal always valued people not by their merits or faults, but by how useful or dangerous they might be to him in the future, and in me he immediately recognized the kind of person with whom it was better to be friends than enemies.
The island's strategic position was extremely advantageous, so it's no wonder Mazarin wanted it in reliable hands. The Cardinal deemed Fouquet well-suited to this acquisition. Those in the Order I knew convinced the Cardinal that, as a result of this deal, the island might perhaps one day pass to one of Mazarin's heirs, but it would be extremely prudent to first allow Fouquet to carry out the necessary development work on the island, including fortifying the port and constructing fortifications. The Cardinal, not yet suffering severely from his illness, fully expected to one day become master of the island himself, or at least to govern it through the obedient Fouquet. Thus, a royal decree of August 1658 sanctioned Fouquet's acquisition of the island. This decree also granted him the authority to propose a candidate for the position of governor of Belle-;le. Fouquet was authorized to build a fortification on the island and maintain a garrison.
I understood that Fouquet, in order to acquire the island and build fortifications on it, had again resorted to loans.
"I'm afraid to think how and when you'll be able to repay all these debts!" I once said to him.
"Any obligation that doesn't set a strict deadline is null and void," Fouquet replied serenely. "The weak pay their debts, while the strong simply postpone the payment until a later date, at worst agreeing to increase the amount by a reasonable percentage."
“But sooner or later you’ll have to…” I tried to object.
"There's not much difference between 'a long time coming' and 'never,' especially when you consider that we're all mortal and all under God," Fouquet said philosophically. "Besides, you couldn't help but notice that my ability to pay various sums is rapidly increasing. What seemed like a significant sum to me a few years ago is now a trifle. So, perhaps, what seems significant to me today will be a trifle in the future."
"Wherever I can climb?" I recalled the motto on the Fouquet coat of arms.
"Yes, my dear friend, that's exactly it!" Fouquet replied with genuine cheerfulness.
I remember this moment because, although Fouquet was almost never despondent and always displayed humor and optimism, I don't think I've ever seen him so happy, either before or after this incident. He wasn't so cheerful even on the eve of his second marriage. Not even when he received the post of Superintendent of Finance. Not even when he received the post of Attorney General, and not even when he received the news that a second Superintendent of Finance would never be appointed again, so he, Fouquet, would be the only one.

Chapter 197

My ascension to the rank of Bishop of Vannes proceeded without any particular problems. I knew the previous Bishop of Vannes, Sebastian de Rosmadec, well. He was a Jesuit, like me. We were on fairly good terms and addressed each other as "brother," as was customary among clergy. This was misunderstood by many in our circle, giving rise to the legend that I was, in fact, his brother. Furthermore, since I was known as Charles in the Order, Rosmadec called me "Brother Charles." As a result of this absurd misunderstanding, many of the clergy around me sincerely believed me to be Charles de Rosmadec. However, I had no idea, and would never have known, had Bazin not told me. After all, they addressed me as "Monseigneur," and the more zealous ones as "Your Eminence," and none of them called me by my given name. Reading some of the memoirs of my former deans, archpriests, and canons, who called me Charles de Rosmadec, now only makes me chuckle. Even Mazarin called me by that name a few times, but I noticed a wry expression cross his face before he called me by my true name. Well, Mazarin was excellent at remembering the names of those who held any significance for him, as well as their faces, character traits, connections, and financial status.
Much later, when I resigned as Bishop of Vannes to take up a higher position, I recommended Louis Cozet de Vautort;, also a member of the Jesuit Order, to take my place. Thus, I served as Bishop of Vannes for over twenty years.
Since it became necessary to oversee the construction of a fortress on the island of Belle-;le, and I myself needed to take over the diocese, I needed someone who could oversee the construction and whom I could trust completely. But where could I find such a person?
It was essential that this man be able to command his authority, that he inspire authority in those he would lead, but that he be obedient to my orders, not question them, and yet not a blind executor of my will. I needed a loyal friend.
I'd barely found the right word for "friend" when I remembered my three true friends. Athos and d'Artagnan weren't quite right for that role, but Porthos was exactly what I needed. Of course, Porthos! How could I not have thought of him right away?
I remembered that ten years ago, d'Artagnan had drawn Porthos into his affairs, promising to make him a baron. And it had worked. Well, I could perhaps promise him a viscount! Given my current resources, which were based on my friendly relationship with Fouquet, I could perhaps even persuade the King to make him a count, although that was already the limit of my abilities. Of course, I needed Porthos, and I knew how to attract him, so I went to see him in Pierrefonds.
I decided not to tempt him by demonstrating my current position, so I set off on horseback, accompanied by Bazin, almost incognito, since such trips were no longer becoming to the Bishop of Vannes.
My heart was ready to leap out of my chest when I saw in the distance the outline of the Ch;teau de Pierrefonds, where our dear Porthos, our ancient hero, the giant, Hercules, resided. I had no doubt that Porthos continued his physical exercises and had not lost his remarkable strength, which, however, I had no hopes of attaining. More important to me were selfless friendship, devotion, loyalty, and the ability to give orders in such a tone and manner that no one would even think of disobeying him. It would be enough to introduce him as Fouquet's viceroy, and all the island's inhabitants would obey him unconditionally—of that I had no doubt.
Naturally, Porthos himself rushed out to greet me and even tried to embrace me, but seeing my frightened face, he remembered that his embrace could break every bone in my body. So he made a smooth, gentle movement with his hands and feigned tenderness on his face, apparently seeing me more as a small child than a musketeer, something I would never forgive anyone but him.
"My dear Aramis!" he exclaimed. "How delighted I am to see you as my guest! Don't be afraid, I've learned to moderate my strength in friendly embraces! Are you really going to avoid showing my joy just because you're afraid I might injure you through clumsiness?"
I felt terribly ashamed. I swear on my honor, I would have preferred him to break my rib, but he didn't think I was avoiding hugs with him for fear of being maimed. Forgetting all fears, I opened my arms to this giant with iron muscles.
Porthos gently pressed me to his chest and lightly patted my back with his right hand. His delicacy made me feel even more ashamed.
“I’ve already learned to be careful,” Porthos said as if he had heard my thoughts and informed me that he was not angry with them.
"How glad I am to meet you again, Porthos, and how ashamed I am that I did nothing to see you until I had need of you!" I exclaimed with complete sincerity.
"Then I'm glad you needed me," Porthos replied with a laugh. "You know, a person gets tired of always needing something from him, but when he finds himself in a situation where no one needs anything from him anymore, it becomes simply unbearable, and he begins to yearn for the times when he knew he was needed."
“Dear friend, we all need you constantly, it’s just that our personal affairs sometimes distract us from the affairs of those who, despite this, are very dear to us,” I hastened to answer.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Porthos agreed. "We all know that somewhere there are people who don't dislike us, and who maybe even miss us, but not enough to drop everything and travel to see them, even if the journey isn't that long."
“That’s all true, my dear friend, but if you could find a little time to help me with one event, I would be glad to have the opportunity to see you more often and for longer,” I replied.
"Do you need my sword and my strength?" Porthos asked. "You can always count on that, even without asking my permission each time. The same applies to our friends. You, Athos, or d'Artagnan need only notify me, and I'll be right there. Shall we all four gather again?"
"I don't think so," I replied, a little embarrassed. "The matter for which I wanted to enlist your help will only require your participation, so we won't bother Athos and d'Artagnan."
"That's a pity," Porthos replied with a sigh. "Then you won't need cunning and nobility, just strength and tenacity."
"Not at all, my dear Porthos!" I objected. "This time, I won't need your strength and skill with all types of weapons, but rather your intelligence, resourcefulness, persistence, and ingenuity."
“In that case, perhaps you had better turn to d’Artagnan,” Porthos objected doubtfully.
"I need you, and I insist on it," I firmly disagreed. "You're being modest in vain. Your intelligence and talents may pale slightly in comparison to d'Artagnan's cunning, but I won't need resourcefulness, cunning, diplomacy, or persuasion. I'll need the simple mind of a seasoned officer, a soldier, a musketeer, someone who can distinguish a donjon from a bastion, someone who knows firsthand what an orillon is, a grand cavaliere and a petit cavaliere, a ditch or a retreating tiered flank, someone who won't confuse a flank with a fl;che, a forbourg with a vosserbreye."
"Are you laughing at me?" Porthos exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me there are people who can't tell the difference between such things? People who can confuse a schildmauer with an orillon? Who can't tell a tenale from a flank?"
"They still exist, unfortunately, and in great numbers," I replied. "Imagine, there are people for whom ramp, apron, banquet, barbican, batardo, or bergfried are meaningless words. These people wouldn't be able to explain to you what a berm, bulwark, valgang, or werk is."
"Amazing ignorance!" Porthos said, genuinely surprised. "How can the world tolerate such idiots?"
“Alas, dear Porthos, there are even greater ignoramuses,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
"Is it really true that there are people who couldn't tell a zakhab from a zaborola?" Porthos asked in horror.
"Well, they're not that stupid," I said, trying to calm Porthos down a bit and dampen his ardor. "But who knows, maybe somewhere in the backwoods there are a couple of similar blockheads who can't even distinguish these simple things."
"How low have men fallen!" Porthos said with a sigh. "How then do they understand the orders of their commanders during an assault?"
"I can't imagine," I replied. "All the troubles come from these ignoramuses."
"It's all because the cardinal ordered half the fortresses in France to be demolished," Porthos suggested. "And that's a great pity."
“Richelieu destroyed only the fortresses within the state, but he did not touch the fortresses on its borders,” I clarified.
"Border fortresses are still very much needed!" agreed Porthos. "They need to be maintained, and even repaired and reinforced from time to time."
“Or even build new ones,” I added.
“The current cardinal doesn’t have the money for that and he doesn’t have the foresight,” Porthos dismissed.
“Thankfully, there are people besides the cardinal who have both the means and the foresight,” I replied.
"Who are they?" asked Porthos.
"That's what I'm going to talk to you about," I replied. "And first of all, I'd like to know your opinion on the matter of supervising the construction of the new fortress. Are you prepared to take it on?"
"Am I, damn it, ready to undertake such a noble task as building a fortress?!" Porthos exclaimed. "I'd rather build something than feed bread! Well, not with my own hands, of course, but I wouldn't mind helping out here and there with my own efforts, of which, thank God, I still have plenty! Damn it! I haven't even invited you to the table while we were talking!"
"I'm not very hungry, my friend," I replied. "I've been eating extremely little lately."
"But not after a long journey and not at my place!" exclaimed Porthos. "If you do not share my modest supper with me, you will offend me beyond words!"
"Oh, no, I won't hurt you like that, dear Porthos!" I reassured him. "We'll continue our pleasant conversation at the table, if you'll allow it, over a sip of wine."
"Not only will I allow it, I insist on it!" Porthos perked up. "Today for dinner we have partridges with truffles, suckling pig, hare Proven;al, Beaujolais, and, as usual, p;t;s, desserts, and light appetizers."
The conversation promised to be not only interesting but also memorable. And so it turned out.

Chapter 198

The cuisine at Porthos's castle was exquisite and overly abundant.
"A magnificent meal, my dear Porthos, magnificent wine, and besides, your castle is also magnificent!" I said sincerely. "I think you've renovated it a little?"
"Exactly, my dear friend!" confirmed Porthos. "The Ch;teau de Pierrefonds was built at the end of the 19th century on the site of earlier fortifications, which were already two centuries old. Duke Louis of Orleans received Pierrefonds and the Duchy of Touraine in 1392 as a gift from his brother, King Charles VI. The area around Pierrefonds became part of the County of Valois, which became a duchy. In 1396, Louis began a complete reconstruction of the castle. The architect was the famous Raymond du Temple. Later, the work was led by the royal architect Jean Le Noir under the supervision of Jean Aubel. Construction was completed after the assassination of Louis of Orleans, which, as you know, took place in 1407. At the beginning of the reign of our glorious King Louis XIII, under whom we had the honor of serving as musketeers, the castle belonged to Fran;ois-Hannibal d'Estr;es, brother of that same beautiful Gabrielle d'Estr;es, who gave the glorious King Henri IV an entire dynasty of bastard princes. Fran;ois-Hannibal joined the "malcontents" party, led by the Prince of Cond;. Pierrefonds was besieged and captured by troops sent by Cardinal Richelieu. The Cardinal ordered the castle's destruction, but due to the scale of the structure, they limited themselves to razing the outer fortifications and destroying the roof. So I was fortunate that the castle remained relatively intact. Subsequently, to preserve the walls, a temporary roof was erected, which I, of course, ordered torn down and replaced with one befitting a castle that was rightfully ducal. I'm even glad there wasn't a real roof, since its absence lowered its value and allowed me to buy it and add it to my holdings. I certainly don't complain about the fortune I inherited, but if this castle had been in the state it was in under Fran;ois-Hannibal, I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to buy it.
"My dear friend, I am convinced that the roof erected under your supervision is far superior to the one destroyed by the Cardinal's orders!" I exclaimed, almost sincerely.
"Thank you for the flattering opinion," Porthos replied modestly, his face glowing with happiness at the compliment. "I was able to restore the roof, but I was unable to restore the dignity of this castle."
"Do you mean the ducal status of the Pierrefonds estate?" I asked.
“I suppose that’s impossible,” replied Porthos, with such a powerful sigh that if it had already been evening and there had been twenty candles on the table, they would all have been extinguished by this gust of air from the mighty lungs of our giant friend.
"I wouldn't rush to such depressing conclusions, my friend," I objected. "Who knows, perhaps my visit to you will be the first step toward Pierrefonds regaining that dignity?"
"You say you can make me a duke?!" Porthos exclaimed, jumping up from the table so quickly that he nearly knocked it over. "Do you think that's possible?"
“I invite you to the service of a person who can very well take care of this matter,” I said.
"You've joined Cardinal Mazarin's service?" Porthos asked in surprise.
"Not at all," I objected. "The Cardinal doesn't have much time left; his health has deteriorated significantly in the last few years. But some of the people he has promoted closer to the throne will likely soon be no less influential than Mazarin."
"Are we supposed to wait until the cardinal dies?" Porthos said, not so much asking as expressing disappointment.
"Why?" I asked, surprised. "The Cardinal is on his own, and our influential friend is on his own. We'll help him fortify his island, the King will thank him for this service and ask who helped him with it. Our friend will name you, and you'll become a duke."
"Sounds perfectly logical and extremely tempting," Porthos replied enthusiastically. "So what are we waiting for? Shall we go?"
“Right now?” I was surprised.
"My friend, we've already had lunch, and we can have dinner on the way!" Porthos said enthusiastically. "Why wait?"
"Don't be afraid, my friend, the King is capable of making anyone a duke today," I said. "And these powers of his will never go away."
"Just think!" Porthos exclaimed in admiration. "And yet we must hurry."
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
"I understand that the King has enough power to issue patents for duchies every day," Porthos admitted, not hiding his admiration at the thought. "But I fear that one day, far from fine, he might lose the desire to create more and more duchies, and it would be a great shame if this desire vanished just before he asks your friend what helped him oversee the construction of the fortress!"
- We can still leave tomorrow, and you can spend the rest of today getting ready.
"Okay," Porthos agreed, then shouted in his bass voice so loudly that not only the glasses but even the plates on the table shook. "Muston! Pack your things! We're leaving tomorrow morning!"
Less than three minutes had passed when a frightened Musketon ran into the hall.
"Are we leaving, Baron?" he asked anxiously. "May I ask where we're going? What should we pack?"
"We are leaving for my duchy, and we must take everything necessary," replied Porthos. "That is, everything that Monsieur Aramis tells you to pack."
"I'll make a list of what we'd like to take," I replied. "The most essential things are the Baron himself, his horse, his sword, and his travel clothes. We'll find the rest on site if needed."
"Is the Baron really going to travel alone, without his faithful servant Mouston?" asked the faithful Mousqueton.
"No way!" replied Porthos. "After all, I said we were leaving, so you're coming with me!"
However much Mousqueton, whom Porthos had recently begun to call Mouston, might have been saddened by the thought of having to leave the comfortable castle of Pierrefonds, where he knew neither cares nor hardships, I must give him credit for the fact that parting with his dear lord would have been even more painful for him, so that on his face I noticed a semblance of joy at the thought that he would not leave "Monsieur Baron," but would share with him all the hardships of travel.
"Why wasn't Muston surprised when you said you were coming for your duchy?" I whispered to Porthos.
"He already thinks of me as a duke, or even a prince," Porthos whispered back. "It's a good thing he doesn't think of me as a king or a lord."
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I whispered back with a laugh.
The next morning, Porthos and I, accompanied by Muston and Bazin, set off for Vannes. Porthos had prudently brought a purse filled with gold, and he also had fifteen diamonds sewn into his belt. Truly, our giant was quite rich!
“It’s a good thing Porthos is so obsessed with the desire to obtain a ducal title,” I thought. “I have something to attract him to the job I need him for!”
"You probably think it's stupid arrogance that makes me desire a ducal title?" Porthos asked me.
I shuddered, because it seemed to me as if Porthos had looked into my head and read in it the thought that I had just thought.
"No, why not!" I objected, trying to hide my embarrassment. "You are quite worthy of this title!"
"Titles are not given to those who deserve them, but to those who can demand or ask for them, and who have something to offer in exchange," Porthos countered. "I understand perfectly well that I, who am neither a viscount nor a count, am a long way from being a duke! But if you do not strive for something higher, you will never achieve anything less! So if I do not strive to be a duke, I will not even become a viscount."
"And why would you want to become at least a viscount, Porthos?" I asked. "Don't think I doubt your right, I just want to understand your train of thought."
"You're the first person in forty years who's asked me what I think," Porthos chuckled. " The last one was my mother. Well, thank you for that, my dear friend! I'll explain."
“I’m listening attentively,” I replied.
"You know that our friend Athos is the Count de la F;re, as noble as Dondolo or Montmorency!" said Porthos.
"You want to outdo him?" I said with a laugh.
"Not at all!" exclaimed Porthos. "I only want to follow his example!"
“I don’t understand,” I said, genuinely surprised.
"You see, my dear friend," explained Porthos, "Athos is far superior to us in his position, but he never let us feel it."
"You want, having become a duke, to remain with us all on the same simple terms as Athos!" I guessed.
"If only for one day!" Porthos continued. "I so want to show you all how dear you are to me! You, dear Aramis, and Athos and d'Artagnan too! I would give you all my money, but I know you wouldn't take it. I would give my life for you, but that seems unnecessary. I would receive the duchy only to make Raoul, Athos's son, my heir."
“Athos would not have accepted this gift,” I suggested.
"Athos would not have accepted it from me for himself, but he could not have rejected it in my will in the name of his son Raoul!" Porthos objected.
“But you won’t be able to feel the joy of this, because Raoul will only be able to take up his inheritance rights after you are gone,” I said.
“The thought that this will happen will warm my soul,” replied Porthos.
I wanted to hug Porthos, but I was afraid that he would see tears in my eyes, so I spurred my horse.
“Let’s go faster, otherwise I’ll soon get hungry,” I said to justify my impulse.
"Muston has some smoked hams and wine in his bags," said Porthos. "I'll tell him to get them."
"Later," I replied. "I'm not that hungry yet. Tell me instead how you've been enjoying yourself over the years."
"Very simple!" exclaimed Porthos. "I ordered a small fort to be built from logs, and we amuse ourselves by having some of my men defend it while the other part storms it."
"I hope you're not hurting each other?" I asked.
"No, of course not, we don't use bladed weapons!" Porthos exclaimed. "We only fire muskets and cannons at each other!"
"Firing muskets and cannons?" I asked again. "How do you stay alive?"
"Very simple!" Porthos replied cheerfully. "We load our cannons with flour instead of cannonballs, and our muskets with paint!"
“With paint?!” I asked again.
"You should see, my friend, how funny they look when this paint hits them!" Porthos said with a laugh. "At first, we loaded only red paint, and it was very natural, it looked as if my soldiers were really wounded. But now we load the muskets with different colors of paint, so it's a joy to behold!"
"It seems to me, my dear friend, that you have invented a new amusement!" I exclaimed.
"Exactly!" agreed Porthos. "I called it Peinture de tir. And you know, this fun is very useful!"
“What kind?” I asked.
"My horses aren't afraid of gunfire at all!" exclaimed Porthos. "You could even shoot them right next to the ear! They'll think it's just another game of paint, and since they're fed the finest oats afterward, they've come to love it and are ready to gallop into the thick of battle!"
"We'll have to use your method to train the garrison on Belle-Ile!" I said.
“This is how we will strengthen Belle-Ile,” Porthos noted and nodded.
I bit my lip. However, I felt so at peace in Porthos's company that it was natural to let my guard down for a moment. Besides, this secret still had to be told to Porthos, whether it was the day before or the day after—did it really matter?
“It’s a secret for now, my friend,” I said.
"Of course, otherwise you would have told me about it the moment we met, yesterday!" Porthos replied simply. "Don't worry, Muston won't let it slip. Well, well! Your influential friend has decided to fortify Belle-;le for His Majesty the King! Your friend is probably none other than the Superintendent of Finance, Monsieur Nicolas Fouquet! Well, such a man could certainly put in a good word with His Majesty regarding the charter for the duchy!"
Now tell me that Porthos is short-sighted! I looked at him with genuine surprise.
"Are you interested in news at court?" I asked him.
"I have a neighbor," he answered. "She's very pretty. She sometimes drops by for tea. And shares news."
"And you treat her not only to evening tea, but also to morning coffee?" I said with a smile and winked at Porthos.
"Well, I'm not a monk!" agreed Porthos. "And not an abbot!"
After this, Porthos winked at me in return, and we both burst into laughter.

