Memoirs of Aramis, Book 7

Memoirs of Aramis, Book 7

Annotation

The seventh book of the fan fiction "The Memoirs of Aramis" tells the story of the events that took place after Aramis kidnapped King Louis XIV and replaced him with his twin brother Philippe, who had previously been held in the Bastille.
Aramis, now General of the Jesuit Order, having decided to place the true King in the Bastille in the place formerly occupied by his brother, nevertheless decides not to inform his brother, who has taken the throne, of the King's true location. In this way, he hopes to secure his future freedom of action and independence. To conceal his position, he receives from Philippe, who remains undiscovered, an order to place a prisoner in the Ch;teau de Pignerol. With this order, accompanied by Porthos, he sets off for the ch;teau to place another prisoner named Jean Hers there. This man was a fugitive from justice for plotting to assassinate the King, thereby earning the death penalty. For him, hiding in the Bastille or Pignerol under a false name was a blessing, especially if he was kept there as a marquis, offered exquisite food, the best bedding, and luxuries the poor nobleman could not even dream of in freedom.
Charles d'Artagnan, captain of the king's musketeers, realized the substitution and freed the King. With the help of the Duchess de Chevreuse, he helped Louis return to his rightful place. He then transported the impostor, the King's twin brother, to the Bastille, armed with the King's order for the imprisonment of a certain marquis with an unknown name. Aramis, unaware of this, traveled to Pignerol with Porthos, solely to convince the impostor King Philippe that Pignerol was where the legitimate King Louis XIV, the impostor's twin brother, would be imprisoned.
The King forgave his brother and did not impose a new punishment beyond what fate had decreed for him—eternal imprisonment. But he was determined to investigate, find, and punish the masked perpetrators who had dared to raise a hand against the King, kidnapping him and placing him in the Bastille, replacing him with his twin brother.
Enjoy reading!

Chapter 265

D'Artagnan took Philippe to the Bastille to present the King's order to the Marquis de Besmos, ordering his placement in the same place where the King himself had been less than twenty-four hours earlier, and where Philippe had lived almost his entire adult life, with the exception of the time when this cell had been occupied first by Jean Hers and then by Louis XIV himself. Philippe made no attempt to resist, understanding the futility of such a rebellion and also realizing that he was decidedly inferior in agility and strength to the captain of the king's musketeers, who would kill him without hesitation rather than allow his escape.
"You said that perhaps my fate would still change," he said sadly to d'Artagnan just before, seeing the carriage approaching the Bastille. "But I see no reason for that."
"Are you a prophet, to see in the present the causes and signs of future events?" asked the captain of the musketeers. "Could I, say, have seen, even a week ago, any reasons for what has happened in the last two days? I merely said that you should not despair, for despair is the second worst of mortal sins, while the first—murder—has become habitual for us, His Majesty's soldiers, but we will not be held accountable for this sin, since above all else we must remain loyal to our King. The very one we crowned."
“I have already realized how insignificant my rights are compared to the rights of a crowned head,” Philip answered with a sigh.
"If something irreparable were to happen to the crowned head, your rights would be unquestionable in my eyes, but not in the eyes of France, which is unaware of your existence," d'Artagnan replied. "However, believe me, it happens that the desire of one brave and determined Gascon can have a far greater influence on history than the desire of an entire people in an entire state. I could tell you something, but out of modesty I will remain silent, and besides, we have already arrived. Some other time."
"Another time? Are you serious?" Philip asked sarcastically. "You think we'll meet again?"
"Why not, Your Highness?" asked d'Artagnan.
"You must be joking, or are you referring to a meeting in the afterlife?" Philip continued the argument.
"As for what will happen to me in the next world, I'm not used to thinking about it, and I'm in no hurry to go there, even though the doors to the other world have opened before me more than once, as they have for every soldier of the King," the captain replied. "But I've never rushed to take advantage of this opportunity, nor have I ever sought even a glimpse. I'm not curious in that area, and I'm in no hurry to find out what awaits us beyond the grave. No, Your Highness, I don't rule out the possibility that we'll meet again in this world. I ask, however, that you follow me to your temporary abode."
"Temporary?!" Philippe exclaimed, looking at the walls of the Bastille.
“As you have already noted, there seem to be two worlds, this one and the other,” d’Artagnan chuckled. “I don’t know whether our stay in the next world will be permanent; opinions on that matter differ. But our stay in this world can certainly be called temporary. You are alive, you are healthy, you are young, what else do you need? Who knows, maybe even the walls of the Bastille are not eternal. But in order to…” You can get out of here, all you need to do is unlock the lock. My advice to you, Your Highness: study politics, history, philosophy, and ethics—it never hurts. Sometimes people who considered themselves just a step away from the throne have left this world without ever stepping onto it, while others, who never dreamed of such a possibility, found themselves there before they could blink. History is full of examples of this. Take, for example, your royal grandfather. Could anyone in the time of Henry II have imagined that this distant relative of his would ever occupy his throne? On the other hand, your mother, Queen Anne, was destined to give birth to an heir, and if not for her foolish games with the Duchess de Chevreuse, the pregnancy would most likely have ended happily, so that France would have had a completely different king, one who would now be well over forty. Anything is possible in this random world under the moon, and nothing should be too surprising. Although I still get confused when I can't understand what I think I should understand. But this anxiety of mine has never led to anything good. And this time, perhaps, my ingenuity has only served to hinder me. I like you, Your Highness, but at the moment I can't advise you anything other than to accept your fate with humility and not despair.
“I thank you for your advice and I will try to take advantage of it,” said Philip.
He then put on his mask and got out of the carriage, which had already entered the courtyard of the Bastille.
"The King's command!" cried d'Artagnan, raising the paper above his head.
He was immediately admitted to the office of the Marquis de Bezmo, commandant of the Bastille.
"General," said d'Artagnan, "the King orders the return of the prisoner known as the Marquis de l'Inconnue to the same cell where he was held until his release yesterday."
Since Philippe looked exactly like the King and was wearing the same mask, and the order mentioned the same mysterious “Marquis of Inconnue,” Bezmo, without asking any further questions, ordered Philippe to be taken to the same cell, which, however, was a very comfortable dwelling, but had bars on the windows and iron doors that could be locked.