Chapter 199

The combination of two of the highest government positions, Attorney General and Superintendent of Finances, brought Nicolas Fouquet a fantastic income, approximately two hundred thousand livres a year. To this must be added the income from the lands and buildings on them, the profits from maritime operations, both legal and otherwise, and his participation in state loans at disproportionate interest rates, the recognition of which, again, depended on him alone. All told, this amounted to half a million livres a year. But even more important, everyone around him believed his income to be significantly higher, several times greater than these sums, which allowed him to easily obtain loans and spend them as easily as if they were his own free working capital—that is, funds free from any need to pay for anything urgent, obligatory, or urgent.
Of course, Fouquet had urgent payments to make, and these were payments demanded by the Cardinal and the King. He dared not refuse their demands for funds, as this would have exposed him as incompetent, unfit for the high office he held, which would inevitably have led to his resignation and then ruin, since, as I have already said, he had made most of the loans in his own name and was therefore responsible for their repayment with his personal property and fortune.
So, Fouquet's income was comparable to that of the Cond; family, but he did everything in his power to maintain the belief that it was far superior. He especially tried to pretend that the royal treasury was virtually inexhaustible, and that the King had no need to limit his spending. The King, of course, didn't believe so, but all the courtiers naively assumed that this was the case, and that the King, for this reason alone, had become omnipotent, which forced them to recognize his absolute right to command them. So things turned out exactly as I had predicted and as Mazarin had hoped.
To maintain this myth, Fouquet strove to live a lifestyle that matched his status and even exceeded it in some ways. He occupied several residences simultaneously, each furnished to the highest standard, each with a staff of servants, and a sumptuous dinner awaiting him everywhere. He surrounded himself with poets, writers, musicians, philosophers, artists, and even simple chatterboxes who had the audacity to pose as artists, though in reality, they possessed no talent beyond that of hangers-on and freeloaders. But even these clients were useful to him, as they brought rumors, some of which later turned out to be entirely accurate. And in this turbulent environment, staying informed was a crucial factor for survival, so much so that I was perhaps mistaken in calling them chatterboxes; they should have been called willing spies. Each such client dreamed of being the first to obtain crucial information, which he could first whisper to Fouquet, and then the next day or two later announce to everyone that he was the first to learn the news. These people were certainly of some use, so it wasn't in vain that they fed off this greatest patron of the arts of their time.
It's worth noting that the tables at Fouquet were always laid with exceptional lavishness, overseen by Fran;ois Vatel, the maitre d', who possessed exceptional talents when it came to organizing sumptuous banquets. Cond; was later delighted to have him on his staff, but at the time I'm writing about, Vatel, as housekeeper, was responsible for all the numerous receptions and celebrations, and he did so with exceptional excellence. This was in no small part due to Fouquet's directive to spare no expense on these banquets, always purchasing only the finest food and wines, and hiring only the most skilled chefs. And so it was. The cost of any dish at Fouquet was such that for the same price, at least fifty ordinary people could have been fed to the full.
Fouquet's patronage of literary figures deserves special mention. He founded his own salon and paid out enormous pensions, not always deservedly. Madame Fouquet supported her husband in this endeavor.
Among the clients and recipients of Nicolas Fouquet's pension were the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, Madame de Lafayette, Madame de S;vign;, and Madeleine de Scud;ry, along with such eminent literary figures as Jean de La Fontaine, Thomas Corneille, Pierre Corneille, Jean-Baptiste Moli;re, Charles Perrault, Isaac de Benserade, and Valentin Conrard, the founder and permanent secretary of the Acad;mie fran;aise, which Richelieu had once taken under his wing. I was also among those who devoted their literary talents to the noble cause of maintaining Fouquet's prestige, but I preferred to write under an assumed name, so that even the wily La Rochefoucauld had no idea I was competing with him. My readers were few, but they were all select individuals, and my works were such that publication would have been absolutely impossible due to their extreme boldness and frankness. In terms of piquancy, they could perhaps be compared only to the works of Bourdeille, Queen Margot the Elder, and Pietro Aretino. In terms of the gravity of their conclusions, I would compare them to the notes of Richelieu and Machiavelli. In other words, if my literary opuses had reached Mazarin or the King, and if the authorship of these works had been revealed, I wouldn't have gotten off even with imprisonment in the Bastille; the Place de Gr;ve would have been my lot. But I was cautious. Even Fouquet didn't know who the author of these opuses was; they were delivered to him by a deaf-mute who was trained to place the envelopes containing new works in a specific place at the right time, pocketing a small fee for them. For me, the only reward was the satisfaction I gave myself in knowing that my bold, sharp, and sometimes even venomous thoughts found their readers and admirers. Sometimes I wanted to confess my authorship, but I always restrained these impulses, knowing that such an admission was extremely dangerous. Even Bazin didn't know about this passion of mine, and he wouldn't have approved of it, since he practically saw me as a future Pope. Funny, but he wasn't as far from the truth as I thought then!
But that's beside the point! Let me return to the description of those events. With the help of his trusted literary critic, Paul P;lisson, Fouquet assembled a galaxy of talented authors. They, of course, not only practiced literature in the full sense of the word, but also considered it their duty to repay their benefactor. La Fontaine dedicated to him the lengthy lyric poem "Adonis," which I would shorten by a third and add color to give it a completely new sparkle. Pierre Corneille dedicated his play "Oedipus" to him, the preface to which he lavished praise on his benefactor. Madeleine de Scud;ry enthusiastically described the splendor of his estate in Vaud and also painted his "portrait" under the name Cleonymus in the unbearably long romance novel "Clelia," which I highly recommend as a fast-acting sleeping pill. Fouquet became so close with Madame de S;vign; that only my exceptional modesty, writing under my own name rather than a pseudonym, compels me to describe this relationship by the word I've used: "became close." Incidentally, Fouquet "became close" with many noble ladies in this manner. I'd even say he behaved at court like the only rooster in a henhouse, and if no one challenged him to a duel, this oddity can only be explained by two factors: everyone saw him as a source of wealth they didn't want to destroy, and everyone understood that, as prosecutor general, he could send anyone to the Bastille, or worse, for even thinking about a duel.
As superintendent, Fouquet was entitled to official apartments in the Louvre, but he built himself one residence after another in Paris, settling, after numerous moves, on the former home of his predecessor, Michel Particelli d'Emery, on rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, a stone's throw from the Palais-Royal, with magnificent gardens laid out at his direction.
Fouquet also spent a great deal of time at his estate in Saint-Mand; on the outskirts of Paris, where he had the opportunity to meet more frequently with His Majesty, as Fouquet's gardens bordered those of the royal residence at Vincennes. Mazarin also greatly loved Vincennes and visited there frequently, even before the completion of the magnificent pavilions of the King and Queen, designed by the architect Le Vau. In 1654, Fouquet purchased the estate in Saint-Mand; and, in order to further improve it and give it a splendor no one could have imagined, enriched it with rare plants and built a greenhouse. He also expanded the building, in part to house his library, which contained over thirty thousand volumes. This was typical Fouquet—he delighted in purchasing properties from the King or the princes of the blood and giving them a splendor previously unseen and unimagined. He achieved a level of success where the lords who sold him these properties began to regret the deal, not taking into account that his investments in these properties were sometimes disproportionate to the cost of acquiring them. He furnished his residences with precious works of art: paintings, sculptures, tapestries, which his brother Louis, the future Bishop of Agde, selected for him as a connoisseur during a trip to Italy.
But Fouquet wasn't content with this luxury. He acquired an estate, where he built his most magnificent palace, Ch;teau Vaux-le-Vicomte. Here he gathered around him all the literary and artistic talents and commissioned them to devise a scenario for a future gala performance, to organize the famous festival in honor of Louis XIV in the summer of 1661. However, I'm perhaps getting ahead of myself, as this only occurred after the death of Cardinal Mazarin, about which I haven't yet spoken. The festival was still a long way off; for now, it was only a matter of creating this fabulous place.
The Vaux estate is located east of Melun, fifteen leagues from the royal Ch;teau de Fontainebleau. Fouquet purchased Vaux in 1641 and annexed the adjacent portion of the Viscounty of Melun. At the time of the purchase, the Vaux estate consisted of a dilapidated castle and several abandoned villages surrounding it. For fifteen years, Fouquet invested in restoring the old buildings and grounds, but in 1656, realizing that the estate lay on the King's route from Paris to Fontainebleau, Fouquet decided to demolish all the existing buildings, transform the landscape, and create a majestic country residence that would immortalize his name and cement his status as a major high-ranking landowner. He was inspired by the famous Ch;teau de Richelieu. But the great cardinal's castle was in distant Anjou, obscure and rarely visited even by its owner, whereas Vaux was originally intended to offer hospitality to the King and his entire court, since it would certainly have caught his eye during any journey from Paris to Fontainebleau.
From that moment on, Fouquet began to invest not only exorbitant sums of money into this daring project, but also the entire talents of all the greatest artists and masters of his time known to him. The entire natural landscape was destroyed, and everything was rebuilt according to the designs of the greatest landscape designers, after his personal approval. Fouquet acted with a frenzy, like a genie finally released from the jug in which it had languished for centuries. He recognized no obstacles; no price was too high for him when it came to satisfying his whims.
The castle's splendor was matched by equally impressive gardens. Networks of alleys alternated with geometrically perfect flowerbeds, formal gardens alternated with irregular landscapes, seemingly sculpted by nature. Magnificently designed grottoes, seemingly sculpted by nature itself, were here and there adorned with statues that seemed to have been preserved from antiquity. Water cascades and fountains made this place unique and utterly fantastical, yet at the same time intimate. The Grand Canal and pond added majesty to these spaces. All these water features were fed by an extremely sophisticated system of underground lead pipes from local streams and rivers; canals, indistinguishable from natural ones, surrounded the castle on all sides. All this splendor cost Fouquet four million three hundred thousand livres.
The construction of a magnificent castle and park in Vaud was no secret. The nobles watched jealously as another powerful family emerged in France, seemingly out of nowhere, one that could rival the kingdom's most noble houses not only in income but also in lands and estates at its disposal. The construction of the castle clearly demonstrated Fouquet's intention to establish himself among the highest nobility not only in influence but also in nobility. Clearly, Fouquet would seek to elevate the Vaud estate to the status of a duchy. This heightened curiosity among all those concerned—in fact, all the French nobility, and most of all, the King's numerous relatives and even himself.
In the summer of 1659, Mazarin stayed there overnight and, of course, was given the best quarters. He was shown all the buildings already completed, as well as the entire project. A true connoisseur of architecture and art, the cardinal praised the progress of the work and offered some sound advice, which was gratefully received. Mazarin carefully studied Le N;tre's recently completed plans for the gardens and the art objects collected for Fouquet by his brother. His praise prompted the young King, his brother Philippe d'Orl;ans, and the Queen Mother to visit the estate, although the visit was brief and informal. Fouquet was torn between feelings. On the one hand, he was pleased by the attention, but on the other, he was almost despairing at having shown the ch;teau and gardens in an unfinished state, and he was also saddened by the fact that he would no longer be able to make the ch;teau a complete surprise. Still, he decided that he could furnish and decorate the castle so that it would be completely unrecognizable, and at the upcoming celebration, the series of concerts, fireworks, banquets and other entertainments would be so perfectly planned that the King would completely forget about this first visit, in comparison with the impression that Fouquet intended to make on His Majesty, intending to become no more and no less than the second person in the state, the King's best friend.
Almost exactly a year later, returning with his Spanish bride, Infanta Maria Theresa, Louis and his court stopped in Vaux—en route from Fontainebleau to Paris—for a visit and dinner. The King's cousin, the Duchess of Montpensier, who was well versed in building projects, having undertaken similar renovations on numerous occasions, called Vaux "a magical place." In July 1661, the King's brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans, and his wife, Henrietta of England, visited Vaux with a troop of courtiers. They were received with exceptional splendor, lavishly entertained, and entertained with the premiere of a new play by one of Fouquet's prot;g;s, Moli;re, entitled "The School for Husbands."
Intensive construction in Vaud proceeded in parallel with the fortification of Belle-Ile.
Arriving with Porthos in Vannes, I met Fouquet there and introduced him to our friend. Porthos made an indelible impression on Nicolas Fouquet.
"I had no idea that such giants as the mythical Hercules existed in France!" exclaimed the delighted Fouquet.
"There's nothing mystical about me," Porthos replied good-naturedly. "I'm an open person, I don't get involved in any secrets, but if I'm entrusted with something confidential, I'll keep my mouth shut."
Sometimes I thought Porthos was simply fooling around. I was convinced of his profound intelligence and erudition, so he was most likely joking when he pretended not to distinguish the words "mythical" from "mystical." However, I'm not sure; perhaps he genuinely did occasionally confuse certain words, just as the beloved Duc de Beaufort almost always did, sometimes producing extremely comical effects that have even become proverbial.

Chapter 200

Readers, if these memoirs of mine ever have any, will no doubt have already noticed that the name of the Marquise de Brinvilliers appears in my story. And every reader involuntarily shuddered upon encountering this name in my memoirs. Indeed, this name is widely known not only in France, but throughout Europe! Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite Dreux d'Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, was born on July 2, 1630. Today, she is already known as the famous poisoner, whose arrest began the sensational poisons case. She was executed in Paris on July 17, 1676. Readers have probably wondered: is there some connection between the Marquis and Marquise de Brinvilliers, about whom I wrote much earlier, and this famous Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite?
There is a connection between them, and a very direct one at that. I've reached the point in my story where I should return to this family to say something about the Marquis de Brinvilliers.
As readers will likely recall, this was the name borne by Lord Winter's younger brother, Baron Sheffield, during his stay in France. He was married to Lady Claric, Anne de Beyle. You will recall, of course, that the marriage was illegal, as she was already married to Athos at the time and therefore should have been known as the Countess de La F;re. Her husband, Baron Sheffield, Marquis de Brinvilliers, was unaware that she was not free and was married before God, so he gave her his name, his wealth, and his title, and she became known as the Marquise de Brinvilliers.
I first met her and recognized her by that name a few minutes before she shot me, hiding in the darkness so I couldn't see her. She said I was supposed to kill her husband, but instead I'd become friends with him, which greatly upset her.
"Are you the wife of the Marquis de Brinvilliers?" I asked her then. "Perhaps you will come out of the darkness if you wish to speak to me?"
"Right away, sir!" she replied, and just when I expected to see a woman, a single female hand emerged from the darkness, holding a small pistol pointed directly at me. A shot rang out, and I felt a powerful blow to my chest and fell.
Before I lost consciousness, I heard, as if in a dream, "You are mistaken, Aramis, I am not the wife of the Marquis de Brinvilliers, but his widow." She spoke the truth, since by that time her husband, the Marquis de Brinvilliers, Baron de Winter, was already dead. She killed him out of fear that the Marquis, who had discovered that she had been married to another man, and that her son was hers by another man, would have her marriage declared illegal, declare her child illegitimate, disown his relationship with him , and disgrace her before the whole world, and, of course, ensure that instead of dividing the property, she would be forced to make do with whatever portion of the allowance he might give her out of pity, or perhaps not at all.
"I know for a fact that your first French husband is alive, and so that you have no doubt, I will find him and present evidence of this matter to the ecclesiastical court!" he told her. "Then I will not only obtain a divorce, but also a declaration that our marriage is invalid. As the injured party, I will be able to sue you and deprive you of any right to maintenance! Naturally, I will allocate you something like a thousand livres a month so that you can live quite decently, although, God knows, you don't deserve it. And I will be free of you, so that perhaps I can form a happy marriage with some honest woman who will be faithful to me and bear me my own children, and not a bastard by her lover!"
These words, spoken with vehemence, became his own death sentence. Charlotte realized the Marquis de Brinvilliers was serious, that he would do exactly as he promised if she didn't act first. So she told the Marquis that she had been slandered and that she would provide proof of her innocence. Then, waiting for an opportune moment, she poisoned him and her maid, and then, taking everything of value, set the house on fire. She did this to make it appear as if the fire had been caused by carelessness, and that not only the Marquis but also his wife had perished in it, so that no one would attempt to find her.
When passions had subsided, and when she had become close to Cardinal de Richelieu through her acquaintance with the Comte de Rochefort, she decided to reveal herself as the miraculously saved Marquise de Brinvilliers. She returned and announced that her husband had sent her to the spas for treatment, which explained her absence, and that the woman whose charred body was found in the Marquis's house was his mistress. With the Cardinal's support, she assumed the title of Marquise de Brinvilliers for herself and intended to have her son Mordaunt sign the deeds of succession to the Marquis de Brinvilliers. Her artistic performances in court and the cardinal's support enabled her to gain the sympathy of investigators and judges, allowing her to easily receive the marquis's inheritance, but not his title for the child he had with his lover. The will, made by the marquis before the aforementioned conversation, deprived Mordaunt of this title, and it was legally binding, having been duly executed and notarized. Lord Winter, upon learning of the situation, challenged Charlotte's rights to the inheritance and his brother's title in court. The court sided with him, taking into account the evidence presented by Lord Winter. Thus, she could not claim this title in England, but in France, with the support of Richelieu, she became known as Milady, as the widow of an English marquis. This title remained with her until her death.
This murder of the Marquis was not the first in her chain of crimes, nor the last. She was so hardened in these atrocities, and so merciless, that I am amazed I survived her attempt to kill me! After all, she could have shot me in the face, not the chest. Only by a lucky chance did the bullet hit the golden crucifix given to me by her husband. So I recovered fairly quickly, for my wound was not fatal, though painful; it merely consisted of a few cracked ribs.
In chapters 56–58, I already briefly described the story of Anne de Beyle, Lady Claric, Milady. Her real name was Charlotte Munier. I described how she ended up in a convent, where she seduced Jean Dertieu, who stole the sacrament and escaped with her. In chapter 59, I recounted the story of her meeting with Athos.
To begin with, I ask you to recall that one of the princes of the blood was the Count de More, who was six years younger than Anne of Austria, and I also ask you to recall that he was the legitimate son of Henry IV by Jacqueline de Beyle de More. Didn't the name "de Beyle" alarm you? Quite rightly! You remember, of course, that Milady introduced herself to Athos as a certain "Anne de Beyle." That is, she pretended to be somehow related to King Henry IV himself , and, of course, consequently, to all the Princes and King Louis XIII . Athos, the Count de la F;re, "as noble as Dondolo or Montmorency," naturally couldn't ignore such a name. He questioned Anne about the connection between her and Jacqueline de Beyle de More. The cunning Anne answered so evasively and feigned such modesty that Athos concluded that she and Jacqueline Nau Beyle were related, directly and in fact, but that some secret was preventing her from revealing it in detail. Perhaps this was due to a quarrel between the heads of the two branches of the house, or perhaps Anne's own disagreement with one of her influential relatives. Athos saw Milady as a goddess, and interpreted any omission to her advantage. Perhaps Milady had no intention of passing herself off as a relative of the Royal House, but Athos was already in love with her at that time, having fallen in love with her at first sight and for a long time simply admiring her, not daring to speak to her or get to know her. It's easy to deceive those who wish to be deceived, so Athos fell into the trap he had laid for himself. Intending to marry a common girl, he was shocked by the very thought that she might secretly boast of an even more noble lineage than himself! So what if she was forced to hide her origins? Athos was a firm believer in the power of blood. "If a girl comes from a noble family, it is a guarantee that she herself will be noble in every way," so Athos naively believed. In this secret nobility of the one he fell in love with, in the guise of a poor and humble noblewoman, Athos saw a sign from God. If before this he was ready to marry her, but intended to first obtain his father's consent, then, having decided that Anne was related to Jacqueline de Beyle, he planned to marry her anyway, regardless of the opinion and wishes of his father, who wished to marry him to Mademoiselle de La Luc;e, and even if his father disinherited him and refused his parental blessing. "When Anne truly becomes the Countess de la F;re, displays all her best qualities, and gives me an heir, she will no longer be able to hide her secret. She will reveal it to me, I will learn of her origin, and together we will inform my aged father. He will shed tears, take our baby, his grandson, into his arms and kiss him, and give us his parental blessing. All old men are slow to move; they always contradict their children, wanting to guide them in life only along the path they themselves have chosen for them, so that no intention, even the most reasonable, if it comes from a son, seems right to the old father. He would prefer to marry me to some duchess or marquise, without taking into account her appearance, her character, or my feelings, or rather, the complete lack thereof, towards her. I have already found my love, and nothing will change my decision!" That's what Athos thought, and he was certainly wrong about Charlotte.

Chapter 201

In Chapter 59, I already described the episode in which Athos learned the whole truth about her, after which he decided to personally hold a trial over her and carry out the sentence himself.
Athos exposed her not only for assuming a false name and a noble title. He investigated her entire life story, and it wasn't all that difficult for him, since he spared neither time nor money to uncover the truth down to the last detail.
He discovered that she was a thief and murderer, an accomplice to heinous crimes and the perpetrator of equally heinous atrocities. He showed her a medallion in her possession and told her the story of this family heirloom of the Marquise de Beltham. To obtain it, Charlotte had poisoned her at the age of ten. He also told her about Annabelle de Lernu, who died at the age of thirteen because the young Charlotte had become too fond of her gold-framed mirror. He showed her a monstrance and other sacred offerings worth fifty-two thousand pistoles, which he had taken from the monastery as collateral specifically for this purpose—the very same ones that Jean Berthier had stolen from the monastery at her instigation. He also showed her a precious ring, for which Charlotte's father had murdered a young man with green eyes and black curls, who had treated the young Charlotte to a sugar cockerel. He also showed a gold ring that had been removed from the finger of a forty-year-old woman who had called young Charlotte a "lovely child" and given her a tortoiseshell comb. He also showed another ring, which had cost the lives of a young woman and her companion, who had compared Charlotte to an angel. From a young age, in the home of her father, an innkeeper, Charlotte had inquired about the jewelry and money of their guests, so that she could report it to her father, Michel Munier, and her mother, Jeanne Munier, who murdered the guests, stole their belongings, and disposed of the corpses. When her parents were exposed and arrested, Charlotte, due to her youth, was deemed innocent and sent to a convent, even though she was complicit in all of her father's crimes. In some cases, when her father hesitated, for example, to raise his hand against a priest, she even demanded that he kill him, as the things she noticed on him were so attractive to her that she absolutely desired them. She also mixed sleeping herbs into the horses' feed and the guests' tea to make her parents' crimes easier.
"You should have been broken on the wheel for your murders," Athos told her. "I know for a fact that if it hadn't been for your stubbornness, your parents wouldn't have dared to kill the priest. So the punishment your father suffered for you should have been applied to you. But even leaving aside the crimes you committed as a minor, you deserve the gallows for the crimes you committed as a youth."
Athos locked Charlotte up for the night so that she would pray all night for the salvation of her soul and for those she had destroyed, intending to offer her a poison that would act instantly the next morning.
“Perhaps we will drink it together,” Athos thought then.
Charlotte pretended to submit, but during the night she managed to free herself from her bonds and kill Pierre, Athos's servant, who was guarding her, by crushing his skull with a heavy crucifix.
Then Athos jumped on the fastest and most resilient horse, caught up with the fugitive and, tying her up with his whip, gagged her with his handkerchief and brought her back to his house.
"You refused to atone for your sins, preferring to take upon your soul the new sin of murder," he said in a dark voice that sent shivers down Charlotte's spine. "I will not say to you, 'Die in peace,' madam. I will say to you, 'Go to Hell.' I will not give you the last word. Everything you could say in this world, you have already said. Save your eloquence for your meeting with Satan."
Hastily, as if afraid to change his mind, he hauled Charlotte onto the stepladder, placed the noose around her neck, and kicked the ladder out from under her feet. Then, without even glancing at the result of his handiwork, he slammed the door to the room where Charlotte was writhing on the rope and ran out of the house. He intended to drown himself in the nearby pond.
His instincts prevented him from drowning. He rose and wandered off, not knowing where he was going.
On the road he met a sergeant of the royal troops accompanied by two soldiers.
"Young man!" the sergeant exclaimed. "Enlist in the king's army."
"Which troops have the highest mortality rate?" asked Athos.
"In wartime, everyone does, and in peacetime, like now, the King's Musketeers," the sergeant replied. "But to join the Musketeers, you have to be a nobleman and be an excellent fencer, shoot a pistol and a musket, and ride a horse."
“It’s all here,” Athos answered indifferently. “Where should I sign?”
“Here and here,” the sergeant replied. “When can you arrive at the assembly point?”
“Immediately,” Athos replied.
So, while in her second illegitimate marriage to the Marquis de Brinvilliers, Charlotte continued her ties to the world of adventurers, thieves, blackmailers, and extortionists. She was madly in love with one of them, even more so than she would later be with the Comte de Wardes. This adventurer was G;rard Duchot.
I've already written that Mordaunt was the son of Gerard Duchot. Now it's time to reveal that this isn't the whole truth about Charlotte Buxton, Anne de Beyle, and Lady Clarick. This is what I learned from a letter from a member of the Jesuit Order, whose name bears no relation to the narrative. This correspondent addressed me as was customary in those circles at the time.

“Dear d'Alameda!
I think you might be interested in some information about Charlotte Munier, also known by other names, which it is unnecessary to recall here.
You might be interested to know that, in addition to her illegitimate son Mordaunt with the adventurer and robber G;rard Duchot, she had another son, Antoine, born to a monk named Jean Berthier, whom she seduced. Without further ado, she gave this son to her lover, not caring in the least about his fate, informing him that, along with her love's end, she was also returning to him her fruit in the form of this infant. Apparently, she acted less out of thoughtlessness than out of selfish considerations, since having a son would have deprived her of the opportunity to marry the Comte de La F;re. Jean Berthier was too preoccupied with his mad love for Charlotte to care for the child. He planned to commit suicide, intending to take the child with him to the next world. His brother, Jacques Berthier, finding him in a state of extreme despondency, a huge cleaver in his hand, and a screaming infant, completely naked and lying before the distraught Jacques on the table, took both the cleaver and the infant from him. After removing all the sharp objects from his brother's hovel, giving him a glass of red wine to calm him down, and putting him to bed, Jacques took the infant to a wet nurse, paying her for a year's maintenance in advance. Jacques did not dare raise and educate the child himself, as he was single, and his profession as an executioner did not confer upon him any knowledge of how to properly feed and raise children, nor did it promise the child any remotely decent future. The nurse, Cossette Lemare, became attached to the infant, and since Jacques Berthier regularly paid her not only sufficient but also excessive amounts for the child's upkeep, the child was quite adequately fed, educated, and trained, and could easily have found work as a secretary to some nobleman. In 1621, Charlotte Munier, then the Marquise de Brinvilliers, arrived in Lille and sought out her illegitimate son, Antoine. She did not take him, but left ten thousand pistoles with Cossette Lemare and informed her that she, the Marquise de Brinvilliers, intended to provide for the child in the future. The next day, she presented Cossette with a notarized will, in which she recognized the child as her own and left her entire fortune to him in the event that she and her husband, the Marquis, had no other heirs. Attached to the document was a deed in which her husband, the Marquis de Brinvilliers, signed and sealed the document in the presence of a notary, acknowledging the child as his own and transferring his title of Marquis de Brinvilliers to the boy in the event he did not have a male child born in lawful wedlock. It turned out that Charlotte had begged her husband for this document, confessing to him the mistakes of her youth, only after she was already pregnant. The Marquis, believing his wife was pregnant with his child, agreed to sign it in the event he had a girl and no other children, which at the time seemed extremely unlikely to him. The Marquise persuaded him that this was in his interests, so that his line would not be interrupted in a direct line, and so that his entire fortune would not go to his older brother, Lord de Winter, who was already many times richer than the Marquis. By that time, Charlotte had probably managed to cause a serious quarrel between the Marquis and his brother, so that the idea of leaving everything, including the title, to his wife's illegitimate son, seemed more attractive to him than leaving the inheritance to his brother or his descendants, in the event that he had no descendants of his own.
All these documents seemed insignificant until it became known that the Marquis de Brinvilliers and his wife had perished in a fire in their home. Some time later, it was discovered that Charlotte de Brinvilliers had survived, and her body had been mistaken for that of either the Marquis's maid or mistress. Thus, these papers became less important, as Charlotte herself had assumed her inheritance rights. However, several years later, Charlotte disappeared, after which it was discovered that she had been executed by unknown persons, as reported by officials in His Eminence's service. Thus, Antoine assumed his inheritance rights and became known as Antoine, Marquis de Brinvilliers.
That's not all I wanted to tell you, dear d'Alameda!
Do you remember Charlotte's lover, G;rard Duchot? This same G;rard Duchot posed as someone else, a nobleman, an officer. He managed to become one in the eyes of the French nobility. Count de Ronchamp told me that Duchot met him at a post office and learned from him that he was returning from military service to his estate to accept the inheritance of his deceased parents. The vile Duchot, using all his hypocrisy, attempted to gain the trust and befriend the officer, who was an orphan. The poor officer revealed that he had been absent from his family estate for a very long time. The criminal realized that this officer vaguely resembled G;rard Duchot himself. The idea of taking his life, fate, rank, and wealth occurred to his vile mind, after which he carried it out in the most vile manner. It is unknown how exactly he disposed of the corpse. Most likely, he dumped the corpse in a nearby lake, first tying some weight to it, after which fish ate it beyond recognition. Under this name, he even married a rather indiscriminate or overly trusting woman, related to influential political and religious figures. The marriage was a means of ascending the social ladder for Duchot, who hated his wife. Nevertheless, she bore him a daughter, Marie-Madeleine, in 1639, and later two sons, Antoine and Fran;ois, as well as a younger daughter, Anne-Charlotte. Soon, Duchot's wife fell gravely ill. Before her death, she asked her husband to raise their children to be God-fearing and kind, which he promised, but he had no intention of fulfilling his promise. Deep down, he was far from being such a person, so he raised his children as he saw fit—that is, not at all. He was not very attached to his children, perceived them as his property and disposed of them at his own discretion.
Duchot hid this side of his life from his son, Mordaunt. To him, he played the role of a penniless bandit, hoping to profit from Lord Winter's kindness with his help. However, his plans were destined to fail: during an assassination attempt on the Duchess de Chevreuse, he was shot, and his body was carried by servants beyond her estate and abandoned in the woods. But this is only part of the truth; the full truth is that Duchot was only wounded. A compassionate peasant, returning from a poaching expedition during which he hunted hares in the Duchess's forests, found the dying man and took pity on him, carried him into his house, and nursed him back to health. A recovered Duchot returned to his cunningly acquired estate and once again reigned there under the name of Antoine Dreux d'Aubray. And it just so happened that this G;rard, hiding under the name of Antoine Dreux d'Aubray, married his daughter Marie-Madeleine to Milady's second son, this very same Antoine, Marquis de Brinvilliers! Of course, he knew of Antoine's origins, but he knew even better of his wealth, inherited from the Marquis de Brinvilliers, whom you knew, and which this scoundrel had his eye on. Just imagine! The daughter of the so-called nobleman Dreux d'Aubray married the so-called nobleman Brinvilliers! The daughter of G;rard Duchot, the lover of Charlotte Munier, Lady Claric, and Anne de Beyle, Countess de La F;re, married her illegitimate son! So the family of the so-called Marquis de Brinvilliers is a family of impostors!
I wouldn't be writing to you about this if I hadn't learned something else. G;rard Duchot has sworn vengeance on certain four musketeers, whose names you know! But you needn't worry about that, as there was a lack of understanding between father and daughter, which led to a tragic end. I have good reason to suspect that Duchot, from an early age, treated his daughter in a way that was completely unbecoming of a father, and instead encroached on what she could only provide for her future husband. After Marie-Madeleine's marriage, G;rard Duchot tolerated her husband because he brought significant wealth to the family, but Marie-Madeleine didn't love him; their relationship was more than frosty, so she occasionally began dating other men, which enraged her father. His madness reached the point that in 1663, he arranged for the arrest of her lover, cavalry captain Jean-Baptiste de Godin de Sainte-Croix, who was placed in a cell with the Italian alchemist Exili, accused of making and selling poisons. After his release, Godin de Sainte-Croix used the knowledge he had gained from Exili and became fascinated with alchemy and poison-making. He passed on these passions to his girlfriend, Marie-Madeleine, with whom he had reunited. Five years ago, G;rard Duchot died under highly suspicious circumstances, which lead me to suspect poisoning by Jean-Baptiste de Godin, perhaps even with Marie-Madeleine's consent, if not her complicity. Last year, both of Marie-Madeleine's brothers, Antoine and Fran;ois, and her sister, Anne-Charlotte, died under similarly mysterious circumstances. The family of Marie-Madeleine and Antoine de Brinvilliers, the so-called "Four Musketeers," inherited the entire fortune of the Dreux d'Aubray family, in addition to the inheritance from the Marquis de Brinvilliers, despite the fact that both of these noble families have no connection to these degenerates. It seems that Marie-Madeleine continued her relationship with de Godin. None of this would be of any concern to you, were it not for the fact that Marie-Madeleine, while rummaging through her late father's papers, discovered his notes in which he painted a stern picture of certain Four Musketeers and swore vengeance on them. Despite her hatred for her father and his memory, this lady seems to adore such concepts as revenge, murder, and inheritance. I'm afraid that a plan might be brewing in that pretty little head, one that you might not like very much and that could harm the four gentlemen musketeers I'm talking about. Take a closer look at this family and, if possible, take measures to protect yourself and your three friends, who, I know, are very dear to you.
Sincerely yours
K.O.I.»

The abbreviation "K.O.I." stood for "Coadjutor of the Jesuit Order," of course. I won't mention this man's name. What good would it do you? But I'll never forget him!
A shiver ran down my spine as I read this letter. So, Milady had another son, and he must now be around forty-two or forty-three years old. What if he, too, had inherited his mother's character, just like her other son, Mordaunt?

Chapter 202

I devised a magnificent plan for transforming the island of Belle-;le. I decided to turn it into a magnificent fortress-port. This fortress would be excellent at defending both from sea and from the mainland. If the owner of the fortress defended France from external enemies, the section of coastline behind the island would become impregnable. If he defected to England, it would be an excellent outpost, allowing for attacks on the French coast and support for an amphibious landing. Moreover, the island could easily aspire to independent governance, aligning itself neither with France nor England, maintaining a moderate relationship between alliance and rivalry, beneficial but not subservient to either side. That was my idea. Such a fortress could be sold to the King for a good price, for a sum far greater than the value of the island and the total cost of its construction. The King would certainly pay, as he would be afraid that such a well-fortified island could fall to France's enemies. Mazarin forked out enormous sums to secure alliances with rulers far less significant than the governor of a fortified fortress on the island of Belle-;le. And what's an alliance? Mazarin even paid for simple neutrality!
Porthos handled the construction superbly, ensuring the fortress was built extremely quickly, and with high quality and precision. I wouldn't be surprised if Porthos fell in love with this future fortress long before it was built, as if it were his own child. And indeed, that's exactly what happened—this fortress was his brainchild.
He enjoyed unwavering respect among the builders, not only because of his mighty figure and immense strength, but also because of the wisdom of his instructions, his just demands, and the enthusiasm he displayed so sincerely that it was infectious to everyone around him. Even I, once visiting a construction site, found myself wanting to grab a stone and help place it. Needless to say, Porthos himself often applied his considerable strength to the construction, greatly assisting in ensuring that even the heaviest stones were placed as neatly as possible in their designated places.
In this very year of 1661, of which I am now writing, several important events occurred, the most notable of which was the marriage of Monsieur Philippe d'Orl;ans, the King's brother, and Princess Henrietta of England. This marriage took place because the throne of England was restored to the son of Charles of England, who ascended the throne as Charles II . Perhaps I should recount this at least briefly.
Grimaud, in his memoirs, entitled "The Vicomte de Bragelonne, or Ten Years Later," recounted how d'Artagnan and his hired help kidnapped General Monk in England and delivered him to the son of Charles I. Meanwhile, Athos, unaware of d'Artagnan's plans, arrived in England solely to retrieve a million pounds sterling in gold coins from the late King's hiding place and offer this million to his son. This million was supposedly intended to facilitate the return of the King's son to power in England and Scotland, and the restoration of the Stuart dynasty of England and Scotland.
Well, Grimaud had laid out the gist of the events quite well, but, of course, he'd gotten a lot of the details mixed up. While accompanying Athos, he'd seen him retrieve a barrel of treasure from its hiding place, but he didn't know what treasure it contained. Hearing that a million pounds sterling was involved, he'd assumed the barrel was full of gold.
Let me remind you of what Grimaud wrote about this in two different volumes of his works. According to him, King Charles I, in the novel Twenty Years After, tells Athos the following: "I still have a million pounds in gold left; I buried it in the dungeon of Newcastle Castle when I left this city. You alone know where this money is; use it, when it seems appropriate to you, for the benefit and good of my eldest son."
It's easy to calculate that a million pounds sterling, equal to the value of a million pounds of silver, if its value is contained in gold coins, would weigh 13.8 muis! A cube-shaped gold bar of that value would have to be approximately half a toise in width, length, and height. Such a quantity of gold could not be concealed in a barrel; no barrel could support such a weight.
Grimaud was imagining things he didn't know for sure. Charles of England wouldn't have hidden gold in a secret place; he would have used it to hire an army. He hid the royal family heirlooms, jewels worth far more than gold, weight for weight. These were gold objects, but they contained magnificently cut diamonds, the value of which was quite significant due to their purity, size, and cut. These valuables, if converted into gold, were far more valuable than a million English pounds sterling. They contained large, pure colored diamonds—blue, pink, orange, and yellow-green. Selling them secretly was impossible. These diamonds, mined in India, were worth a total of a million pounds sterling. The price of the gold setting was insignificant compared to their value; King Charles didn't even mention it. Some of the precious objects I would call priceless. All of this was carefully packed and lined with soft pieces of velvet fabric, protecting them from the slightest scratch. The King chose an ordinary gunpowder keg, the smallest of its kind, as a case for this precious treasure. Its weight was perfectly consistent with that of a keg of gunpowder, as it wasn't filled entirely with gold, but rather contained jewelry, generously packed in soft packaging that weighed almost nothing. Therefore, Athos could easily convince General Monk's soldiers that it was a keg of gunpowder. It remains unclear how General Monk was able to explain to his officers that a certain French nobleman had arrived in the very center of the army's headquarters solely to retrieve a small keg of gunpowder hidden there from an abandoned tomb and carry it away, under careful guard, to wherever he deemed necessary. Who would need gunpowder that had lain in a dungeon for many years? After all, it would most likely have become damp! And who would want to hide a mere keg of gunpowder in a crypt? Grimaud hadn't considered that. Furthermore, he reports that the gold was stored in two kegs, and for some reason Athos knew about this, even though Charles hadn't told him any details! You can see for yourself that these are merely Grimaud's conjectures, and by the time he wrote this, he had already forgotten what he had written earlier in his book, "Twenty Years After."
Charles I told Athos quite precisely where and how to look for the treasure he had hidden, which is why Athos found it so easily. The money wasn't hidden in the family vault, because, firstly, there is no family vault in the dungeon of Newcastle Castle, and secondly, the pious King would never have desecrated the family vault in such a way. The treasure was hidden beneath one of the stone slabs that paved the dungeon, and the King remembered and told Athos exactly how to find this slab.
Well, the rest of the story about how Athos got the treasure hidden by Charles I and handed it over to the rightful heir, Charles II, is quite true.
The story of d'Artagnan and his friends kidnapping General Monk and bringing him to the same Charles II , who ordered the general's freedom restored, is also a fiction. Charles had already reclaimed the Scottish throne at the time and was not in France, but in Edinburgh. D' Artagnan did indeed kidnap General Monk, taking him a short distance where he offered him a duel on his own terms. I will tell this story as I know it from d' Artagnan himself.
At first, he acted completely alone, having obtained leave from Mazarin ostensibly to visit his dying father. In reality, d'Artagnan's father was already dead, and he himself went to Monck's camp, ambushed him, and kidnapped him so quietly that the sentries didn't even notice their general was missing.
"Well, here we are, most honorable General Monk," he said. "First, I'll remove the blindfold from your eyes."
He removed the blindfold, but did not remove the gag, and continued his monologue.
“I beg your pardon, but you will have to remain bound and gagged for a little while longer,” he said. “Believe me, it is for your own good! After all, if I were planning to kill you, would I have tied you up and dragged you on horseback such a long way?” You shrug. Let’s assume you agree with me. Be that as it may, you will have to hear me out. So, I am the captain of the royal musketeers of the glorious King Louis XIV. I deliberately took leave in order to come to England and kill Oliver Cromwell. You know, I don’t like him. You ask why? Because he widowed the sister of my King, Louis XIII . And imagine, I even managed to serve this King. You think that’s not enough? But she is also the aunt of my current King!” If that's not enough, I'll just tell you that chopping off the heads of kings just like that is very indelicate. My friends and I tried our best to save him, but it didn't work. Incidentally, it wasn't because we didn't have a plan, or that our plan was unrealistic, but because your unfortunate King Charles refused to save his own life at the cost of one of ours. Although we willingly made this sacrifice. You still don't understand why I'm here, and what does this have to do with you? Well, I'll explain it to you very simply. I'm fed up with your damn England! It's in my bones! The love of my life, Constance Bonacieux, was murdered by a lady called Milady, half French, half English, but at the time she committed this heinous crime, she was an English subject by virtue of her second marriage. Unlawful, by the way, since the divorce from her first husband was never finalized, and he was alive then, and still is. Then she charmed your Felton and persuaded him to murder the Duke of Buckingham—the only Englishman for whom I felt any sympathy. That's not all! This Milady's son murdered her former maid, a most honorable woman in every respect, without any reason, simply because, I suppose, his wicked mother harbored a grudge against her. This same degenerate, on top of everything else, murdered the man he called his uncle, murdered him vilely, with a treacherous pistol shot from a distance of no more than a meter, in full view of everyone. And in full view of your then general, Oliver Cromwell, who made him his aide-de-camp. His actions, both before and after, greatly contributed to the extreme incitement of your mob, which completed the destruction of King Charles's reign. And finally, he also performed the duties of executioner, cutting off the head of the august King, the uncle of our current King, as you understand. King Charles left children. The eldest, who should be known as King Charles II of England, has now only reclaimed the Scottish throne, which, of course, is not enough. He has a right to claim the throne of England as well. His sister Henrietta is also a very fine princess. She could have married our King's brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans. But, alas, since her unfortunate brother did not receive their father's throne, she is, by the standards of European monarchs, an unattractive bride for Princes and Kings. And this is very sad, and most importantly – it is unfair. Here you, if you weren't gagged, would again ask me: "What does this have to do with me?" I answer. You are the remaining power in England, an illegitimate power in my view, which should restore the throne to Charles II, but which is not doing so. Your protector, Oliver Cromwell, recently died, thus avoiding the same conversation with me that you and I must have, General. So, I have outlined my views and my grievances. Now you want to ask, what exactly do I want from you? I will explain briefly. I want you to come with me to Scotland and meet Charles II. You will talk with him and understand that this man is not at all like his father. And since your Parliament once wanted to reach an agreement with your King Charles that he would renounce his rights to raise armies and declare war for twenty years, but this Parliament of yours would not at all object to the full return of power to King Charles at the end of these twenty years, it follows that your Parliament did not object to the Stuart monarchy as such, but only to the person of Charles I, whom it sought to remove from power not forever, but only for a time. So, I believe that the time has already come for the return of the English crown to Charles II, its rightful owner. Everything favors this! And the fact that he has already regained the Scottish crown, and that your incomparable Oliver Cromwell has already appeared before the Creator, who will certainly send him, by no means, to heaven. You want to ask why I started this long conversation with you, since I have already captured you? Yes, I confess, you are my captive. But I cannot ride to Edinburgh with a bound man! I need you not to resist, and for us to ride side by side, like friends. I could take your word of honor that you will not run away or kill me when my back is turned or when I am asleep, but since I did not take you prisoner in a fair fight, but caught you like a partridge in a wood full of your soldiers, I propose a duel here and now. By the way, punish those who were guarding your camp; as you see, I easily entered it and just as easily left it, and even with a prisoner on my shoulders! So, General, my proposal is this: I untie you, free you from all bonds and from the chain, and give you your sword, which I also grabbed. We will have an honest duel, one on one, under the light of the full moon. We are not children, we will not fight to the first blood, that is too frivolous. But I have no intention of killing you either. I declare to you that I will pierce your left arm, after which you will admit defeat. If this does not suit you, I can also pierce your right arm, or, if you prefer, your shoulder or leg. But it is in your best interests to sacrifice your left arm. Moreover, I promise you that this wound will not leave you permanently disabled. If, however, you are able to inflict a similar wound on me first – in any arm or leg, or in the body, I will release you with your sword, on horseback, and you can return to your troops and never hear from me again. The same, of course, will happen if you kill me. I give you permission to try, but, as I have already said, your life will not be in any danger from me. So, you agree? Oh, yes, I forgot to say! If you don't agree, I'll lock you in a specially prepared box hidden nearby, gagged and bound. There are air holes in the box. You won't suffocate. But I'll take you to Edinburgh, and there your fate will be decided by King Charles II of England, whose rights I seek to restore. Well then, I'll remove the gag and hear your answer.
After this he took out the gag and gave the general a chance to speak.
"You are a scoundrel, an adventurer, a pirate, a spy!" Monk shouted.
"Well, we've met, though I'd still prefer you to call me Captain d' Artagnan ," the Gascon replied without a trace of emotion. "Well then? Will you fight a scoundrel, an adventurer, a pirate, and a spy?"
"Damn right!" Monk muttered a little more calmly.
"On my terms?" d'Artagnan clarified . "On your word as a nobleman?"
“On your terms, on my word as a nobleman,” Monk replied, almost calmly.
"Excellent!" replied d' Artagnan . "Then I'll untie you, and don't try to kill me while I'm doing it. You won't succeed anyway. I'll simply cut the knots with these daggers."
After that, he gave Monk his sword, and they began to fight until the first serious wound. Of course, the general soon received a wound in his left arm, almost exactly where d' Artagnan had originally aimed.
"I was aiming a little low, forgive me, but you're a good fighter, so unfortunately I hit above the elbow," he said. "It'll heal. I'll give you a miracle balm, according to my mother's recipe. So then, let's go to Edinburgh as soon as I bandage your arm."
“No, we’re not going,” the general objected.
"But what about the word of a nobleman?" the Gascon protested.
"I'm not giving it up," Monk replied. "I agree to restore Charles II to the throne of England. I swear to do everything in my power to ensure this. If men like you fight for Charles II, he deserves to have his father's throne. Do you accept this amendment?"
"Yes, I accept, General," replied d' Artagnan . "I have already given you your sword, and your horse is tied next to mine nearby. We part, if not as friends, then at least not as enemies?"
"Yes, Captain d' Artagnan ," Monk replied. "We'll see each other again. And if not, write to me in London after this is all over. I have something to tell you."
They parted as friends, and later, when General Monk facilitated Charles II's restoration to his father's throne in England, Monk himself joined the government council. He remembered this meeting, and as a sign of his respect, and perhaps even gratitude, he gave d' Artagnan his villa in the village of Monkville. It's a beautiful place, and a beautiful villa. I've been there several times. It was truly a royal gift.
Thus, d'Artagnan's actions touched the heart of General Monk, who decided to return the English throne to its rightful owner, Charles II , who thus became the rightful King of England, as well as King and ruler of Scotland and Ireland. It should be added that Lambert had established a military dictatorship in England, which Monk was unable to overcome, so it was in Monk's interests to find a strong move against his rival. I will also add that the English people remained monarchists at heart, meaning that the majority of the nation already regretted everything that had happened and was inclined to the idea of a return to the monarchy. Indeed, the people felt much freer under Charles I than under Lambert. Thus, Monk recognized the benefit of his decision, although, of course, the actions taken by d'Artagnan and Athos contributed to this decision. But I'm not as naive as Grimaud, so I wouldn't claim that two such events could force a man like General Monk to completely change his mind, voluntarily relinquish power, and hand it over to a man he barely knew. Had this move not been advantageous to him, he would never have taken it. With this move, he defeated his more powerful rival, Lambert.
In March 1660, the English Parliament passed a bill repealing all acts dating back to 1648, including the act abolishing the monarchy. Thus, the monarchy was officially restored. After the publication of the Declaration of Breda, which guaranteed amnesty to all supporters of the revolution except the murderers of Charles I , the preservation of property acquired during the revolution, freedom of religion, and the repayment of soldiers' debts, Charles II returned to London. On May 8, he was proclaimed King by a unanimous vote of Parliament. That same day, the King assented to the Magna Carta, the Petition of Right, and the Statute of Parliament's Power to Tax.
His sister Henrietta thus became a bride from the royal house. Her marriage to our King's younger brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans, was a highly desirable political move for both countries, as it promoted a rapprochement between France and England. Cardinal Mazarin also actively advocated for this match, and both the Queen Mother and King Louis IV were interested in it . Bold, witty, slender, beautiful, and passionate, Henrietta arrived in France, and after her marriage to Philippe d'Orl;ans, she became known as Madame, establishing her own staff of ladies-in-waiting, which also included Mademoiselle de La Valli;re, a childhood friend of Raoul, Vicomte de Bragelonne, the son of our dear Athos. Raoul considered this friendship genuine love and intended to marry her, contrary to his father's wishes. While not a tyrant, his opposition to the marriage was only deep down, and he did not constrain the viscount by his paternal will. This was all the more strange because Athos himself, having married Anne de Beyle against his father's wishes, naturally regretted the marriage and soon realized that it would have been better for him to submit to his father's wishes. On this basis, he might have felt a fatherly responsibility for his son's matrimonial choice, but our Athos was not such a man.
Thus, Mazarin arranged the marriage of Monsieur and Henrietta of England after he had consolidated the throne of King Louis XIV and united the eternally warring kingdoms of Spain and France in a new dynastic marriage. Although the double dynastic marriage previously arranged by Marie de' Medici had not ensured peace between our countries, this additional familial alliance nevertheless brought peace for a time. The cardinal's consistent and persistent work thus reached the pinnacle of his success, after which he seemed to break down. Having devoted all his strength and health to the good of the ruling royal house, he seemed to have dried up, as if the necessity of state were the source of his strength that kept him alive, and as soon as the opportunity arose for him to relax, even for a while, and enjoy life on the crest of success, this source vanished.