Chapter 266

The next morning, d'Artagnan returned from his trip to the Bastille, after which he merely pretended to sleep. He went into his room, freshened up a bit, changed his clothes, and emerged looking as if he'd spent the night in his own bed. Passing the stables, he ordered his horse groomed and ready for the long journey. Then he peered into the room where the sergeant of the musketeers was staying.
"D'Arlencourt, my dear sir! Twenty men are to be ready to set out on a long pursuit in forty minutes. Sergeant, I entrust you with the formation of this detachment. Feed them, supply them with provisions, gunpowder, bullets, and all other necessary equipment, according to military regulations," the captain of the musketeers ordered.
“It will be done, Captain,” the sergeant answered in a clear, military tone.
"And remember, we'll be in a hurry!" added d'Artagnan. "The King's urgent order."
"May I ask a question, Captain?" the sergeant hesitated. "If the order is urgent, why don't you leave immediately?"
"Because that order hasn't arrived yet," d'Artagnan smiled. "Right now, I'm in no hurry to leave, but in thirty-nine minutes I'll be in a terrible hurry. Any musketeer who lags behind me for even three minutes will be considered a deserter."
After this, d'Artagnan lightly touched the bottom of the brim of his hat with two fingers of his right hand; the sergeant, in response, stood at attention and clicked his heels.
Approaching the doors of the royal bedroom, d'Artagnan greeted the royal secretary and then asked:
— Hubert, my dear, is the King awake yet? Is he alone?
“His Majesty has summoned Monsieur Fouquet,” the footman replied.
“Already?” d’Artagnan nodded and glanced at the wall clock. “How long has he been there, and how long have they been talking?”
“Five minutes, Captain,” Hubert replied.
D'Artagnan nodded and sat down in a leather chair, crossing his legs and twirling his right mustache with his left hand. Had Athos, Porthos, or Aramis seen him in this pose, they would have noted that d'Artagnan was visibly nervous, but had Planchet seen him, he would have said his former master was preparing for a decisive leap into the dizzying unknown, carefully considering every move.
Meanwhile, Louis summoned Fouquet, suspecting him of complicity in the conspiracy. He hoped to expose him and discover the names and whereabouts of all the conspirators. However, since d'Artagnan's efforts had ensured that everything had gone unnoticed, the King remained hopeful that no one other than the conspirators, d'Artagnan himself, and the Duchess de Chevreuse remained unaware of what had happened, including the Queen Mother, who knew of Philippe's existence but most likely had no idea of the plot, its short-lived success, or its reversal of the plan to restore the legitimate monarch to the throne.
"Monsieur Fouquet," he began after the usual ceremonies with which Fouquet paid his respects to his King, "sleeping overnight at your castle of Vaux-le-Vicomte was unpleasant for me. Can you guess why?"
"Your Majesty, I'm afraid I've overlooked something," Fouquet replied, taken aback. "I promise to personally investigate the cause of your displeasure and punish those responsible. I would be grateful if I could learn the reasons for your displeasure."
"Either he knows nothing, or he's cleverly feigning it," thought Louis. "Of course, it suits him to feign ignorance. But how can I expose him? I can't tell him everything! What if he's not involved in the conspiracy? I don't need unnecessary people learning such an important secret!"
“The fact is that my sleep was disturbed by those who should not have attempted to harm me,” said Louis.
“Could it be that some vile insects have troubled Your Majesty?” Fouquet exclaimed in horror. “I have taken every precaution against such a possibility. The windows are screened with the finest fabric, allowing fresh air to pass through, but not a single flying or crawling insect must penetrate them. Your bedroom has been rebuilt, every element of the bed and bedding made of fresh materials, and no one slept in them until Your Majesty’s arrival! There simply should not have been, nor could there have been, a single insect in the bedroom. Not even a single ant, although these tiny creatures will penetrate anywhere. And yet, I cannot help but trust Your Majesty, and I will take measures to punish those responsible, and also try to atone for the inconvenience caused you by these annoying insects. Allow me to consider what gift could atone for my guilt?”
"The best gift I could give, Monsieur Fouquet, would be for you to bring to my attention as quickly as possible all those who disturbed my sleep!" Louis replied.
"You want me to collect all the insects we can find in your bedroom?" Fouquet said in surprise.
"We're not talking about insects at all," the King said coldly. "As for insects, that's just your imagination. I personally haven't seen a single insect in the bedroom you've given me to sleep in."
"Could it really have been mice?" Fouquet exclaimed in horror.
“That sounds more like the truth, but aim higher, Monsieur Fouquet,” replied the King.
"Are you bothered by rats?" asked Fouquet, pale with horror.
"Aim higher, Monsieur Fouquet," said the King with irritation. "Don't you understand that we are talking about people?"
"Were you disturbed by people?!" Fouquet exclaimed, even more horrified. "Did someone really dare disturb your sleep? And how could they? After all, your bedroom was guarded by musketeers! And your personal secretary slept in the room directly outside!"
"The bedroom assigned to me is of original architecture, Monsieur Fouquet," Louis replied sarcastically. "Aren't you aware of it? Who, after all, was responsible for the architectural work during the construction of the Ch;teau de Vaux-le-Vicomte? Wasn't it you yourself?"
“The house was built primarily according to the architects’ designs; I personally checked the plans and made sure that everything was as convenient for the guests as possible, rather than for the owners,” replied Fouquet, who deliberately called his palace by the simple word “house,” realizing that the King was dissatisfied with the fact that the Vaux-le-Vicomte palace surpassed even the Louvre in some respects.
"And who supervised the construction?" asked Louis.
“As for Your Majesty’s bedroom, the construction was supervised by Monsieur d’Herblay, Bishop of Vannes,” said Fouquet, still not understanding why the King was inquiring about these insignificant circumstances of the matter.
"So this bishop of yours is a conspirator, and you will immediately tell me the place where he is probably hiding from just retribution!" the King said, almost dispassionately, but clearly and loudly.
"There was an attempt on Your Majesty's life?" Fouquet said despairingly. "In that case, I deserve the most severe punishment if I allowed this to happen while you were visiting me."
“Two of you, you allowed this to happen and deserve punishment, but first of all I would like you to help expose and capture the conspirators, of whom there were at least two,” said Louis.
"Either he truly knows nothing, or he's very skillfully pretending," thought Louis. "But he's not an idiot, really! If he were involved in this, he'd be abroad long ago! After all, in that case, he wouldn't have anything to count on from me for clemency. He should have realized by now that his plot has failed, and nothing good awaits him!"
"They dared to raise a hand against Your Majesty, what a horror!" exclaimed Fouquet.
"Yes, they dared to attack me and wanted to treat me with the utmost disrespect, but fortunately, almost immediately, Captain d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers peeked into my bedroom and dispersed them. Unfortunately, he didn't realize what was happening quickly enough, so the conspirators managed to escape through a secret passage. And for this secret passage, you will answer to me, Monsieur Fouquet."
“I am in your power, Your Majesty,” replied Fouquet.
He knelt down and removed from his neck the gold chain that distinguished his ministerial dignity.
“Get up, Monsieur Fouquet,” the King ordered. “You have apparently fallen victim to deception; you trusted this very bishop and his gang too much. If so, you will not be punished. You remain my minister and superintendent of finances, but I warn you that the investigation will be conducted impartially, without regard for persons. But this is a secret matter. At present, only you, Monsieur d’Artagnan, and the conspirators themselves know of it. If anyone else learns of it, I will consider you not only a chatterbox, but a traitor. I forbid you to discuss this matter with anyone, but you are obliged to facilitate the speedy capture of the conspirators, whom I believe you know. One of them was undoubtedly this very bishop, who, for some unknown reason, supervised the construction of my bedroom. Is that an appropriate occupation for a bishop? We will deal with that later. Tell me the name of the second person.”