Chapter 203

The letter I received from the Coadjutor of the Jesuit Order made me worry about my friends. Porthos was almost constantly before my eyes, or at least I knew where he was and what he was doing. As long as he supervised the construction of the fortress of Belle-Ile, he was completely safe. Athos and d'Artagnan were in the greatest danger. It was Athos whom Mordaunt hated most, as he was the cause of all his mother's misfortunes; he had executed her twice, though unsuccessfully the first time. D'Artagnan was second on the hatred list. There was another reason to fear for these two friends more than for Porthos. Both were surprisingly indecisive and sentimental, both regarding Charlotte Buxton herself and Mordaunt in particular. While I, knowing Mordaunt's crimes, would have shot him without hesitation when the opportunity presented itself, Athos stopped me. D'Artagnan hesitated suspiciously when the opportunity to duel Mordaunt presented itself. Had he acted decisively, as usual, no swordsman would have eluded him. He wouldn't have needed three trial runs to impale Mordaunt on the fourth like a partridge on a spit. Since, as it turned out, Milady had another son, an older one, who was also interested in matters of vengeance, and since her lover, G;rard Duchot, had a daughter who had devoured the diaries and letters of her bandit father, and since she adored revenge and seemed to have developed a passion for poison, this family posed a serious threat to my friends. I had no doubt that Duchot's daughter, now bearing the name of the Marquise de Brinvilliers, had simply poisoned her father, two brothers, and a sister, simply to remain the sole heir to the family fortune. But I wanted to know for sure. I assigned two of my agents to look into the matter and find out everything in detail, and, if possible, to discover this family's plans. Above all, I was interested in whether they knew our names, and how serious were this couple, or one of them, in their intentions to avenge their relatives— Charlotte Buxton, Mordaunt, and G;rard Duchot. Besides, G;rard Duchot had been shot by the Duchess de Chevreuse's men, so his daughter's vengeance could extend to her as well. Anyone else in my place would have thought that a daughter wouldn't seek revenge for an attempted murder of her father if she had subsequently poisoned him, but I understand the vagaries of the human psyche much better. I have confessed many women for a long time, some of whom were far from angels. Besides, I had studied human history, psychology, and politics from books in the secret library of the Jesuit Order, so it was not surprising to me that such whims could not only come to the minds of some ladies, but even become an obsession.
Here's what I learned about this lady.
She apparently didn't love her parents, her brothers and sister, or her husband. I suspect she didn't love her lover, Godin de Sainte-Croix, all that much either, but rather their shared passion for poisons and their use. Godin was simply obsessed with poisons, and he infected his mistress with this passion.
When this interest first developed, Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite made no secret of her passion. In front of her family and relatives, she delighted in testing her poisons, first on frogs and lizards, then on mice, hamsters, and moles, after which she began testing them on larger animals, such as cats and dogs. Finally, she completely lost interest in poisoning animals, and her family assumed her interest had waned. But from that moment on, strange things began to happen. The Marquise began visiting the sick in hospitals for the poor. She spoke kindly to them, choosing the most hopeless cases for conversation, and then leaving them various treats. Within 24 hours of her visits, those she visited died. The clinic staff kept quiet about this, as these hospitals typically housed the poorest people without relatives, the clinics had limited resources, and there were more patients than they could accommodate. So, for the entire staff, the death of some terminally ill pauper was more of a relief than a grief. Moreover, even if they had harbored suspicions about any other visitor, they couldn't even contemplate anything bad about such a distinguished person. Moreover, the Marquise always accompanied her visits with generous gifts to the clinic, so these visits were a godsend for the Parisian clinics.
The Marquise herself, upon learning of the death of those she visited, became extremely agitated, which was attributed to a special form of empathy due to empathy. She immediately arrived at the clinic and questioned the doctors about all the symptoms of a rapidly progressing illness and death, and always asked to see the deceased. She carefully examined the deceased, touching their face and lips, peering into their eyes, lifting their eyelids. She seemed very pleased, while the medical staff believed she was grieving for the unfortunate victim and trying to understand the cause of their unexpected death.
I also learned that over the past couple of years, more than half of the Marquise's servants had been laid off, forcing her to hire new ones. It all started when one maid irritated the Marquise by not making her bed properly. The maid tried to justify it by claiming the bed had been rumpled by the cat.
"Those awful folds on the bedspread couldn't have been made by a cat!" the Marquise retorted sharply. "Either do your job properly, or I'll fire you!"
"But madam, I am telling the truth!" the maid tried to justify herself.
"Oh, is that so?" the Marquise objected haughtily. "So, am I lying?"
"You're simply mistaken, madam," the maid replied meekly. "But I'll make it right."
With these words she straightened the folds of the bedspread.
"Everything can be fixed, madam," the maid said with a smile. "I apologize for myself and for your cat."
“Yes,” the Marquise said absently. “Everything can be easily fixed, my dear. Go.”
Two days later, the maid died unexpectedly. The Marquise hired a new maid.
A month later, a similar scandal erupted between the Marquise and her gardener. This time, the Marquise scolded him for having too sharp and prickly thorns on her roses.
“Madam, roses always have thorns,” the gardener replied.
"But not in my garden!" the Marquise objected. "You are the gardener, and if you see thorns appearing on my flowers, you should remove them so that your Marquise doesn't hurt her hands on them!"
"Madam, if you cut off all the thorns from the roses, they will die!" the gardener objected.
"So be it!" replied the Marquise. "I'd rather have all the roses die than have my hands scratched! If you don't understand that, you have no place in my house; I'll find another gardener."
“I will watch the rose thorns so that they don’t prick you,” the gardener answered meekly.
"Yes, please, be so kind!" the Marquise snapped.
The gardener apparently thought the Marquise was joking and that she would be more careful with the roses in the future. But he was wrong. The next day, the Marquise went out into the garden and headed straight for the roses. Discovering that the thorns hadn't been removed, she smiled ominously and nodded, looking in the direction of the gardener's lodge.
Three days later, the gardener died unexpectedly. After this, half of the Marquise's servants asked to be paid.
"So, Duchot's daughter has not only developed a taste for poisons, but she's also developed a taste for conducting her diabolical experiments on people!" I thought, having read this information. "All she has to do is learn the names of those musketeers her father hated, and she'll deal with them immediately! I must get ahead of her!"
After that, I started researching information about Charlotte Buxton's son, Antoine.
Information about him was rather sparse. But I learned a few things about him.
Antoine had indeed been raised by a wet nurse and considered himself an orphan without family, but then unexpectedly received documents proving he was the son of the Marquis de Brinvilliers and his wife Charlotte. The inheritance fell upon him out of the blue, along with the news that both his parents had died. Almost immediately, a nobleman calling himself Antoine Br;u d'Aubray came to see him. This was G;rard Duchot.
"I knew your beautiful mother well, I was her closest friend," he said. "As proof of this, I can say that she ordered you to be named Antoine in my honor, and I was your godfather."
"Why have I never seen you, or at least don't remember you?" asked young Antoine.
“Life is very complex, and sometimes has its secrets, which you will, of course, learn about in due time,” replied Duchot. “Your mother and I had many cruel enemies. She and I were loyal servants of Cardinal Richelieu, for which we were hated by the Cardinal’s enemies. You are aware of the exposure of many conspiracies against the great Cardinal! All these gentlemen, Chalais, Cinq-Mars, and many others intended to kill the great Richelieu, the first minister and the Cardinal! To kill a priest! What sacrilege! Your mother and I had to hide. That is why she gave you over to a wet nurse, because she feared that her enemies would destroy her, your father, and you. She hoped in this way to save at least you from death, and, as you see, her foresight has been fully justified! All that remains is for you to avenge yourself. I will tell you the names of your mother and father’s murderers.” This is the Duchess de Chevreuse, as well as four noblemen named Count de La F;re, Baron du Valon, Chevalier d'Herblay and Captain d'Artagnan.
"How can I avenge my parents?" Antoine asked.
"Obey me in everything, and I will find a way to take revenge!" Duchot replied.
He didn't mention that Antoine had a younger brother, Mordaunt, nor did he tell Mordaunt about Antoine. Mordaunt was his own son by Milady, while Antoine was the son of Jean Berthier. So Duchot could have used his knowledge of his relationship with this young man as he saw fit. If he had told him that he had a half-brother, who was also the half-brother of the woman he intended to marry to Antoine, then the marriage would have been impossible. Mordaunt's death put everything in its place: Antoine shouldn't have known of Mordaunt's existence, so nothing prevented Duchot from marrying his daughter to Antoine, making her the Marquise de Brinvilliers.
Since G;rard Duchot was interested only in money and revenge, he neglected to raise his children. His wife died early, leaving him with five children. G;rard suspected that only the eldest daughter was his, as he was constantly traveling and barely communicated with his wife. However, he was never entirely certain, although his encounters with his wife should more accurately be described not as acts of love, but as manifestations of animal passion, crude and cruel. Duchot's wife apparently didn't realize that, instead of love, she was content with brutal relations, practically violence. She expected no pleasure from these encounters, naively believing that this was how things were supposed to be. Frequent pregnancies and births , as well as the brutal methods used to initiate these pregnancies, had such a detrimental effect on her health that she died soon after the birth of her fifth child, her youngest daughter. The rude G;rard openly hated his children, except for his eldest daughter, and he passed this hatred on to them. His sons had criminal relationships with their sisters, for which their sisters hated them. So it doesn't surprise me in the least that Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite was quite capable of poisoning her father, her three brothers, and her younger sister.
Antoine, Charlotte Buxton's eldest son, upon learning of his newly acquired wealth, began to live a despicable life. Apparently, Athos was right about children inheriting not only their physical features but also their character, inclinations, and temperament. Antoine was the worst embodiment of Milady in male form. He made a friend. This friend, using hired adventurers, kidnapped young village girls for Antoine and delivered them to him in a specially equipped outbuilding. There, Antoine amused himself with them, satisfying his own perverse urges, with no regard for the desires or rights of these abducted girls. After his amusements had rendered them less attractive, he would order their disposal, and for an additional fee, this same friend would do the job—killing them and burying them in some vacant lot, or drowning them in the sea far from shore with a heavy stone tied to their feet. The name of this assistant of his was mentioned in one of the reports, and I should have remembered it well, though I didn't pay the slightest attention to it, a fact I regret to this day. The fact is, this man's name was de Trabu;on. To this day, I don't understand why, with my exceptional memory, I didn't remember this name and wasn't wary when I heard it under different circumstances. Had I remembered it and been wary, perhaps it would have saved us many misfortunes. I should have added this scoundrel's name to the list of people to be punished, but at the time, I was only interested in those who posed a danger to my friends and me, so I didn't give this man the attention he deserved.
So, the story of the marriage between Charlotte Buxton's son and her former lover's daughter was more or less familiar to me. Now I was preoccupied with only one question: were Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite and her husband Antoine united in their quest for revenge against the four noblemen and the duchess, or were they each hatching their own plans for revenge?
I undertook further investigation, which convinced me that G;rard Duchot had bequeathed these plans of revenge to both of them separately, without informing either of them. Apparently, he was guided by the principle: "Divide and conquer." Well, that suited us well.
If they had united, this self-proclaimed marquis and his poisoner wife would have been more dangerous to us.
I decided that I should finish off this family as quickly as possible, and I chose as my weapon not a sword, but a pen, paper and pistols.

Chapter 204

“Come in, Jean-Paul,” I said.
A forty-year-old man dressed as a chevalier entered my office.
“Good evening, Monsignor,” said the man who entered.
"Good evening, Jean-Paul," I replied. "You will be going to the estate of the Marquis de Brinvilliers. The owner of the estate, Antoine, Marquis de Brinvilliers, has sinful passions that he finances with money, and he hides the traces of his crimes behind even worse crimes, ordering the murder of his unfortunate victims. But this scoundrel has a perverse vocation: recording all his crimes in his diary. He keeps this diary in a chest located in the outbuilding where he commits his crimes. He told his wife that he was practicing alchemy in the hope of discovering the secret of making the philosopher's stone. His wife, Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite de Brinvilliers, understands chemistry, but only that branch of it related to the preparation and use of poisons. So she treated her husband's supposed hobbies with disdain and never visited the outbuilding. You must open the Marquise's eyes to what her husband is up to. You must ensure that the Marquise finds the key to the chest and learns where it is, and you must also arrange for her to visit the outbuilding in the Marquis's absence. And all this must appear to be pure chance. The Marquis wears the key to the chest on a chain, which he never removes from his neck, even while sleeping. Can you handle it?
“You know, Monsignor, that the Order has entrusted me with more complex tasks,” Jean-Paul replied.
"Didn't the Order teach you to answer the Master's questions directly and to the point, without making up the facts or adding unnecessary details to your answers?" I asked.
"Forgive me, Monseigneur," Jean-Paul replied meekly. "I can handle it." That was all I had to say.
“Yes, you can handle it,” I agreed. “Keep in mind that the Marquise is a skilled poisoner. You must be careful not only about drinking or eating anything in her house, but also about smelling nothing, and about touching no gifts or other things, unless you see the owners themselves handle them. The Marquise has loyal servants, and you should be wary of them as well. Take care. I want you to emerge from this matter unscathed and uncompromised. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Monseigneur,” Jean-Paul replied.
Jean-Paul was a great professional in his field.

One fine May morning, the Marquise awoke in excellent spirits. The Marquis intended to go hunting for two days. She planned to spend those two days with her lover, Godin de Sainte-Croix. He promised to teach her the recipe for another poison, and they also agreed to obtain it together in her secret laboratory in the castle dungeon. Then she would test it on a cheeky young shepherd. This young shepherd played the horn with extraordinary skill. Moreover, he was handsome, perhaps just like the ancient Paris. The Marquise even liked him. But two days ago, while strolling across the meadow, she stepped in a place she shouldn't have. Screaming in horror and disgust, she heard cheerful laughter. The shepherd saw the trouble she had gotten herself into and found it amusing. A malicious glint flashed in the Marquise's eyes. This mocker must die. And his death must be painful. She wrote a note to her boyfriend, and he promised to teach her how to make poisons that would cause a person to die slowly and in terrible agony. That was just what she needed!
So the Marquise's mood was the most optimistic in anticipation of a whole series of entertainments.
She headed for the roses. The new gardener had been warned that all roses were to be thornless, even if it meant their death. The Marquise hoped to find a rose with thorns, which would allow her to scold the new gardener and then punish him in her favorite way.
Something glittered brightly in the sun right next to the flowerbed. She approached and saw a key on a chain. She recognized the chain because she had seen it around her husband's neck. He had never shown her what was at the end of the chain, and she assumed it was a crucifix. She was very surprised that her husband wore a key on the chain instead of a crucifix.
The Marquise glanced around and, making sure no one was watching, quickly picked up the chain with the key and hid it in her sleeve. She realized that if the chain wasn't broken, the Marquis himself must have removed it from his neck, meaning he needed the key. But the rosal was located quite far from the castle, so why would the Marquis have removed the key from his neck so early? Unless the key wasn't for a door in the castle, but for something in the outbuilding? The outbuilding was nearby. The Marquise headed for the outbuilding. The doors were locked, but the Marquise had the key, unbeknownst to the Marquis. She had enough time to go to the castle for it, retrieve it from its secret hiding place, and return to the outbuilding. Opening the doors, she was surprised to see that it was furnished not like an alchemist's laboratory, but rather like the alcove of a voluptuous nobleman. She climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor and saw some very strange contraptions bolted to the walls and floor, resembling benches or stands. They were so oddly shaped that she couldn't even guess what they might be used for.
In the corner, she saw a chest, securely fastened to the floor with iron clamps. The key fitted the lock. Inside was a collection of whips, handcuffs with inward-facing spikes, some kind of harness-like straps, leather belts, masks, and a book bound in black embossed leather. She opened the book and recognized the Marquis's handwriting. It was his secret diary. The Marquise read one page at random, and her eyes filled with horror and anger. She flipped through a dozen pages and began reading the next section. It was the same story. Knowing she had more than a day to wait, the Marquise carefully closed the chest, locked it, and took the diary with her.
All day long, until evening, she read her husband's diary and learned more about him than she had in their entire life together. She uncovered his most terrible secrets. He didn't practice alchemy in this outbuilding; here he indulged his animalistic sexual instincts, which, however, shouldn't be called animalistic, since hardly any animals treated their fellow creatures so harshly. The Marquis was a depraved criminal whose lust extended to pretty young peasant women, whom he treated with the utmost delicacy and tenderness at first, but by the end of their stay in the outbuilding, he would make their lives a living hell, after which he would kill them and dispose of the corpse and the evidence.
"So that's why he spent so little time with me!" thought the Marquise. "That scoundrel knows how to have fun!"
However, the Marquise herself was far from an angel. She realized that she and her husband were destined for each other. While she dealt with her relatives, as well as with the clinic patients and servants who had displeased her, her husband tormented her with his harassment of the peasant girls he had kidnapped. His henchmen brought them from remote settlements, usually those bordering a forest or a fast-flowing river, so the villagers attributed the disappearance of the young girls to a bathing accident or to a predatory attack.
The Marquise paused. A wicked smile lit up her face. It turned out her husband wasn't the slob and oaf she'd taken him for! He had a terrible secret of his own! For a moment, she even thought she'd become more interested in him. But then she realized he'd cheated on her, neglected her, and therefore he should be punished.
"It will be interesting to make love to him, knowing how many young girls he has ruined!" thought the Marquise. "It will be a new experience, quite interesting and valuable! I will do so! When he returns from hunting, we will lie together on the bed of final love, on the bed of mortal passion! And then he will die! And since I will know this in advance, this love will be especially piquant!"
The Marquise returned to the outbuilding, placed her husband's diary where it had been, locked the chest, then went downstairs, closed, and locked the outbuilding's front doors. The Marquis would be returning from hunting in 24 hours.
The Marquise headed towards the rose garden, where she placed the chain with the key on the sandy path, exactly where she had found it.
It was almost dark and in the twilight her lover and friend Godin de Sainte-Croix crept into the Marquise’s garden.
"It's ready, my dear!" the Marquise exclaimed. "I'm so impatient! Let's start making the poison using your new recipe!"
"Dear Marie!" replied Godin. "I've brought everything necessary, and we'll get to it right away! Which of the servants will you poison this time?"
"Oh, this time it won't be a servant, but my dearly beloved husband!" the Marquise replied with a laugh. "So if this poison doesn't make him suffer before his death, I'll be offended at you, my Godin!"
"A wonderful choice!" exclaimed Godin. "It was high time he was sent to the next world!"

In early June 1661, the Marquise de Brinvilliers was widowed. She was the second Marquise de Brinvilliers to become a widow after poisoning her husband. This time, the poisoned man was the son of the first poisoner, listed in the registry of the Church of Saint-Ambrose in Lille as Antoine Berthier, the son of Jean Berthier and Anne de Beyle, the nephew of Jacques Berthier, the executioner of Lille, and the ward of Cosette Lemare.
The next day Jean-Paul came to me with a report on the work completed.
“Good afternoon, Monseigneur,” said the Chevalier.
"Good afternoon, Jean-Paul," I replied. "No need to report, I know everything. Take this."
I handed him a purse containing a thousand pistoles.
“Monseigneur, I don’t serve for money,” Jean-Paul objected.
"I know you serve the Lord, Jean-Paul, but that doesn't stop me from compensating your expenses and paying you a small bonus on top of those for faithfully carrying out the Order's orders," I replied. "After all, one doesn't serve the King for money! At least, that's what all the nobles say. Which doesn't stop them from getting paid, and what a salary!"
“Thank you, Monseigneur,” Jean-Paul replied. “I obey.”
He took the wallet and bowed and left.
So, one enemy less. The truth can be just as destructive as slander, flattery, or libel. The key is knowing who to tell the truth to, when, and how.

Chapter 205

The spring I had set in motion continued to operate. The Marquise's lover, Godin de Sainte-Croix, intended to become the Marquis himself, or at least her husband, possessing her entire fortune. Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite was unwilling to part with the freedom she had just acquired. She tried to refuse him gently at first, then, seeing his persistence, she refused more firmly. Finally, when he persisted, she refused categorically. Then Godin threatened to expose her role in the Marquis's death.
Marie-Madeleine-Marguerite was horrified by this threat. Indeed, she hadn't taken into account that her lover had not only witnessed all her crimes but also possessed irrefutable evidence proving them. He himself had limited himself to merely passing on poison recipes. He could easily have excused himself by saying that the Marquise had asked him for remedies against mice, moles, and insects, since these were the terms they jokingly used to describe people the Marquise disliked. Gaudin, taught by his bitter experience in prison, acted with extreme caution, leaving no evidence behind, and collecting only those pieces of evidence against the Marquise that didn't incriminate him as her accomplice.
Evidence of the Marquise's involvement in the deaths of patients in the poorhouses and servants was irrelevant, so Gaudin didn't even bother collecting it. But the evidence implicating her as the poisoner of her husband, as well as her father, brothers, and sister, was an extremely serious threat. The Marquise immediately realized her dependence on Gaudin and, for the sake of appearances, agreed to the marriage, asking only for a year's delay due to the mourning period that had to be declared. She also promised to provide for Gaudin's comfortable upkeep. Gaudin calmed down and agreed to the delay.
The threat of exposure by Gaudin ousted the Marquise's desire for revenge against her father's enemies. Although this thought persisted, she was forced to prioritize her own safety, limiting herself to poisoning only the common people among her servants and the sick she visited. Unable to curb her passion, she continued her campaign of extermination against those she disliked or those she considered superfluous. Continuing to pay off her former lover with money and cajole him with promises of a quick marriage, she maintained this state for another eleven years, after which Gaudin realized the Marquise was simply leading him by the nose and demanded immediate fulfillment of her promises. This was his mistake, as the Marquise had set a wedding date and demanded that her engagement take place beforehand. She herself provided Gaudin with the money to buy wedding rings for both herself and him, and this dulled his vigilance. She arranged a secret engagement, hiring a false priest for the occasion, and then proposed celebrating the occasion in private. She herself sampled the dishes she treated Godin to. The celebratory cake was decorated with candles, and only the piece under the longest candle was poisoned. It was this piece that the Marquise placed on Godin's plate. She had prepared a tasteless, odorless, and colorless poison that was supposed to take effect only after two days. And that's exactly what it did. There was no evidence against her. However, I ensured that papers incriminating the Marquise, as well as samples of poisons prepared by Godin, were found in Godin's house. The investigators realized that Godin had been poisoned, and that his accomplice, the Marquise de Brinvilliers, was responsible for many of the deaths.
The Marquise, warned by one of her accomplices, fled, taking only diamonds and gold. She hid for a long time in London, then in Holland and Flanders, but was found in a convent in Li;ge, from where she was escorted to Paris, where she stood trial in 1676. While the investigation was underway, she was held in the Bastille, where she unsuccessfully attempted suicide. It is astonishing that a woman who mastered the art of poisoning so masterfully, and who alone among poisoners I know could kill a person even with a boiled egg, did not bother to hide for herself a grain of the poison that would have allowed her to depart this world painlessly in a critical situation. The suicide attempt failed, or perhaps she merely feigned it in the hopes of moving the judges to pity. I am more inclined to this theory. At first, the marquise completely denied her guilt, but under the weight of the evidence, she was forced to fully confess in the hopes of a mitigated sentence due to repentance. She was then subjected to a drinking torture, after which she was beheaded, and her body was burned and scattered to the winds.
True victory lies not in loudly destroying the enemy, but in letting your enemies destroy each other. This is what I learned in the Order.
My men brought me the Marquise's own notes. It's surprising that she, who had exposed her husband using a similar diary, also kept notes herself. True, they said nothing about the fate she had in store for her future victims; it was merely a list of names. There were one hundred and thirty names on this list. At the top was the Duchess de Chevreuse. Next came Athos's name in thirteenth place, then d'Artagnan's, mine, and Porthos's. The next seventy-six names had already been crossed out; all of these people were already dead.
I hid this story from my friends, as well as from the Duchess de Chevreuse. Grimaud didn't know about it either, so there's not a word about it in his memoirs.
This concludes the story of the descendants and relatives of Charlotte Munier, Anne de Beyle, Lady Claric, Countess de La F;re, Milady.

Chapter 206

Upon returning from England, d'Artagnan met with Mazarin. The Cardinal was agitated and seemed displeased. But he always tried to be friendly with d' Artagnan .
"How did you spend your vacation, Captain?" he asked.
"Wonderful, Monseigneur!" replied d' Artagnan . "I have visited the places of my childhood. I am very grateful to you, Monseigneur, for granting me this vacation."
“And I regret it,” said Mazarin and sighed.
“I am very sorry to hear this, Monsignor,” the captain replied. “May I ask the reason?”
“You could have been of much greater service to our fatherland at this time if you had carried out the mission I intended to entrust to you,” said Mazarin in a tone that did not convey a direct reproach, but was clear from the meaning of the words spoken.
"Perhaps I'll still have time to complete it now?" d'Artagnan asked without a hint of worry.
"Oh, you're too late, Captain!" Mazarin said softly. "I intended to send you to England, incognito, so that you could learn how things were developing there after the death of Oliver Cromwell. You have a knack for finding out the news and drawing very precise and important conclusions from seemingly insignificant facts."
"And what should I know?" d' Artagnan asked.
“ It would be very useful for us to know that the English are going to return the throne of Charles I to his son Charles II,” Mazarin said dryly.
"So they're actually going to do it?" d'Artagnan was genuinely surprised .
"Captain d' Artagnan ," Mazarin snapped. "I see that information isn't reaching that remote place where you went on vacation! Have you completely stopped following the important political processes in Europe?! They're not planning to return the throne to him; they already have! Can you imagine how important it would be for us to know this news first? Now it's known to the whole world."
"I don't dare doubt your words, Monseigneur, but why was it important for us to know this?" asked d' Artagnan with the air of a naive student.
"He who can predict tomorrow, today takes those actions that will elevate him to the top the day after," Mazarin said instructively. "In this case, we could at least have secured the engagement of Philippe d'Orl;ans to Henrietta of England."
“It seems to me, Monseigneur, that this can be done now,” d’Artagnan suggested in an equally naive tone.
"We can, of course," Mazarin agreed. "But it would cost us more, and besides, if we had shown respect to the sister of the King of England when he was only King in name, it would have been worth a lot. On this basis, we could have created a fairly strong alliance with England."
"It seems to me, Monseigneur, that the words 'England' and 'a strong alliance' can only appear in the same sentence in diplomatic correspondence, which is conducted solely for the purpose of misleading enemies, who are called friends in it," d'Artagnan objected . "No politician should take the alliance with England seriously and call it strong."
d' Artagnan, because I value your intelligence, but this time you've definitely screwed yourself over," Mazarin said with a laugh. "Do you know, for example, who was the most influential politician in England before this decision was made? Who influenced this decision? General Monk!"
— General Monk? - asked d' Artagnan . - Who else is this?
"I suppose you've never heard of such a thing!" Mazarin suggested. "And that's a shame. An active commander always needs to know the key commanders of a potential enemy. Not personally, but by description, by name."
“Now I will know, since you told me his name,” d’Artagnan replied without a trace of embarrassment. “And do you consider England our potential enemy, Monseigneur?”
“Remember this, d’ Artagnan , for the rest of your life,” Mazarin said instructively. “England, like every other country in Europe, has There are many potential adversaries. These include countries of two classes.
"Well, well, well, interesting!" exclaimed the captain. "Which two classes of countries could be considered our potential adversaries?"
"First and foremost, countries that share a border with us," Mazarin replied. "I also include among these any countries bordering any ocean or sea. If there's only water between us, then a navy makes those countries bordering us. And our colonies, too. Is that clear?"
"Generally speaking, yes. And what is the second class like?" d' Artagnan asked.
"And secondly, all countries that don't have such borders should be included in the class of our potential adversaries," Mazarin replied. "Do you understand everything?"
“More than that, Monseigneur,” summed up d’ Artagnan , who knew that the only answer to the comments of the military command, whose role Mazarin had now taken on, was: “Yes, sir,” in all cases, except when the command asked: “Any questions?”, to which the answer was: “Absolutely not.”
"That's it," Mazarin concluded proudly. "And, by the way, I'd like to know why Monk suddenly decided to support Charles II's accession to the throne of England?"
“You are right, it would be extremely interesting to know,” agreed d’ Artagnan .
"Well, Captain, since you've returned from leave, return to your duties as soon as possible," Mazarin said in a tone that suggested the conversation was over. "And begin to take an interest in the politics of neighboring countries."
“Yes, Monseigneur,” replied d’ Artagnan .
After this, Mazarin released d' Artagnan .
"A fine warrior and commander, a fine captain, but he understands nothing about politics and is interested in nothing but horses, weapons, battle tactics, and strategy," Mazarin must have thought. "With his intelligence, he's so completely uninterested in politics? Strange and shameful! He didn't even know who General Monk was!"
After all, he did not know that it was d'Artagnan's trip that contributed to the return of Charles II to his English throne.

Meanwhile, Colbert took every opportunity to be seen by the Prime Minister and the Queen. His occupation greatly facilitated this.
When, in the early winter of 1651, Mazarin was forced into exile in the domain of the Archbishop-Elector of Cologne, he desperately sought a reliable man to whom he could entrust the care of the property and capital he was leaving behind in France. He was equally concerned about his personal capital and the royal treasury. The cardinal turned to Letellier for help, who recommended his relative, as this is what most people do in such cases, and will continue to do so in a hundred, two hundred, or five hundred years, although more often than not, these recommenders and guarantors are disappointed in their prot;g;. Upon this recommendation, Colbert became such a confidant, the exiled cardinal's confidential personal secretary, although he formally continued to serve Letellier.
Colbert appreciated the opportunity to be useful to the prime minister, so he tried to make himself indispensable. Mazarin knew how to value loyalty and was capable of gratitude. The cardinal wrote of him with genuine admiration: "Colbert is my man and for my sake he would drown those he loves, not excluding Letellier."
I can add that the cardinal could write about d'Artagnan: "d'Artagnan is my man, on my orders he will do the unthinkable and impossible, but he will never raise his hand against those he loves, so orders should be given to him thoughtfully."
Colbert was much more cunning than d'Artagnan, but only in the area of servility, which d'Artagnan was not known for.
Colbert even once took it upon himself to chide his master for neglecting personal gain in the interests of state. He managed to persuade Mazarin to more actively care for his personal fortune and that of his large family, consisting primarily of his nieces. Mazarin is often accused of putting personal enrichment above the interests of state and of being willing to enrich himself even at the cost of the monarchy's downfall. These accusations are unfair, as the cardinal sincerely loved the Queen, and he saw the only way to retain her love was to be an indispensable prime minister. Fouquet, of course, also made efforts to save Mazarin's collection of paintings and books, but his efforts were insignificant compared to those of Colbert, who went out of his way and surpassed himself in these active efforts.
After Mazarin's final return to France in early 1653 and his de facto accession as First Minister, Colbert remained his personal administrator and secretary. His duties included solely overseeing the Cardinal's personal finances. However, given the incredible intermingling of state and cardinal revenues, the separation was nominal, and the entanglement often allowed Mazarin to profit personally. With Colbert's effective assistance, the Cardinal not only regained but also increased his personal fortune, investing his personal funds in the state financial system in a manner similar to Fouquet's. Mazarin was also involved in the resale and collection of customs duties, which allowed him to act as a major supplier of various goods, primarily supplies for the French troops. He also accepted bribes for appointments to positions and for approving the terms of financial transactions, even when these transactions involved him personally, so they were carried out in his interests. Mazarin also drew from the financial flows that flowed through the state treasury. And although he was rightly accused of profiting when the royal army was on the verge of disbanding due to lack of supplies or unpaid wages, it must be said in his defense that, by bribing enemies and traitors, he sometimes achieved more than the army could have achieved by its own actions. The funds for these bribery schemes, of course, could not have been officially approved by the Royal Council of State, so some of the accusations against Mazarin stemmed from their authors' ignorance of the full range of state needs. Mazarin was no exception; he was not the only one who often failed to distinguish between his personal funds and those of the treasury. The same could be said of Nicolas Fouquet and many others, and I think of Sully and Richelieu as well, with the difference that the others could only draw from the treasury to line their own pockets, while Mazarin, Fouquet, and Colbert took steps to ensure that money was added to the treasury, although, of course, it was beyond their power to make it inexhaustible. And, moreover, they certainly didn't fill it with their own money.
Yet it must be acknowledged that Mazarin siphoned off no less than twenty-three million livres annually from the state treasury to his personal treasury. Furthermore, some sums were extracted independently by his agents, such as Barth;lemy Hervart, Louis Berryer, and possibly Jean de Gourville and Paul P;lisson. All of them were in some way connected to the management of the royal finances, and each time they profited from this position, they made sure to share the sums they extracted with Mazarin, knowing that he had the power to deprive any of them of their financial positions and thus practically ruin them. If in June 1658 Mazarin's fortune was estimated at eight million livres, by the time of his death in 1661 it had grown to forty million livres. Naturally, this sum did not come from the salary of the first minister. Moreover, during these three years, Mazarin spent a great deal of money on a wide variety of purposes, including not only bribes in the political interests of the state, but also on the construction and furnishing of personal apartments, the purchase of works of art, jewelry, and the acquisition of land.
Colbert himself fed under Mazarin like a scavenger on a lion's prey. Besides the official remuneration for his services, he accepted gifts from Mazarin and also ran his own business. For example, in 1647, he accepted as a gift an estate confiscated from a relative for treason. A little later, he received the unpaid position of Secretary of the Queen's Household, a position he sold in 1660 for half a million livres. Colbert also sought to appoint his relatives to lucrative positions, positions where they could be useful to him. In 1657, Colbert acquired a vast estate in Seigneille, which he later made a marquisate, so that his son is now known as the Marquis de Seigneille.
At first, Colbert and Fouquet preferred not to interfere with each other's livelihoods through tax farming and other financial operations. But when the post of Superintendent of Finances became vacant in 1653 following the death of the Duke de la Vieuville, Fouquet's interests conflicted with those of Colbert. Both were contenders for the post, and, of course, they were not alone. Colbert vigorously resisted Fouquet's appointment, enlisting Letellier as an ally, who likely also had aspirations for the position. Colbert, in vague predictions and obscure considerations, warned the cardinal against allowing the post of Superintendent to go to someone who gave away much to his inferiors for next to nothing in order to win supporters and make it easier to betray the leader. However, this time, Colbert lost the battle against Fouquet. The cash flow from Fouquet was more substantial, and this played a role, although the funds Colbert brought in enriched Mazarin personally, while some of Fouquet's income also went to the state treasury. But, as I've already said, the cardinal didn't distinguish between the state treasury and his personal treasury.
Colbert, as I noted above, was hardworking, meticulous, and persistent. He didn't despair and devised a way to win Fouquet over in Mazarin's eyes. Since he had become the manager of Mazarin's personal finances, he became especially meticulous in ensuring that the Cardinal's interests were prioritized. He learned to praise Fouquet to the Cardinal in such a way that his praise was more effective than criticism, since the Cardinal could clearly see that it was exaggerated. Gradually, Colbert grew bolder in criticizing Fouquet, and he resorted to this method whenever he caught the Superintendent of Finances in even the slightest disregard for the Cardinal's interests. Colbert kept meticulous records of every sou the Superintendent failed to pay the Cardinal. It was enough to report a debt and then forget to report it a little later to create a deep mistrust of Nicolas Fouquet in the Cardinal. Mazarin reacted painfully to non-payment or delays of sums intended for him personally, especially in the last years of his life.
These messages sparked a highly emotional correspondence between Mazarin and Fouquet in 1657. Fouquet understood the sources of this discontent and realized that Colbert had become his fierce enemy, but he mistakenly considered him incomparably less significant than Fouquet himself, and reacted to him as a lion might react to an annoying fly, not realizing that even a fly's bite could kill a lion if that fly carried the vibes of a deadly fever.
The conflict between Fouquet and Colbert worsened when Fouquet intervened in a family dispute between two members of the Colbert family, Hugo and L;on. Fouquet's intervention only exacerbated the conflict, which Colbert quickly complained about to the cardinal, who, through his intervention, achieved a reconciliation between the parties, with each side making some concessions.
Mazarin, who disliked squabbles and scandals, after this incident was further filled with respect for Colbert and became wary of Fouquet, who was acting forcefully in this matter.
Colbert was aware of all of Fouquet's operations with securities, all of his purchases and sales, all of his cash payments.
Gradually, Fouquet began to feel a competitor in Colbert and became even more irritated with him.
No sooner had Fouquet put forward proposals for reviving commerce and production than Colbert, who was aware of all the points of this proposal, proposed his own alternative, rejecting several of Fouquet's points and providing a detailed justification for his position. Mazarin accepted Colbert's plan, and Colbert then felt free to begin a more open struggle with Fouquet. But Mazarin was in no hurry to take sides in this confrontation, preferring to divide and conquer.
In July 1659, Mazarin traveled to meet with the Spanish Cardinal Don Luis de Haro for negotiations with Spain. The goal of the negotiations was to achieve peace and consolidate it through the marriage of Louis XIV to the Spanish Infanta Maria Theresa. The Cardinal stayed overnight at Vault-Vicomte, deciding to take the opportunity to inspect the progress of the new Ch;teau de Fouquet. He also decided to once again discuss the state of the treasury with the Superintendent and measures to replenish it, as the existing funds were clearly insufficient even for the most urgent needs. Fouquet, of course, promised to secure the missing funds, understanding that the Cardinal's request could not be refused; his entire high position as Superintendent and Attorney General rested on this.
It would seem that, having received assurances of a speedy resolution to all financial problems, Mazarin could have calmed down, but he instructed Colbert to conduct a secret audit of the royal finances.
Colbert already knew Fouquet's state of affairs, but he needed evidence, which he attached to his reports. Incriminating letters from Fouquet followed Mazarin on his journey south, where Colbert didn't miss a single instance of Fouquet's irregular spending or other arrangements. Colbert kept copies of these letters for himself. He summarized all his reports in a lengthy memorandum dated October 1, 1959. In this memorandum, he accused Fouquet of embezzling public funds for his personal needs.
Among other crimes, the superintendent was accused of illegally trading in practically old government bonds, which had long since been unsecured and completely worthless, and also exchanging them for new bonds with real value.
Colbert accused Fouquet of using public funds to build businesses for his family, friends, and business partners. He proposed establishing a Chamber of Justice to prosecute financial crimes and abuses. Colbert was convinced that financial order could only be restored by removing Fouquet from his positions as Superintendent of Finance and Attorney General. Colbert hoped not only to remove Fouquet from office but also to punish him.