"Did you have time to spot the attackers, Your Majesty?" Fouquet asked.
"But I didn't see them!" the King suddenly realized. "They kidnapped me in my sleep! And it was dark in the carriage. But Bezmo must have seen them, and so must his men! We must ask them for the criminals' descriptions!"
"I will provide you with descriptions of these two men after I am convinced of your voluntary cooperation with the investigation," the King replied. "Describe to me those you suspect most. Write their portraits. After that, I will be able to draw final conclusions about how faithfully you serve me, Monsieur Fouquet. So, who else do you suspect besides this bishop of yours?"
"The Bishop of Vannes has a friend, Baron du Valon," Fouquet said thoughtfully. "He is a man of exceptional athletic build, a full head taller than anyone else, and his strength is equal to that of four or even five men. It must be said that the thickness of his arm above the elbow is much greater than that of an ordinary man's leg, and it is all muscle, not a single speck of fat!"
"You seem to admire this man?" Louis asked discontentedly.
"I merely admired his athletic build and his devoted friendship with the Bishop of Vannes," replied Fouquet. "I have no doubt that he assisted him in this crime, if it is confirmed that Monsieur d'Herblay was involved. But if so, I cannot admire state criminals."
"Very well, go, Monsieur Fouquet," said Louis. "If everything you have just told me is the absolute truth, and if you are truly not involved in this matter, I command you to forget it; we will investigate it ourselves. However, carefully examine the arrangement of the bedroom in which I was invited to spend the night, and give me a full account of everything you find there. This will be included in the secret indictment against the criminals, this very Bishop d'Herblay of Vannes and his athletic friend, Baron du Valon. Go. Tell Hubert to find Captain d'Artagnan for me; tell him to come to me immediately."
Fouquet bowed and left. Seeing d'Artagnan in the reception room, he informed him that the King was waiting for him.
"Tell me, Monsieur d'Artagnan, do the names of the Bishop of Vannes, d'Herblay, and his athletic friend, Baron du Valon, mean anything to you?" asked Louis.
“These names speak volumes to any Frenchman, Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And it seems they were your friends?" asked Louis.
"Friendship, Your Majesty, knows no time," replied d'Artagnan. "The people Your Majesty has deigned to mention have been and remain my friends, and they will remain so as long as at least one of us lives."
"So you're friends with conspirators, state criminals, traitors, scoundrels who raised their hand against their King?" Louis asked in a rather calm tone, but his eyes seemed to sparkle.
"If they are guilty, their case will be decided by the court, Your Majesty," d'Artagnan replied. "Or rather, by Your Majesty's court. If you find them to be state criminals, and that my friendship with them is also a state crime, then I am prepared to share with them the punishment Your Majesty determines for them. And I cannot say that this pleases me, but I do not think it saddens me too much. A soldier of the King always walks close to death, and if it falls to my lot to die with my friends on the same day, I will consider Fate extremely merciful. It is far more honorable, and even, I would say, more pleasant, to die with them than to see them executed and then remain alive, to be consumed hourly with the grief of losing my best friends."
"Nonsense, Captain!" Louis objected. "You did not betray me. You are innocent, you are not involved in this crime. I have no reason to punish you. Friendship with people who have failed in it does not cast a shadow on those who were let down. The sin of Judas does not fall on Christ."
D'Artagnan bowed silently.
"He is pleased that I do not blame him," thought Louis. "Now he will serve me even more zealously, in gratitude for the fact that I forgave him for this friendship with the conspirators!"
"If I'm thrown into prison or led to the chopping block now, I won't be able to help my friends," thought d'Artagnan. "They're not asking me to betray them in exchange for my freedom. They're simply not taking it away from me. For now. Well, that's something! I'll use it to warn them and, perhaps, save them!"