Chapter 207

Having learned this important information through my channels, on the first of October I visited Fouquet at his castle in Vaux-le-Vicomte.
"Monseigneur, get ready," I said to him. "You are leaving immediately after Mazarin, and you must catch up with him as quickly as possible."
"Are you mad, d'Herblay?" exclaimed Fouquet, who, in private, with my consent and even at my request, addressed me in such a familiar manner, although I was already Bishop of Vannes and should have been addressed as "Your Eminence" or "Monseigneur." "I still have much to do here in Vaud, and, besides, I intended..."
"Your financial affairs now depend solely on how soon you can see Mazarin, and your gallant visits even more so, I assure you ," I said. "Get ready immediately, and while you're doing so, I'll explain why you should go."
"Since all your advice was sound, and I don't recall a single instance where I regretted accepting it, I obey," Fouquet said with a smile that was meant to make his words humorous, to explain to me what was already obvious: Fouquet trusted me, but didn't obey me. He reserved the right to make decisions for himself, temporarily transferring it to me only for the given moment, without the right to unilaterally extend this privilege. "But, by the way, what could my preparations consist of? After all, I'm always ready to go anywhere!"
"Yes, Monseigneur, you, like the King, could say to yourself that you are at home everywhere in France, but don't say that in front of the King or the Cardinal!" I replied with a smile. "Perhaps you need some money for your journey?"
"I don't carry cash, you know, I don't need to touch gold with my hands when I mine it with my head," Fouquet retorted. "For small expenses, my secretary, who travels with me, carries the gold, and for larger expenses, my signature is sufficient. I can pay for moderate expenses with diamonds."
"Please, we've already wasted two minutes on idle chatter," I urged Fouquet. "Let's go to the carriage, and let your secretary go with you, taking everything necessary for the journey."
“Come on, and I’m listening to you, Monseigneur,” said Fouquet, addressing me appropriately, since we were already leaving his office.
"Colbert has prepared a memorandum listing all the types of your actions that he dared to call financial crimes and abuses of office," I said. "This memorandum is still in transit; it is addressed to Mazarin, and if the Cardinal reads it without immediately hearing your comments and rebuttals, I am convinced that, influenced by the first impressions of reading Colbert's work, he may well sign the memorandum and set Colbert's plans in motion."
"But I am innocent before the King and the Cardinal, so I can easily justify myself!" exclaimed Fouquet.
“You won’t have a second chance to make a first impression on the Cardinal in this matter,” I objected. “If the Cardinal, in a fit of anger, signs a decree creating a Chamber of Justice to try financial crimes and abuses, and if this Chamber is given the power to investigate the actions of the Attorney General, then even if you can convince the Cardinal that this shouldn’t be done, he will not rescind his order, since that would mean he acted rashly, without thinking. And Mazarin has a very high opinion of his own intelligence; he doesn’t like to admit his mistakes, especially now, at the height of power. Once the machine of biased investigation is set in motion, it will not be stopped. So the only way to prevent this investigation is to convince the Cardinal that it is not only unnecessary, but also highly undesirable, dangerous, first of all, for himself, as well as for the kingdom as a whole. If the Cardinal understands that this is not beneficial to him, then even if he wants to abandon this plan, he still will not do so.” If he receives an argument based on the highest national interests, he will be able to do so without compromising his own dignity, but he may still be reluctant. Therefore, it is essential that he simultaneously hear arguments in favor of his personal interest and arguments in favor of the highest national interests. This can only be achieved in a personal conversation. If he even momentarily agrees with Colbert's conclusions and signs the corresponding decree, it will be extremely difficult for him to revoke his consent and abandon the idea of the investigation.
"So you're convinced this is a serious danger?" Fouquet asked doubtfully. "Is it really true that, in order to clear oneself of unjust accusations, the justifications are not sufficiently well-reasoned, but that they must be timely?"
"Exactly so, Monseigneur!" I replied. "In order to justify yourself, you must have a copy of the document Colbert sent to Mazarin in advance."
"Do you have a copy of it?" Fouquet asked.
"A copy will be made en route; two reliable men will copy different parts of this document simultaneously for the sake of speed, after which it will be carefully sealed and delivered to the addressee," I replied. "You must familiarize yourself with the document in advance, and appear before the Cardinal the moment it is handed to him. If you are even a quarter of a minute late, the Cardinal will tell you that he is busy and asks you to wait. While you wait, he will familiarize himself with the memorandum and its appendices, and Mazarin will have formed an opinion of it that will be very difficult to change. If, however, before he opens it, you bring up the lack of order in financial matters, your stakes will be higher. You must inform the Cardinal that you yourself asked Colbert to look into this matter and draw up a proposal for streamlining financial transactions, and you are surprised that the document was sent not to you, but to the Cardinal himself, over your head. Knowing what this document contains, you will present your order to Colbert in such a way that it will appear to be the fruit of excessive and therefore misplaced zeal, spiced with extreme prejudice against you, and an abuse of your mandate, your will. The document will appear as evidence of Colbert's malice, his deliberate misunderstanding of the task assigned to him by you, his immediate superior, the Superintendent of Public Finances. Mazarin must see in it only that Colbert is undermining you, and doing so crudely and openly, and, moreover, completely without justification. This will turn the Cardinal against Colbert, and you will emerge the winner. So, is this matter worth leaving all other matters in Vaux-le-Vicomte?
"You have once again convinced me, Monseigneur Bishop, that your advice is always worth listening to and following," Fouquet said sincerely. "I am already beginning to regret that, having become Bishop of Vannes, you have inevitably distanced yourself from me so much that I can no longer so often turn to your advice and your wisdom."
"You see for yourself, Monsignor, that when the need arises, I waste no time in seeing you and offering my humble advice," I replied. "Moreover, my position as Bishop of Vannes allows me to learn much in a timely manner. And this is far more useful for our common cause than being constantly at your side."
"Thank you for calling the cause I serve to the best of my ability ours!" Fouquet exclaimed fervently. "I swear on my honor, it is so! My cause is ours, it is truly ours!"
"Fouquet's secretary is listening to our conversation far too attentively," I thought. "I should advise Fouquet to replace him with a more reliable man after a while, and send this one into some kind of honorable retirement far from the real business. However, I doubt anyone could bribe Fouquet's own servant! Perhaps I'm just imagining it!"
On the road to Bordeaux, a horseman rode up to our carriage, which was speeding along quite quickly. It was my man, and I motioned to the horsemen accompanying us, who formed Fouquet's guard, not to disturb them. The man slipped a package through the open window of the carriage on the side where I was sitting. It was a complete copy of the document Colbert had sent to the Cardinal. I nodded to the horseman, and he rode away from the carriage, turned, and disappeared in the direction from which we had come. I handed Fouquet the package I had received from the horseman, which the superintendent immediately opened. As he read, his face grew more and more serious. Several times he looked up from the papers and glanced at me gratefully. I pretended to examine the landscape outside the window.
I didn't need to read Colbert's memorandum, since I was well-informed about Fouquet's dealings and understood that Colbert had informants, so he knew the same thing I knew. All that remained was to figure out how to present these matters in a light favorable to Colbert, in order to compromise Fouquet as much as possible. I think that if I had written this memorandum myself, it would have been much like the document Fouquet was now studying in amazement. Or, I dare say, much more dangerous for Fouquet.
"It never occurred to me that my deeds, although essentially stated more or less accurately, could be twisted and presented in such a way that, after reading this document, I myself would want to address myself and begin investigating my own actions!" Fouquet exclaimed. "I can only imagine the impression this document will make on the Cardinal!"
“I’ve jotted down a few theses that could form the basis of your conversation with Mazarin,” I said, handing Fouquet a sheet of paper with my notes.
"Interesting!" said Fouquet, taking the piece of paper and studying it. "But this isn't your handwriting, is it?" he asked, running his eyes over a few lines.
"I have several handwritings. I chose another, one rarely used, in case the document fell into the wrong hands," I replied. "Otherwise, I would have to rush you to study it, since in Saint-George-de-Marennes, where I will leave you, I won't have to ask you to return the original."
"Are you leaving me?" Fouquet asked.
"I have some business here, but you don't need me to talk to Mazarin," I said. "Believe me, Monseigneur, my personal presence could only harm the conversation; I prefer to remain in the background."
"I understand," Fouquet agreed. "I've long noticed this peculiarity of yours. If you hadn't done this, if the cardinal had known of all your merits, you would probably already be a cardinal, given your intelligence, your efficiency, your knowledge, and your connections, the depth and breadth of which, I think, I can't even imagine."
"Or I'd be in the Bastille," I replied with a smile. "Just kidding. You're right, Monsignor, I'd have been a cardinal long ago if that were my ultimate goal."
"It seems that my motto, 'Where I won't climb,' would suit you as well as me?" asked Fouquet. "You probably want to be a minister, a member of the State Council?"
“Perhaps,” I answered dryly.
“You are mistaken,” I thought, “I aim much higher.”
“I wish you success, Monseigneur, and I have no doubt that you will be able to develop these theses so eloquently that you will completely dispel any unfavorable impression the report may form on Mazarin’s mind upon reading it,” I offered my explanation. “You may not be able to get ahead of Colbert’s letter or arrive at the same time. I’m afraid the courier is riding horseback, whereas you and I have decided to take a carriage. Well, I’ve been considering this situation while you were reading the copy of the memorandum. Perhaps if you arrive after Mazarin has read it, you should feign insulted innocence. Tell the Cardinal that you are in the area purely by chance, having arrived to inspect customs at the port. I recommend uncovering any irregularities, punishing the culprits, at least outwardly, replacing one or two officials, and reporting the matter to the Cardinal. By the way, here’s a way to get rid of those people who aren’t already yours. I’ll give you a hint.” A certain Jerome de Cotillard operates in the port of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. He is Colbert's secret informant. He allowed a shipment of fruit from India to pass through customs. The fruit crates had false bottoms. I ordered customs officials to open the crates, and what they found allows you to seriously compromise Colbert. Accuse Cotillard of condoning the duty-free import of expensive spices, pearls, and small rough diamonds. This will help you point the finger at him.
"How do you know that?" Fouquet asked in surprise. "Or did you organize it yourself? However, I remain silent! I shouldn't have asked that question."
"I know this from my own sources. I didn't organize it myself, but if necessary, I could have," I replied. "And you're right, asking such questions, as a rule, is not appropriate. I can. If your question is inappropriate, I simply won't answer it."

Chapter 208

Arriving in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, Fouquet found the cardinal there and cleverly feigned insulted innocence.
"Your Eminence, I commissioned Monsieur Colbert to investigate financial malfeasance, as he seemed to have a talent for digging through old accounts and orders," Fouquet declared. "I had hoped to utilize his sometimes excessive activity for peaceful and constructive purposes, since correcting minor errors is always beneficial. But he has decided to destroy the entire system, which for several years has successfully supplied the treasury, ravaged by wars and civil strife, with timely and sufficient cash receipts. Just recently, Monseigneur, while passing through Vaux-le-Vicomte, you blessed me with a stay at my modest home for the night. You know that my home is always open to you, Monseigneur! You are its master, and during your stay I am merely your humble servant! You gave me a number of assignments, which I hastened to carry out. And what do I see during this time?" Messrs. Ervard and Denis Talon are already constantly creating obstacles for me. But I never expected a trick from Mr. Colbert, whom I have always assisted in managing your property and replenishing your funds from the profits derived not so much from my diligence and perseverance as from your brilliant ideas and instructions! Is this truly the end of this wonderful collaboration? After all, the fragile but highly fruitful understanding we have established in our joint efforts—which, believe me, was very difficult to achieve, and which, for the benefit of all, has finally been established—could collapse overnight due to a mere misunderstanding or petty insults! I, for my part, am ready to forget all the grievances inflicted upon me and return to this collaboration, but I ask you not for intercession, but for justice! What can I say? I demand that you finally punish me if you find even the slightest reason for it. But as long as all the accusations are based solely on unfounded interpretations of inaccurate, or even completely inaccurate, information, I cannot remain calm! Dismiss me immediately if my actions have earned the loss of your trust! I would already be asking for my resignation if I saw among the financiers around me anyone capable of shouldering the impossible task of managing finances in the tangled state they currently find themselves in!
Mazarin paused. Fouquet had indeed managed, in this monologue, to express both resentment and resignation, hinting to Mazarin that Fouquet's resignation would be personally disadvantageous, and offering lofty reasons for ignoring Colbert's memorandum. The superintendent had had ample time on the way to Saint-Jean-de-Luz not only to compose this astonishing speech but also to memorize it and rehearse the intonations and gestures. Fouquet later showed me a draft of this speech, and I memorized it word for word.
Mazarin realized that the time had not yet come to part with Fouquet, but he didn't want to part with Colbert either. He realized that such an investigation would be undesirable in the current situation. So he decided to play the peacemaker.
"Monsieur Fouquet, you have completely misunderstood!" he exclaimed, smiling sweetly. "Who, if not I, is fully aware of the devotion, efficiency, and diligence with which you fulfill your difficult and so important duties to the state? I assure you that Monsieur Colbert admires you no less than I do. You are certainly mistaken in seeing him as your ill-wisher. He may be jealous of your talent and your capacity for work, but in a good way, trying to learn from you, and in no way intending to harm you." On the contrary, you judge him, apparently, by the content of the document that he brought me, and a copy of which you apparently somehow obtained, but verbally he very much interceded for you, and even said that he would like to destroy this memorandum even before I read it, but only duty to the Fatherland compels him not to do this and to allow me to personally familiarize myself with it and decide for myself what to do in the future.
"Monseigneur, I don't know the contents of the memorandum, or what the document is called," Fouquet lied. "I only know the task I entrusted to Monsieur Colbert. Finding you in a foul mood, and already aware that in recent days Monsieur Colbert has become less than friendly with many of my friends, and that this hostility is apparently fueled by his hostility toward me, I have roughly reconstructed the gist of his false conclusions and hasty proposals."
"This memorandum is quite harmless, and it doesn't bother you in the least!" Fouquet lied back. "I would have let you read it and convinced yourself that I'm right, if I hadn't already thrown it into the fire. Monsieur Colbert was probably upset about something when he wrote this document. He himself told me that he intended to use it merely as a draft, with which he planned to work further, eliminating all the insufficiently substantiated conclusions and hasty inferences, but he only came to consult with me about what exactly should be deleted from this document and what could, apparently, be left in. So you see, your anger is completely in vain, since the reason for it is a document that isn't really a document at all, but merely a trial run, a rough draft, an overly radical version of what perhaps should have been done under different circumstances. And since this rough draft no longer exists, you have nothing to worry about at all.
"You know, Monseigneur, that certain types of expenses could not be included in the regular registers, which are available to any member of the royal council and many other unimportant persons," Fouquet said. "Some types of expenses are not subject to public disclosure. As an example, I can recall..."
"You are right, Monsieur Fouquet!" Mazarin hastened to interrupt. "It is exactly as you say! The absence of certain orders is a state necessity in the interests of maintaining peace and harmony."
“If Monseigneur should wish to create a Chamber of Justice, I shall have to present to this Chamber the documents which I keep in my personal safe,” continued Fouquet, “and which, of course, completely exonerate me of the most serious accusations, but which may cast a shadow on…”
"No Chamber of Justice will be created, that's decided!" Mazarin exclaimed. "And I have a personal request of you. Make peace with Colbert. He's not your enemy, so don't be his. I need you both! I ask you not as Prime Minister, but as a clergyman."
"Why, Monseigneur, do you consider me an enemy of Monsieur Colbert?" Fouquet objected. "On the contrary, it was I who instructed him to oversee the verification of certain transactions. I am currently engaged in the same task myself. I came here to Saint-Jean-de-Luz because I have information that Monsieur J;r;me de Cotillard, at the customs post entrusted to him, is committing oversights, whether through negligence or deliberately, that are damaging the treasury and reducing your legal share of the customs duties here in the port. There is information about spices, pearls, and small rough diamonds being transported in double-bottomed crates. You know where the taxes on these goods should be paid. If the information is confirmed, it will only prove that my instructions to Monsieur Colbert were not in vain." But at the same time, you will see that the existing financial controls are more than sufficient to restore order; they just need to be applied more regularly and decisively. And as Crown Prosecutor, I pledge to devote greater attention to overseeing the financial activities of the government agencies subordinate to me.
"Monsieur J;r;me de Cotillard, I believe, is Colbert's client?" Mazarin must have thought at that moment. "How cleverly he got around me! If I allow him to remove Cotillard from his post, it will turn out that he not only held his own against Colbert, but also dealt a very tangible blow in return! If I order Cotillard pardoned, I will also have to pardon all the others whose violations are exposed by Colbert's memorandum, which I fortunately managed to hide, so I can calmly assure Fouquet that I destroyed it!"
"Treat Cotillard as you see fit, if he is truly guilty, but remember that justice always lies halfway between leniency and cruelty. It can sometimes be very difficult to maintain a middle ground, without veering to either extreme. And by the way, forget about that memorandum! I have something much more important to discuss with you!"

Chapter 209

"Monsieur Fouquet," Mazarin began, "we must discuss all the financial arrangements we agreed upon during my visit to Vaux-le-Vicomte. After that, I would like to introduce you to someone of interest to you."
"Monseigneur, I was expecting this question and have brought with me a report on the work my men and I have carried out since our meeting," Fouquet replied, handing the cardinal a folded sheet of paper he had pulled from the cuff of his left sleeve. "We managed to obtain the required sum, and even with some to spare."
The cardinal flushed with self-satisfaction: he needed people like that! He demanded money, and it appeared. He didn't care how, at what cost, or at what sacrifice. The main thing was that the money he needed appeared as if by itself, out of nowhere.
“Can one part with such a man?” thought Mazarin, as Fouquet listed the receipts that eventually added up to the required sum. “Where will he find a replacement? Yes, of course, Colbert won’t let a single sou go to waste! But where will these sous come from? After all, the treasury doesn’t need sous, or even livres or pistoles, but millions of livres! Several million! Tens of millions! After all, if Fouquet loses something or even pockets it, he still controls the situation and presents the required sums exactly when they are needed! What’s the point of this proper management of money if there is, essentially, nothing to manage? This is how it was for many years! Henry IV was so poor that he was glad when one of his friends paid for his dinner and wine. Fouquet is so wealthy that he would be offended if one of his friends tried to pay for dinner, for wherever Fouquet is, he pays for all the meals. He has established this immutable rule for all his friends and guests, even those who happen to be there. Every guest seems to him dearer and dearer than a member of his own family, or at least just as valuable. This is precisely how he treats his guests. And doesn't Holy Scripture command us to do the same? Lot, the only righteous man in Sodom, valued his guests so much that he couldn't allow his fellow citizens to know them. He offered the people of Sodom his own daughters for them to know, but he left his guests alone, so sacred was the law of hospitality to him! And what do we see in the end? God appreciated this—Lot and his entire family were saved, while all the other inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were consumed by heavenly fire! So Fouquet is perhaps also a righteous man!”
The Cardinal's reflections were interrupted by Fouquet's voice, addressed directly to him.
"And just imagine, Monseigneur, when I only needed half a million livres to reach the required sum, a stroke of luck occurred!" said Fouquet. "The ship from Madagascar, which I equipped several months ago, brought goods worth eight hundred thousand livres, but since the money was urgently needed, I resold the entire lot for six hundred and eighty thousand, so the required sum was found, and even with interest! And this wonderful chest from India came to me completely free of charge, as a prize from the dealers for the deals we made three months ago, so I beg you to accept it as a gift for your niece Olympia, whose name day, as I accidentally learned, will soon be.
A pleased Mazarin accepted the small, elegant box, but by its weight he determined that it was far from empty.
"But there's something in it!" exclaimed Mazarin, opening the box. "Wait a minute! It's a whole pearl necklace!"
"I'm superstitious, Monseigneur, and I'm wary of giving empty boxes or purses," Fouquet replied. "This necklace happened to come to me for next to nothing, so I'll be happy to give the birthday girl this small gift in addition to yours."
"Well, that's quite gratifying, such thoughtfulness on your part," the cardinal replied with a satisfied smile, noting the large, rare-colored pearls in the necklace and how masterfully they were matched. "You know how busy I am, so I almost forgot to think of a gift for Olympia."
“I know very well, Monsignor, so taking care of saving your time and your energy is the sacred duty of every person who values the interests of our kingdom, which you so resolutely guard.”
"And how can I dismiss such a man?" thought Mazarin. "Colbert is definitely meddling in something that isn't his business. I'll have to tell him to stop digging into Fouquet."
"Yes, by the way, now about the second matter," said Mazarin. "I have been invited to dine today with Cardinal Don Luis de Haro. You know how strong his influence is in Spain. Since we are now on the path to establishing complete peace, friendship with influential people in Spain could be useful. You are coming with me, and we will dine with Don Luis. I will introduce you to him; he is a most charming man, I assure you. However, he may not be so charming to those who are not introduced to him, so you should definitely be at dinner."
"But will that be convenient, Monsignor?" Fouquet retorted coquettishly. "After all, Don Luis, it seems, didn't invite me?"
"Nonsense!" Mazarin objected. "Don Luis invited me and my friends. You are my friend! So what troubles you?"
"Will Your Eminence take other friends with him as well?" asked Fouquet.
“Don’t worry, Colbert won’t be there, he’s in Paris now,” Mazarin replied. “It will be just the three of us. But make peace with him, finally! Remember, I need you both. You have different duties. You have nothing to divide. You must not quarrel.”
"I had no intention of being hostile to Monsieur Colbert, I assure you, Monseigneur!" exclaimed Fouquet.
"The eagle doesn't fight the magpies," he thought. "And he doesn't feed on them. But if one of them bothers him, he can wring its neck."
The dinner at Don Luis's was magnificent.
In December, Fouquet returned to Paris, where he met Colbert, who had received orders from Mazarin to make peace with the superintendent. Fouquet and Colbert exchanged meaningless compliments with stony expressions, after which each reported to the cardinal that they had made peace, as ordered.
So, this is the man Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Mazarin's administrator, whom King Louis XIV appointed Intendant of the Royal Finances after Mazarin's death, deciding to trust him and rely on him in his struggle against Fouquet's omnipotence. For this purpose, he chose d'Artagnan as his trusted officer, recommended to him by the dying cardinal and already well-known to him.