Chapter 267

As Porthos and I rode toward the fortress of Pignerol, where Jean Hers was to be placed under the guise of an extremely important and secret prisoner, only to make Philippe think his brother, Louis, was in Pignerol and not the Bastille, I thought the main thing had already been done. Should Philippe rebel, he wouldn't be able to prevent me from counterbalancing him with Louis, since he had no idea I'd hidden him back in the Bastille. While he sorted out the situation, I could act decisively and quickly. I had secured myself in this regard, and that was enough for the beginning. I hated wasting precious time on a pointless trip to Pignerol just to hide poor Jean Hers, whom I no longer cared about. He intended to assassinate Louis; that didn't matter to me. He'd already abandoned the idea, and that was enough for me, since I'd put Philip on the throne instead of Louis. So why waste my time on this overly hot-blooded youth who'd already spent time in the Bastille and come to his senses?
"Even the Duke of La Rochefoucauld spent only a week in the Bastille, by Richelieu's order, before the Cardinal set him free!" I thought. "So should some unknown Jean Hers languish in prison until he rots alive, just for the ridiculous reason that he plotted against the King, whom I disposed of in one fell swoop? He deserved, perhaps, a final slap in the face, or a kick in the ass, and that would be more than enough for him! However, there's no point in him hanging around in France! I'll send him to Spain!"
"Listen, young man!" I said to him. "I thought it would be foolish to put you in another prison when you've already had enough time to think and repent."
“I wouldn’t give up my freedom, but I’m afraid that I’ll be caught and executed,” the young man answered with excitement.
I thought I might have overdone it, threatening him with the death penalty he supposedly faced. Firstly, the days of the stern Richelieu were long gone; secondly, he was merely plotting this crime, and probably not even seriously! Was it worth wasting my precious time on him now, when my prot;g; was on the throne, so in need of my advice?
"Listen, buddy, I've figured out a way to solve your case," I told him. "Get out of France as far as possible. Preferably to a country that won't hand you over to the King of France if they find you and identify you there. Spain, for example."
“How will I get there?” he asked.
"That's your business, but keep in mind that if you're caught and you tell me how you came to be free, it's best not to tell the truth, because it's so incredible that no one will believe you, and your punishment will only be worse," I told him. "Here's a hundred pistoles for your journey, and you must promise to take the shortest route to the borders of our blessed France, and never set foot there again, under penalty of death."
“A hundred pistoles won’t be enough,” the rogue lied.
"Okay, let's make it a hundred and fifty," I said. "Although I don't owe you anything, and it's me you owe your salvation to. But I'm in a good mood today."
"Thank you, Monsignor!" exclaimed the rogue, and, jumping out of the carriage, disappeared into the nearby bushes.
"That's how easy it was to get rid of him!" I said to Porthos and slammed the carriage door.
“You bought off an unnecessary witness,” Porthos guessed.
"Something like that," I agreed. "To be honest, I figured he'd start haggling, and I was even prepared to give him three hundred pistoles, but in all honesty, he doesn't deserve even twenty. So, we should get back to His Majesty now, but don't even think about telling him we've released this unfortunate man."
"So we disobeyed the King's orders and freed the criminal?" Porthos asked with some concern.
"Are you concerned about the moral side of the matter, or do you doubt that you'll receive the ducal title after this little prank of ours?" I asked.
"Neither," replied Porthos. "I'm interested in this question purely theoretically. To what extent can one disobey one's King without losing not only one's head or one's freedom, but also hoping to receive a noble title?"
"You yourself don't suspect, my dear Porthos, the importance of the philosophical question you've just touched upon," I replied. "At any rate, I don't know the answer, and it seems to me that the greater the degree of disobedience, the greater the chances of becoming a duke. Don't you see, from the example of all these Dukes of Ol;ans, Guises, Chevreuses, and La Rochefoucauld, that disobeying the King is their main occupation? So if you want to become a duke, you must accept this opportunity. But please, don't overdo it. From now on, we will disobey the King only if I first approve of this disobedience, or if I propose it to you myself."
"And wasn't it the same this time?" asked Porthos.
"And this time it was exactly like that!" I replied. "You are not only extremely perceptive, dear Porthos, but also very observant!"
"Yes, I am!" Porthos agreed, leaning back against the seat with such force that it creaked pitifully under his powerful back.
I was wondering how to explain to Philippe our too-quick return without disabusing him of the idea that Louis had been placed in the fortress of Pignerol.
"By the way, the order to place the prisoner we're escorting in the Pignerol fortress might still be useful to me!" I thought. "D'Artagnan would certainly have kept such a document just in case! I'll do the same!"
I didn't even realize then how right I was about d'Artagnan. The only difference was that d'Artagnan had a genuine order from the real King, which ordered him to place the impostor in the Bastille, while I had an order written by the impostor, which he believed would order me to place the real King in Pignerol. However, both orders bore the genuine state seal, affixed by Chancellor Seguier.
"We're heading to Vaux-le-Vicomte to see Monsieur Fouquet," I said to Porthos. "He's probably already spoken to the King about your duchy."
"That's very kind of him!" Porthos admired.
And indeed, when we arrived at Vaux-le-Vicomte, we found Fouquet there, who had already spoken with the King.
I spotted Fouquet from the carriage window. He, too, noticed our carriage and raised both hands, then waved them in our direction, as if shooing away pesky flies or trying to hint that we both should leave his domain immediately.
"Wait for me in the carriage, Porthos," I said. "By the way, there's smoked pheasant, a piece of boiled pork, and a couple of bottles of Burgundy in the basket. Have some refreshments, I think we'll be off for your duchy almost immediately after I've spoken with Monsieur Fouquet."
"Well, if we're in a hurry, we won't be dining at Monsieur Fouquet's," Porthos concluded philosophically and began to destroy the pheasant. "Should you leave some of this food?"
“I’m not hungry,” I answered sincerely, since I couldn’t think about food at such a moment.
"What are you doing here, you unfortunates!" Fouquet exclaimed when he saw me. "Leave quickly before you are caught!"
"Explain clearly what happened?" I asked.
"You are wanted as state criminals!" Fouquet continued to rage. "How could you disturb His Majesty's sleep in the middle of the night? It's a good thing you left in peace without causing him any harm. But what was the purpose of all this? And most importantly, how dare you betray me so cruelly? The shadow of your crime will fall on me too! I am already in His Majesty's disfavor!"