Chapter 210

I will return, however, to the story of Nicolas Fouquet, from which I was so distracted by the person of Colbert that I had to devote several chapters to him, for which I even had to return to those times about which, it would seem, I had already told everything that needed to be told about them.
But before I return to the events after Mazarin's death, I will tell you about some of the plans Fouquet began to make when he realized how precarious his position was, and that even such a nonentity, in his opinion, as Colbert, could crush him in an instant by convincing Mazarin of his guilt.
At first, Fouquet decided that, in the event of his disgrace, he would, with the help of his friends, create the threat of armed rebellion in many cities simultaneously, which would force his enemies to accept his terms and restore his freedom, just as the Queen had freed the Brussels councilor under pressure from the Parisian rebels. Fouquet intended to entrust the organization of the protest to his brother Basile, and in the event that he too was arrested or otherwise unable to act, Fouquet delegated all authority to Madame du Plessis-Belli;re, his closest friend and confidant, from whom he himself said he had no secrets. Naturally, this included the most intimate secrets, for what secrets could there be between people who, for some reason, had become closer to each other than spouses, in every sense of the word? Isn't it strange for a married man to rely more on his "friend" than on his wife? I'll answer for myself: not strange. As a confessor, I've heard so many confessions about family relationships over the years that it would seem strange to me if he confided in his wife. If a man has a wife he trusts completely, then he doesn't and can't have any girlfriends on the side. If a man has an intimate acquaintance, then he's alone in the family.
And the more of these gallant girlfriends a man has, the more unhappy he is in his family, and, strange as it may seem, I can add that he is not completely happy with any of his many passions.
After acquiring the fortress of Belle-;le, the plan for survival in case of disgrace changed radically. Furthermore, Fouquet's relationship with Basile had become more than a little frosty, due to Basile's inordinate ambition. Indeed, two other brothers had already received bishoprics through Fouquet's efforts: Louis was Bishop of Agde, and Fran;ois, Bishop of Narbonne. Basile had no less aspirations than the Bishopric of Vannes, which Fouquet had secured for me. Of course, Nicolas Fouquet's decision in my favor was entirely correct. Basile could not have held this post for many reasons, and I was far more valuable to Fouquet, reasons I have already described. Without my advice, Fouquet would not have become what he is, as I showed him how to peacefully extract the necessary sums of money from citizens unwilling to part with their money. Regarding the island of Belle-;le, I not only gave valuable advice on acquiring it, but also arranged for it to be acquired. Basil did not do for his brother even a tenth of what I did for him.
Colbert succeeded in replacing the governors of Hesdin and Tombelaine with men more loyal to him. This strengthened his position and weakened Fouquet, but his friends still controlled the strategic ports of Calais, Le Havre, Concarneau, and, of course, Belle-;le. Fouquet had his own navy, and not just a merchant fleet. More precisely, his merchant fleet was partly openly military, as the raiding expeditions these ships carried out against the ships of countries unfriendly to France required it. Robbing the ships of unfriendly countries will, it seems, always be a respectable act.
Guillaume de Lamoignon, the first president of the Paris parliament, was also considered by Fouquet to be a trusted confidant, since he effectively owed his position to him. This is a common but erroneous opinion. Doing a favor for someone doesn't make them your trusted friend. They won't be yours when you've already done them a favor and expect gratitude without promising anything in return, but only when you haven't yet done them any favors, or have done significantly less than you can do in the future. This is especially true if you, and you alone, are responsible for whether they receive something they passionately desire. Only then can you count on at least the appearance of their loyalty. Business relationships that are fully repaid by one party immediately cease to be businesslike in the eyes of the other. I caution you not to mistake the appearance of friendship for true friendship, for true friendship doesn't seek out visible manifestations. The more often you're assured of friendship, the less friendly feelings you'll find in those who talk so much about it. I'd say you might find people around you who are ready to lay down their lives for you, as well as people who are ready to declare such readiness at any moment, but most likely, these will be completely different people. Those who are ready to betray never declare it. So why do we so blindly believe declarations of all-encompassing and eternal loyalty? Because people happily believe praise they themselves know perfectly well they don't deserve! No one could reasonably claim that someone in their circle has every reason to sacrifice their life for them. Why, then, do they believe such people exist? Moreover, you're unlikely to find anyone around you who would sacrifice their wallet for you! And that's such a small thing compared to life! However, you will likely find lenders or even donors, but both the former and especially the latter are not patrons; they are making investments in you and expect to repay their contributions with high interest and as quickly as possible. A person who doesn't expect to receive something more important in return than what they give, gives nothing. Open lenders are more honest, at least because they don't call their contributions gifts and announce in advance the interest they expect on top of the repayment of their loans. Donors, on the other hand, expect you to figure out how to repay a hundredfold or to be unable to refuse a request that will likely arise very soon. And believe me, the interest charged by the most greedy lenders is much lower than that charged by those who pretend to be donors.
When Basile realized that he had already received everything he could hope for from his brother and would receive nothing more substantial, he began to demonstrate independence and autonomy from his family. This meant that Nicolas Fouquet, considered the head of this influential clan, lost all influence over him. Naturally, he noticed this and stopped counting on Basile.
Besides Guillaume de Lamoignon, Fouquet had several other influential friends in parliament. My talent was to be used to write proclamations in the event of Fouquet's arrest, and also, as a cover for my involvement, P;lisson's talent, which, of course, was inferior to mine in every way. P;lisson himself admitted this privately, in private conversations with me. In response, I always publicly praised his talent and called it unsurpassed, and I did so with such sincerity that even P;lisson believed me.
Fouquet also envisaged other measures, such as the kidnapping of Letellier, or a figure equal to him, or even several at once, and the rise of discontent among the Huguenots.
In drawing up this plan, Fouquet took an unacceptable liberty. Instead of mulling it over himself, or, say, discussing it verbally with me alone, he might as well have also discussed it with Madame du Plessis-Belli;re and the brothers Louis and Fran;ois. And the most unforgivable thing was that he wrote it down and hid it behind the mirror in his office. Naturally, this document was found during the search, and it became one of the main documents upon which the judges based their indictment. I ordered Gourville, who had never heard of this document, to inform him that it was written as a joke.
"Gourville, listen and remember what you're about to say," I told him. "You'll say that one evening back in 1660, during Mazarin's lifetime, you and Fouquet had a conversation over a glass of liqueur. Your testimony will completely coincide with Fouquet's, since I'm the one delivering his instructions. You'll report that you stated that, no matter how influential Fouquet may be, he too is always in danger of falling into disgrace, and that Fouquet won't have the means to save himself, as, for example, Cond; did. You'll add that Fouquet is certainly a significant figure, but not as significant as the victor at Rocroi, and therefore he's far from untouchable."
“Let’s assume so,” Gourville agreed.
“Listen and don’t interrupt,” I continued. “You will tell me that Fouquet strenuously protested that it would not be so easy to arrest him and that too many would intervene on his behalf. You offered to calculate what measures he could propose against such an arrest. You will tell me that Fouquet exclaimed passionately: ‘I bet I can write down no less than five reasons for setting me free on the spot!’ You refused the bet, since if he lost, Fouquet would pay you four times his money, and if he won, he would forgive you his loss. To this, Fouquet replied: ‘Then just watch and remember what arguments I have.’ He grabbed the first piece of paper he came across and hastily wrote down all these methods of defense. After this, Fouquet said to you: ‘You see, if we had bet, you would have lost! And I haven’t even written down that as Attorney General, I am not subject to prosecution.’” But I, of course, would never resort to these methods under any circumstances, for, as you rightly pointed out, I am not Cond;. I am Fouquet. I simply believe that I will not be arrested, and if I am arrested, I will resign myself to my fate." Then you asked him for the piece of paper, to read it merely as further evidence of the great man's ingenuity. "You should not read it, and I should not have written it, and I will immediately burn this piece of paper, since the very fact that I wrote it was the height of disrespect for royalty, and not a speck of dust should remain of this piece of paper, while you and I must forget this conversation." With these words, Fouquet placed the paper on a silver tray and rang the golden bell so that the valet would bring a candle, for it was daylight and there were no lighted candles in the room. The secretary, who answered the bell instead of the valet, announced the arrival of an important visitor, calling her "Madam" without mentioning her name. Thus, you know neither her name nor her appearance, for she was wearing a mask. You immediately left, only having time to hear Fouquet whisper in your ear, "I'll burn this a little later," and saw him hide the note behind the mirror. You believe that this undoubtedly businesslike meeting must have been so emotional that Monsieur Fouquet forgot about the note, so it remained there, serving no plan of action and reflecting no intentions of its writer other than to win a bet in which there were no stakes.
"That's exactly how it all happened!" said the quick-witted Gourville.
Unfortunately, Gourville forgot a good half of the details I supplied him with, so this ploy didn't work. The judges viewed the document as evidence against Fouquet.
You ask me if Fouquet actually intended to carry out this plan? I will answer this: if you intend to carry out a plan, do not write it down, but keep it in your mind, for if you do not have the plan in your mind, you will not be able to carry it out, and if you have memorized it, you do not need to write it down, and, besides, is it permissible to write down plans of this kind? If Fouquet admitted that he could be arrested, then he should have kept such papers in his house even less! If you are preparing for a fire in your house, you should not keep gunpowder there! Therefore, my testimony is unequivocal: no, Fouquet did not draw up such a dubious plan for his own escape. I was in charge of Fouquet's escape plans, and there was only one miscalculation in my plan: I did not take d'Artagnan into account. To draw up any political or military plans in France and not take into account the existence and possible moves of d'Artagnan is madness, as I now know perfectly well! Tens, hundreds, thousands of other people would have been unable to do anything against my almost flawless plan, but since d'Artagnan was not on my side, this plan was insane.

Chapter 211

The events that rapidly unfolded after Mazarin's death compel me to return again and again to certain circumstances surrounding his death. Well, forgive me, picky reader, whom I hope I won't have. After all, these memoirs are being written by a man far from young. At my age, I should be glad that I still remember all these events as if they happened yesterday. And I don't need to worry about the order of my presentation.
Fouquet never devised a plan to avoid arrest because he never believed he would be arrested. He knew his talent for making money where others couldn't was exceptional. His hierarchical structure for squeezing money out of everything operated so cunningly that those who ran the operation were oblivious to the suffering of ordinary people, and those who worked directly with taxpayers could never ease the pressure, as it was beyond their means. Everyone fulfilled a portion of their duties that they could not change; their job was to obey or leave, but no one wanted to leave, since everyone in their position earned far more than they could earn independently. Everyone was bound by common interests, and at the top of this was Fouquet, and no one else could have managed this cunning system so effectively, not even I.
It's possible I could have, but I wasn't interested. You don't need to know how a horse works to enjoy riding, nor do you need to know how an egg is formed or how it's cooked to eat it. I wasn't interested in the details of Fouquet's system; I was interested only in the flow of money and the people behind it. I studied people with no less interest than a naturalist might study the wing patterns of a previously unknown butterfly whose species he's just discovered. Money interested me no more than a geographer is interested in the rivers and seas that spread life throughout the world.
Fouquet, I assert, had no intention of defending himself against arrest; he was more concerned about Mazarin's impending death. He feared that without Mazarin, the King would be unable to appreciate the importance of Fouquet and his system to the functioning of the state. Fouquet also didn't count on the Queen Mother's wisdom. Mazarin was valuable to Fouquet because he understood the Superintendent's usefulness better than anyone else.
The Cardinal understood that, despite distributing a significant portion of his fortune among his nieces, the bulk of the "family capital" he had created was concentrated in his own hands. He also foresaw that after his death, the King would likely lay his hands on this jackpot. To do this, he would have to provide a legal basis for his actions. The simplest course of action would be to order an audit of the Cardinal's sources of income. An audit would reveal too much, and then the King would likely confiscate not only Mazarin's personal fortune, but also the entire wealth of his nieces' families, since they all arrived in France literally penniless, with even their travel expenses paid by the Cardinal. Therefore, he decided to offer the King his entire fortune, not even as a will, but as a gift during his lifetime. Like Alexander the Great's army, laden with plunder, which impeded their advance until Alexander ordered it all gathered and burned, so the Cardinal, weighed down by his hoarded treasures, understood that he could not take them with him to the next world, and that this overwhelming burden would prevent him from entering heaven. It is easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, the Cardinal decided to present forty million livres to King Louis XIV , keeping in mind that his real estate and the valuables contained within were worth no less than fifteen million livres. If his capital had been seized and investigated after his death, these funds would also have been forfeited to the treasury. Incidentally, before his death, Richelieu donated his palace, the Palais-Cardinal, to King Louis XIII , probably for the same reasons, that is, realizing that this palace would one way or another go to the treasury, and that a light journey to the next world has a better chance of ending happily in heaven, rather than in purgatory.
Mazarin waited three days for the King's response and was only informed on March 6 that the King had refused the gift. The Queen Mother had urged Louis XIII to accept it. Grimaud writes in his memoirs that Fouquet persuaded him to refuse the gift, claiming it was improper for a King to accept a gift from his subjects. Grimaud is wrong. What was proper for Louis XIII , nicknamed the Just, was also proper for his son, Louis XIV . Louis XIV subsequently accepted gifts from Fouquet without issue, which I will write about later. So the question of propriety is irrelevant here, just as the legend that Fouquet suggested the idea of refusing the gift to the King is irrelevant. The King would have accepted the gift. But he still loved the Cardinal's nieces, not one or two, but all of them. They were all sweet, and they were all very polite to him. Almost every one of them, for a time, possessed, if not his entire heart, then at least a significant part of it. And each of them gave him their all, asking for almost nothing in return. Sometimes they would sleep with him two at a time, and neither of them ever felt jealous of the King's love for the other. The King ecstatically dreamed of becoming the Turkish Sultan, and then all of Mazarin's nieces would be his wives, all of them would form one large family.
But it was not these thoughts that made the King refuse Mazarin’s gift, but the smug statement of his wife, Maria Theresa.
"Your mother is right, sir," said the Queen. "You should accept Mazarin's gift. It would only be fair. This money should belong to your family."
 “All of France belongs to our family, madam,” the King answered coldly.
"Take this money, my King," she cried. "Surely you won't let it fall into the hands of Mazarin's vile nieces, those dreadful Mazarinettes?"
“I haven’t made a decision yet,” Louis replied in an even colder tone.
At that moment he thought that Maria Theresa's joy on this occasion was more than inappropriate.
Louis met with Olympia in secret.
"Do you know, madam, that your uncle has offered me his entire fortune as a gift?" he asked, looking into her charming eyes.
“I don’t care,” Olympia lied.
“If I refuse to accept the gift, then this money will be divided among all of you, his nieces,” the King continued.
"'If'?" Olympia asked ironically. "You said 'if'? Oh, yes, I completely forgot that the King sometimes hesitates greatly before making a decision. But does long deliberation always guarantee the right one?"
“I do not hesitate, I will do as you say,” replied the King, blushing.
"The devil take me, I'll give up this money to the Cardinal's nieces if she asks me to!" thought Louis. "I think I still love her! And all of them! But her more than the others!"
"Can a humble Baroness advise the King?" she exclaimed. "If only I could advise you…"
"What would you advise in this case, madam?" the King asked animatedly.
"Once you could have acquired in me the most loving, the most faithful, and, I dare say, the most cherished wife in the whole wide world," Olympia said bitterly. "You rejected this gift, which could have made you happy, I dare say. Now you are considering whether to refuse or accept a gift that cannot even make you rich, for compared to all of France, this money is nothing!"
"But I can accept this money in order to give it to you!" Louis exclaimed passionately.
"Silly girl, but he still loves me!" Olympia noted with satisfaction. "But I don't love him anymore! My time is up, my chance is gone!"
“Sire, if you had accepted my gift, I would be Queen of France, and this money would be nothing to me,” replied Olympia. “Since you have rejected me, everything else is indifferent to me, so even in this case, this money means nothing to me. You cannot give it to me, because by accepting this money from my uncle, you will add it to your family capital, and then you will no longer be able to deprive your family so completely. You cannot give this sum to me, or to my sisters, or to all of us together. Certainly, at least a quarter of this sum must be given to the Queen Mother, at least a quarter to the Queen, your wife, and perhaps another quarter to Philippe d’Orl;ans, your brother. Only a quarter will remain for you.”
"I'm not obliged to share with them all!" the King objected heatedly.
"You're already sorry to part with the shares of the money you haven't yet accepted," Olympia replied with feigned regret. "How can you say you're ready to give up my uncle's gift entirely?"
"The shame of accepting this gift in front of the Cardinal's nieces will fall on me alone, for it is I who will deprive them of this portion of the inheritance!" thought Louis. "And the money will be divided among my wife, my mother, and, worst of all, my brother! Let them themselves embarrass themselves for this in front of the Mancini sisters! Even if I keep only a quarter for myself, they will, having spent their shares, encroach on that too! And if I give them smaller shares, they will also become angry with me, sulk, and pretend to be offended!"
"I merely wanted your opinion, not to make a decision, but to talk to you, as in the old days," Louis said with a grin, feigning indifference. "As for my decision, I made it almost immediately after receiving the cardinal's letter of gift. Naturally, I will refuse this gift. I was simply looking for an excuse to meet you, Olympia. Surely you don't regret this secret meeting? Will you kiss me after this conversation?"
“Ah, sir, you know very well that I belong entirely to you,” Olympia said languidly.
After this, she gently wrapped her arms around the King's neck and brought her lips close to his face, leaving a small distance between them and the King's lips so that the final move in this battle would be made by him.
The king inhaled the indescribably pleasant scent that emanated from the beauty, who skillfully used Cologne water with the scent of lilac and a slight admixture of the aroma of roses, as well as a barely perceptible pine note.
The king pressed his lips to Olympia's.
“I still love him,” Olympia might have thought at that moment, “And he loves me!”
But she didn’t think so, because at that moment she wasn’t thinking about anything at all, all her feelings were concentrated on this coming together of lips.
Afterwards, she provided the King with irrefutable proof that she had lost none of her beauty and passion in the six months since. Moreover, Louis was once again convinced that a political marriage could not yield the same sweet fruits of possessing a beloved woman as secret rendezvous with the Baroness, whose presence in France at that moment was unknown to a single soul.
However, I knew about this meeting, as did five other people from the Order.

Chapter 212

Sensing that he would soon be brought before his Creator, Mazarin ordered that everything be prepared for the sacrament of Holy Communion. Monsignor K.O.I., at my request, arranged for me to be among the priests who participated in this sacrament. I placed a small golden crucifix in the cardinal's weakening hand. The cardinal felt it with his fingers and suddenly tensed up, raising the cross to his eyes.
“Leave us alone with the Bishop of Vannes,” said Mazarin.
All those present left the cardinal's bedroom.
"I suspected, Monsieur d'Herblay, that you were not a simple priest," he said. "What do you wish to ask me, or what do you wish to tell me?"
“I want to know where you hid Philip,” I said.
"The Duke of Orleans is now in Paris," Mazarin replied. "No one has hidden him."
“I’m talking about Louis Philippe, born on September 5, 1638, eighteen minutes later than you know who,” I replied.
"You knew?" Mazarin asked in surprise, the last vestiges of color fading from his already pale face.
“I didn’t know, I know,” I corrected. “So, where is he?”
"What do you need this for?" the cardinal asked, and I heard fear in his voice.
"My dear Giulio Raimondo Mazzarino," I said softly, "you invited me to ask questions, but I made no such offer. Why do you need to know, why do I need to know, if all you need to know is that you are obligated to answer my questions as if they were before God. Or have you not carefully enough examined the subject I have given you?"
"Forgive me, my brother," Mazarin replied, handing me back the gold cross. "Of course, I shouldn't have asked that question, and I don't need to know the answer. No longer, indeed. But you won't use your knowledge to harm the rightful King?"
“I use my knowledge solely for the benefit of the legitimate King of France,” I answered sincerely, meaning the man whom I considered no less a legitimate monarch than Louis XIV .
"Well, I will, of course, answer you, Monseigneur," said Mazarin. "Earthly affairs will soon cease to concern me, while the heavenly powers will retain their rights over me in heaven, and I recognize that the General of the Order, like the Pope, is the Lord's vicar on earth. And since you are the General's envoy, I will tell you, but bear in mind that not only the King, but also the Queen, does not know this. Only I know, and now you will know, that the person you are interested in is under the care of Monsieur de Besmo."
"You mean in the Bastille?" I cried. "How dare you?"
"It wasn't I, but Cardinal Richelieu, who placed him there," Mazarin replied calmly. "And besides, he receives the best allowance; he's happy there, he even reads books. And he eats excellent food, served to him on silver plate."
“And yet it is inhumane to deprive him of his freedom!” I objected.
"The highest interests of the state require an effective solution," Mazarin said dispassionately. "At times it seems cruel, even inhumane, but believe me, all other measures are so dangerous that I would say this is the only sufficiently reliable measure to prevent the horrific consequences that could arise if this secret were revealed. Let me remind you that I am not the one making the decisions; I am merely ensuring that things do not get worse."
"What name will he enter in the prisoner register?" I said, trying to remain dispassionate, even though a storm was raging inside me.
"Marciali," replied Mazarin, "are these all the questions you wanted to ask me?"
“Yes, Monsignor,” I replied.
"Requests?" the cardinal asked.
“Tomorrow you will hold a council meeting and recommend to the King that he place his full confidence in Messrs. Fouquet, Letellier and Lyonne,” I said.
"Of course," replied Mazarin. "These men are worthy of recommendation, but will I be able to conduct a council meeting?"
"It may be a very short meeting, and you can hold it wherever you like," I said. "You will be dressed appropriately and seated in a comfortable chair with a high back, reclining so that you will almost be lying down. I think no one will accuse you of not rising in the King's presence if, the moment the King enters, you make a movement as if trying to rise, but His Majesty stops you and asks you to remain in your chair."
"And if he doesn't do it?" Mazarin asked anxiously.
"Don't worry about that," I replied. "The King will be warned. I'll ask Monsieur d'Artagnan to speak with the King. He's a persuasive man, especially if he conveys this request to His Majesty in your name."
"Yes, of course, ask your secretary to summon Monsieur d'Artagnan to me," replied Mazarin. "Is that all?"
— Dominus tibi omnia peccata dimittit et dicit quod caelum te exspectat — I said and made the sign of the cross over the cardinal's forehead.
— Omnes desideria tua sapiens sunt , Domine ! Fata mihi a Domino parata supplex suscipio ! — Mazarin answered humbly. " Amen ."
The next day, Mazarin did indeed hold a state council and recommended to the King the men I've mentioned, Letellier, Lyonne, and Fouquet, but he named Fouquet last. But Mazarin's ruse failed; Louis believed Fouquet was named last precisely because he was the most important member of the state council.
But Mazarin was cunning. He sent Besmo a letter ordering, in the name of the King, that no one be allowed to see the prisoner Marchiali except by the King's own order, either verbal or written, bearing his signature and seal. It was forbidden to allow visits to the prisoner or to change his conditions of detention, even by order of the Attorney General, the Queen Mother, or the State Council, signed by its president. Only the King could determine the prisoner's fate and permit anyone to see him. This order bore not only Mazarin's signature but also the King's, which Mazarin had asked Louis XIV to affix, citing considerations of state. He managed to persuade the King to sign without reading the document. Thus, Mazarin believed he had locked this man away forever in the Bastille, since only the King had the right to see him, and the King had no idea he existed. When someone has special rights but is unaware of them, isn't that the same as having none at all?
Moreover, Mazarin, in a private conversation with the King, advised him not to trust Fouquet and his friends too much, pointed out his exorbitant ambition and hinted that Fouquet was dishonest.
— He is quite suitable for the positions he occupies, - said Mazarin. — But don't give him more power than he already has. Observe his activities; if you notice him claiming more than your royal will has granted him, dismiss him.
— Even more power? asked the King. Do you mean the position of First Minister?
— Do not, under any circumstances, make Fouquet the first minister, Your Majesty, Mazarin said firmly. "You are limiting the power of this ambitious man. You remember his motto: 'Wherever I can climb'? Only one person in the state can have such a motto—the King. Even the prime minister should not aspire to unlimited power, to ever-higher positions. Only a monarch can stand above all. Anyone else must limit their aspirations. However, Your Majesty, do not quarrel with Fouquet under any circumstances. Even if you decide to dismiss him, do not inform anyone in the world of this except those you can trust."
— To the Queen? - asked Louis.
— The Queen has done a lot for the state, she has earned a rest, and her strength is not unlimited, Your Majesty, - answered Mazarin. Rely on Colbert for financial control and government. Colbert will not fail you, Your Majesty. And for special occasions that require intelligence, courage, and loyalty, rely on Monsieur d'Artagnan. He is certainly not a marshal, a prince, or a duke, but you yourself see that the loyalty of princes, dukes, and marshals must be purchased from time to time, and not just once, but repeatedly. No treasury would be sufficient to satisfy the ambitions of all the noble descendants of your worthy grandfather, Henry IV . D'Artagnan's loyalty is based on his understanding of honor and valor, and there are very few such men left.
— I thank you, Your Eminence, for all the care with which you have surrounded us and the kingdom all this time, as well as for your invaluable advice, - the King replied. However, I believe you're needlessly upsetting us with talk of how we should proceed without you. Her Majesty the Queen Mother brought gifts to Saint Spyridon of Trimythous, beseeching him to restore your health and strength. I'm confident you'll soon be fully recovered. You need rest, just rest, perhaps for two weeks, or even a month.
— Thank you, Your Majesty, - answered Mazarin, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Your mother, the Queen has been immensely kind to me. Please convey to her my regards, my humble gratitude, and my parting blessing. Regarding Fouquet, please do not mistake my warnings for a lack of confidence in the superintendent. I highly value his efforts to secure the treasury's finances. These efforts have always been effective and timely. Furthermore, I have appointed him as my executor, and I ask Your Majesty to concur with this decision.
— Your will be done, Monsignor, the King answered.
— Thank you, Your Majesty, - the cardinal said in a quiet voice and closed his eyes tiredly.
The king noticed that Mazarin spoke with difficulty, pausing long between phrases and even between individual words. He realized that the cardinal was tired and, after bidding him farewell, left him.
— Here you go, - muttered the cardinal. If Fouquet is my executor, no investigations into the sources of my wealth will be forthcoming. My nieces can rest assured; my entire inheritance will go to them in the shares I specified in my will. Who could dare interfere with the actions of the Attorney General, who, with the King's consent, manages the inheritance of the Prime Minister? If there is anyone in France who could doubt the legality of my acquisition, it certainly isn't Fouquet. After all, our capital was accumulated by the same method. Who would dig under themselves? Now I can die in peace. It would be a damned shame to leave all these treasures behind! Nudus in hunc mundum venimus, nudum hunc mundum relinquimus . Well, I've taken care of both France and my family.

Chapter 213

On his deathbed, Prime Minister Giulio Mazarin recommended that King Louis XIV rely on three ministers of state, members of the Supreme Council of the King. These ministers were Minister of War Michel Letellier, Minister of Foreign Affairs Hugues de Lionne, and Minister of Finance Nicolas Fouquet. However, the Cardinal also advised the King to be wary of Fouquet due to his excessive ambitions, fueled by his well-known excesses: power and women. Fouquet, without regard for expense, acquired land, built palaces, laid out gardens, acquired works of art and diamonds, and showered his mistresses with more than generous gifts.
In his fake memoirs, Grimaud describes a conversation between Colbert and the King the day after Mazarin's death. Of course, the primary source of his account is Grimaud's imagination. But he likely rummaged through Athos's library, so in his portrayal, Colbert tells the King everything that Mazarin and Fouquet knew perfectly well, but which the King would only discover a year later. Colbert informs Louis XIV that the treasury is empty and four years' worth of future revenues have been squandered, for which four loans have already been made. Of course, many more loans were made, and the majority of them were made not in the King's name, but in Fouquet's own.
Grimaud reported that Colbert had given the King thirteen million livres, unknown to a soul, from Mazarin's secret hiding place, on top of the forty million he left to members of his family. This was hardly possible. And it was unlikely that Colbert had the integrity to hand over this money, which he could easily have kept for himself. There were few men in France like Athos, who would return millions of livres entrusted to their safekeeping to the intended recipients without even accepting compensation for the expenses incurred in such a transaction. Or rather, there was only one such man—Athos.
Grimaud then writes that the King offers Colbert the position of Intendant of Finances, to which Colbert objects: “But there is already a Superintendent.”
Firstly, it's not customary to say the word "but" to the King under any circumstances. Colbert knew this, Grimaud didn't. Secondly, the existence of a Superintendent of Finances doesn't preclude the possibility of having an Intendant of Finances. Thirdly, there was a time, as I've already written about, when there were two Superintendents of Finances simultaneously. So Colbert could well have asked for the position of Superintendent of Finances. Fourthly, it's unlikely the King would have been so surprised by thirteen million livres from Colbert that he would have immediately offered him such a position, since the King had received significantly larger sums from Fouquet, and more than once. Fifthly, Colbert was already the steward of the First Minister, Cardinal Mazarin. The King appointed him First Minister.
Colbert was Mazarin's shadow, so having lost Mazarin, the King needed an advisor and specialist who would replace Mazarin, so it was only natural that the King took advantage of Colbert's knowledge and experience.
Grimaud reported that Louis XIV had received a dispatch from King Charles II of England , who consented to Henrietta's marriage to Philippe d'Orl;ans and also expressed concern about the fortification of the fortress of Belle-;le. It was hardly appropriate for the King of England, who had not yet been honored with a coronation, which took place only at the end of the year in Westminster, to express concern about the King of France's fortification of his own maritime borders. This is the inalienable right of any monarch. It is a mistake to claim that the King of France received information about the fortification of the island of Belle-;le from the monarch of a neighboring state. These works had been coordinated with the Cardinal, and the King, of course, knew about them. The Cardinal even showed him a plan of the fortifications that I had drawn, although it was only a sketch, a very preliminary one, and it omitted some details that were important to me, which I had deliberately omitted from these drawings. I don't think the King bothered to delve into the plans in detail, but he was already quite attentive to things like fortress plans. So the King didn't learn about the construction from Charles II.
Grimaud then paints a fantastic picture of d'Artagnan's superb understanding of horses. This is what he says to Raoul upon seeing a detachment of cavalrymen: "Be warned, Raoul, the second horse in the fifth rank will lose a shoe before you reach the Marie Bridge. There are only two nails left in the shoe on the front leg."
Horseshoes should be changed every six weeks. During this time, the nails cannot fall out on their own. If the horseshoes are properly attached, the ends of the nails protrude and bend. A nail bent at the end doesn't just fall out, but even if only three nails remain on a horseshoe, the shoe won't fall off so easily. No musketeer would allow their horse to go unshod. Furthermore, any rider can easily tell by the clatter of hooves on the pavement that something is wrong. However, it's impossible to notice a missing nail while observing a mounted unit from the side.
Grimaud goes on to report that Raoul informed d'Artagnan that the Cardinal was very ill and had most likely even died. How could Raoul have been better informed about the Cardinal's condition than d'Artagnan? Upon hearing this information, d'Artagnan allegedly responded as follows: "D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders dismissively, wanting to show that the Cardinal's death did not upset him in the least." The Cardinal's death greatly distressed d'Artagnan, as he had lost his patron and source of income. He was so upset that he decided to leave the Guards regiment and sold his position at a clearly reduced price, as I have previously written about. However, Grimaud did mention that d'Artagnan resigned because the news had caused a stir throughout Paris, and Grimaud simply could not help but notice.
Well, I feel it's time to give Colbert some attention in the pages of my memoirs.
Jean-Baptiste Colbert was four years younger than Fouquet and came from a family of influential merchants, international traders, and bankers based in Reims. His father, Nicolas Colbert, was a member of one of the syndicates lending to the state and, in addition, purchased the position of collector-general of excise tax on certain goods entering Paris. The Colbert family had long-standing business and family ties with Particelli d'Emery, Fouquet's predecessor. Despite knowing this, Fouquet neglected to make Colbert his supporter, and as life would prove, this was his fatal mistake.
Jean-Baptiste Colbert was more inclined toward finance than law. Young Jean-Baptiste began his career as a prot;g; of Michel Letellier, to whom he was related by family ties: the sister of the Minister of War Letellier married one of the Colberts. In 1640, his father bought Jean-Baptiste a government post as inspector of the military department.
During the Fronde, Colbert remained loyal to the crown and Mazarin. He earned universal respect thanks to his incredible work ethic and meticulousness. He also possessed the gift of persuasion, able to convince each successive patron that he was completely devoted to their interests. He succeeded Letellier, Mazarin, and Louis XIV with extraordinary talent.
Although he didn't see Fouquet as his true patron and superior, since Colbert had secured the support of the King himself, he nevertheless diligently cultivated a reputation as a loyal servant not only of the throne and the cardinal, but also of Nicolas Fouquet. Therefore, Fouquet rashly considered Colbert his man and therefore neglected to promptly reward his efforts and establish truly strong ties, both spiritual and mutually beneficial (which is far more important).
One of the common psychological errors in maintaining strong relationships, both within the family and in professional relationships, is that people are willing to expend incredible effort to establish them, but to maintain them, they don't even do what would cost them nothing—simple, regular demonstrations of respect, trust, recognition, and gratitude. Like a hunter who, at great risk to his life, caught a live lion and then imprisoned it in a flimsy willow cage with unlocked doors, we want to make friends, associates, or establish romantic relationships with people we need and like, but then we treat them so carelessly, as if the bonds we establish were stronger than anchor chains.
At first, the relationship between Colbert and Fouquet was quite favorable, so that they could have developed into friendly or even friendship.
It was Colbert who finally convinced Letellier not to interfere with Fouquet's appointment as attorney general in the autumn of 1650, something he apparently repented of no later than ten years later.

Chapter 214

On March 9, 1661, Cardinal Mazarin died. Prior to this, he had suffered a long and painful illness, and the Queen had selflessly nursed him, despairing at the realization that his days were numbered. It must be acknowledged that she loved him, perhaps even loved him seriously for the first time, not as she had loved her first legal husband, King Louis XIII, nor as she had loved her first and perhaps last infatuation, the Duke of Buckingham. She loved Mazarin as a man she trusted completely and entirely, on whom she could rely entirely, from whom she never expected anything bad and always saw only good. Even Mazarin's worst enemies could not deny this: he was an excellent subject, a loyal friend, and, God knows, the Queen's husband, as well as the kingdom's prime minister. He, of course, did not forget his own interests and those of his large family, especially his nieces, whom he dearly adored. But he was first and foremost the servant and supporter of the Queen Mother, the mentor of the King and the master of the country.
D'Artagnan lost his immediate master, whom he had served not out of fear, but out of conscience. D'Artagnan's loyal and effective service seemed unappreciated by the cardinal, but this was only apparent. The cardinal had not elevated d'Artagnan to the lofty level of grandeeship he could have offered him through his generosity precisely because he feared losing such a skilled and devoted servant. Mazarin saw that dukes, princes, peers, and marshals easily betrayed him, just as they had the King and Queen. They considered themselves valuable in themselves, and hence their dissatisfaction with the level of ostentatious recognition of their importance, the level of gifts, often undeserved, and the abundance of positions and sinecures they considered justified. They could never get enough; their insatiability would have been proverbial if anyone with a keen mind had bothered to notice it and been brave enough to voice it. D'Artagnan, of course, was not like that, but the Cardinal was unwilling to take any chances. And yet, he did a lot for him. The position of captain-lieutenant of the king's musketeers, which Jean-Baptiste Colbert had his eye on, eventually went to d'Artagnan. He received an apartment in the Louvre, a place in the royal stables for his two horses, and a few perks and privileges that weren't significant enough to warrant serious consideration, but all in all, it was quite a bit. D'Artagnan's income was not yet such that he could rank among any count or marquis, but his high position at court, his frequent personal contact with the King, and His Majesty's friendly disposition placed him on the same level as the marshals, who by no means shied away from his acquaintance, sought his friendship, and rightly feared hostility with this already highly influential officer. D'Artagnan carried out the most important, delicate, and complex assignments for Mazarin, who recommended him for this role to the King. Mazarin also recommended Jean-Baptiste Colbert to His Majesty as a reliable supporter in financial, state, and military affairs, and also instructed him not to appoint a first minister, instead devoting his personal, unwavering attention to all matters previously handled by Mazarin himself.
Before leaving this world, the Cardinal hinted to the King that Nicolas Fouquet needed close observation, his actions needed to be thoroughly controlled, and it was in this that he recommended relying on the mind of Colbert and the sword of d'Artagnan.
"Beware of Cond; and his family, Your Majesty," Mazarin added. "Princes should be respected, but not trusted. And most of all, beware of these princes gaining influence over your brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans. As a counterweight to the princes, I leave you Fouquet."
“Thank you for your advice, Your Eminence,” Louis replied.
"I'm not finished yet, Your Majesty," Mazarin continued. "Beware also of Fouquet, with his brothers, his clients, and his henchmen. Against Fouquet, I leave you Colbert."
“Thank you, Cardinal,” replied the King.
“Beware of Colbert too, don’t give him too much power,” the cardinal continued.
"Against Colbert, you leave me d'Artagnan?" the King asked with a smile.
"I leave d'Artagnan to you against Colbert, and against Fouquet, and against the Princes, and against the King of Spain, and against anyone Your Majesty may wish," replied Mazarin. "He will help you in any matter."
"And who do you leave me against d'Artagnan?" asked Louis.
"You will need no one against him," replied Mazarin. "Do not commit injustice against him, and he will serve you faithfully and truly, and if necessary, he will give his life for you."
"And what if he thinks I'm being unfair to him?" asked the King.
“He won’t consider it so, even if Your Majesty were truly unjust to him; he will still remain devoted to you,” replied Mazarin. “He will consider injustice to himself an injustice to his friends. He has, it seems, three or four of them. In any case, three of them are the most important to him. They are Bishop d’Herblay of Vannes, the recluse Count de la F;re, and a living Hercules in the flesh named Baron du Valon. His current colleague, de Besmo, also counts himself among his friends, but, as far as I understand, he is not one. He is merely a friend, a comrade in arms, of whom he has a great many, and besides this, scoundrels. De Besmo, it seems, dreamed of becoming commandant of the Bastille, and, having received this position, he gladly and voluntarily locked himself within these four walls, along with his dear wife, of whom he is terribly jealous, and therefore never lets her go anywhere. Upon learning of this, d'Artagnan's attitude toward him cooled decisively, as he would consider the position of commandant of any military fortress honorable, but commandant of a fortress that serves as a prison for state criminals despicable. However, perhaps this is merely a pose, since Besmo achieved the rank of general and became a marquis, so I fully admit that d'Artagnan is simply envious. But I can guarantee that if he were appointed commandant of any fortress, even one as large as the Bastille, he would fulfill his duties with utmost diligence, harmoniously combining initiative with obedience, enterprise with caution, and cunning with truthfulness, as he does in all his assignments. The only thing that can spoil this man is insufficient assignments, that is, too easy a service, one that doesn't call upon all the best qualities he has developed within himself.
“Thank you, Cardinal, for such a detailed description of some of my servants,” replied the King.
"And I thank you, Your Majesty, for your patience in listening to me," Mazarin replied. "I would also like to add that you should be wary of the intrigues of the Duchess de Chevreuse. She was a great hooligan in her youth, but she has not yet lost her passion for all manner of intrigue. If she sides with the Princes, the Princes could become dangerous again. If she supports Fouquet, that clan will concentrate too much influence in their hands. If she joins forces with Colbert, that pair will have you under their thumb."
“Why don’t I get rid of her?” asked Louis.
"Your august mother, the Queen, has a soft spot for this schemer," the cardinal replied with a sigh. "She already avoids her company, but does not want to appear vindictive, so she is careful not to offend her. Moreover, the Duchess is capable of influencing your uncle and father-in-law, King Philip IV of Spain , with whom she was undoubtedly extremely close, as close as is permissible for married couples according to the laws of God. Her easy communication brought them so close that she influenced, and still influences, his decisions even more than your august mother, Queen Anne, and more than your august wife, Queen Maria Theresa. This lady should not be angered. She knows too much, far more than she should. Truly, it would be far better if the Lord took her to himself." I would say that peace and quiet in France are only possible when the Duchess de Chevreuse is outside its borders. But we must respect the Queen Mother's feelings. If she doesn't want to harm her, despite all the harm the Duchess has done to the Queen, that's her right. I don't know what the future holds for this schemer. But even Richelieu hesitated to imprison her in the Bastille, even though she caused him far more trouble than she did me. Or rather, he missed the opportunity.
"Wasn't the prime minister's power enough to just imprison the duchess?" the King asked in surprise.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Your Majesty, at that time your august father, King Louis XIII , himself stood up for her, since she also influenced him with her charm.
"But my father, it seems, didn't like women, and especially coquettes?" Louis was surprised.
"That's true, but he also made exceptions for certain ladies, and the Duchess was at the top of that list," the Cardinal said with a sigh. "They had a good time in their youth, your father, your mother, the Duchess, and her first husband, the Duke of Luynes. They all became friends to some extent, and the King's sympathy for the Duchess helped smooth over some of the friction between your father and your mother. Let's just say the Duchess was quite good and skillful at reconciling them, though only after she had previously caused their discord. The matter is quite complex, and it is not for us to judge them, and, in fact, we know nothing we shouldn't know. In other words, I only recommend being careful lest the Duchess use some of her old connections or some secret known only to her to harm Your Majesty." Therefore, I recommend treating her with moderate favor and never trusting her in anything.
“Your Grace, I see that you are very tired from such a detailed and lengthy conversation, I fear for your health,” the King said suddenly.
“Oh, don’t worry, Your Majesty, my health is no longer of any importance, for I will soon appear before the Creator, and the only thing that worries me at the moment is your future.
“You are probably also worried about the future of your nieces,” said the King, blushing slightly, since he continued to love some of the charming Mazarines, who were really good-looking and still quite fresh.
"Not at all!" replied the cardinal. "After all, I am absolutely convinced that you will not allow anyone to offend them!"
“You are right, Cardinal, your nieces are like sisters to me, and even more,” Louis replied with a sigh.

And he was not being disingenuous, since he knew almost half of them too well, having become no less close to them in his time than the Duchess de Chevreuse had become close in her time to Philip IV , and earlier to Count Holland, the Duke of Buckingham, Charles of Lorraine, the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, the Parisian coadjutor Pierre de Gondi, and many others, not to mention me and her two husbands, the Duke de Luynes and the Duke de Chevreuse.
The cardinal had no idea at the time that the Duchess de Chevreuse would manage to become close to Jean-Baptiste Colbert by marrying her grandson to Colbert's daughter. This marriage made the Duchess an ally of Colbert, enabling him to overthrow Fouquet and achieve complete victory over all his supporters.
Before his death, Mazarin gave the Queen Mother notes of his advice to her and the young King, which he urged never to be published or shown to anyone except the two persons to whom they were addressed. Fortunately for me, I was able to read these notes through my own channels and even made some interesting excerpts. However, my memory retains them almost verbatim. Perhaps I will quote some more here in these memoirs.
After all the tedious procedures required of Catholics and even more imperative for a cardinal slowly dying from an incurable illness, he prepared himself mentally and physically to stand before the Lord and soon departed for this meeting. His departure raised questions among many about who would now hold power and the position of First Minister, but the King did not adhere for long to Mazarin's recommendation, and only at first was no one appointed First Minister. He nevertheless appointed Colbert to this position. He subsequently appointed Colbert also to the positions of Controller General of Finances, Minister of the Royal Household, and Secretary of State. But all this happened later. Perhaps I will write more about this later.
Young Louis XIV was interested in retaining the position of captain of his musketeers, so he was nominally their commander. Commanding them, conducting exercises, and forming squadrons was his favorite pastime, but since he himself was not a sufficiently qualified officer, he exercised this command through d'Artagnan, which contributed to our friend's closeness with the King and furthered his career.
Through daily interaction with the musketeers, the King came to know him better, appreciated him, and began to entrust him with the most important and sensitive assignments. In March 1661, a few days after the death of his patron, d'Artagnan, increasingly preoccupied with his service under Louis XIV, decided to leave the Guards regiment and sold his position at a clearly reduced price. But d'Artagnan's career as captain of the king's musketeers was far from over, for he subsequently returned to the job that seemed tailor-made for him, and for which a better man would be hard to find in all of France.

(Continued in Book 6)