Chapter 268

I understood everything instantly. I still didn't understand how Louis had returned to his place, or where Philippe had disappeared to, but that was no longer important. Of course, only a true King could speak to Fouquet like that. Although I had advised Philippe not to show his favoritism toward Fouquet right away, he couldn't really be so overzealous in his desire to be like Louis that he would declare Porthos and me state criminals and order our arrest! And even report it to Fouquet! After all, I believed Fouquet wasn't yet so offended by my actions as to hand us over to the King. And I wasn't mistaken about him, thank God, at least in that!
“I can’t allow you to be arrested on my estate,” he said.
“Of course, because in that case you’ll be considered an accomplice,” I said with undisguised irony.
“That’s not the point,” Fouquet dismissed. “The King has already considered me your accomplice, but he has no proof, and that’s the only reason I’m not free yet. I simply don’t want you arrested, because you are my friends! Here’s what we’ll do. Go as quickly as possible to Belle-;le. The King’s guards won’t get to you there. If you feel you can’t escape persecution there, well, I hope you can find refuge outside of France. Take any of my warships and sail wherever you see fit! You’re already known there as my friend and assistant, but I’ll write a letter with the proper powers for you.”
"No letter is necessary; it's too dangerous for you if it falls into the hands of the royal investigators or the King himself," I replied. "Even if it's seen by someone whose loyalty we can't rely on, it would be a death sentence for you. Besides, you're already on the brink of death, and it has nothing to do with our actions tonight. Come with us, and you'll be saved, just like us!"
"Listen, my dear d'Herblay," Fouquet objected. "I will not demand an account of your nocturnal escapades in the King's bedroom. We simply do not have time for that, and I understand that you will not tell me your plan in a few words. And that is not necessary; I guess that you were planning to force His Majesty to forgive me for the offense I have committed against him, which is still unknown to me, and to see me only as a friend. A noble impulse, but futile. Besides, how could you be sure that a promise made under duress will be kept? It is a futile undertaking, but I have no right to judge you. Simply save your lives.
“Your life is in no less danger than ours, believe me, so I again suggest that you come with us immediately,” I said.
"Nonsense!" Fouquet objected. "An innocent man has nothing to justify himself for, but my escape would finally convince the King that I am your ally and, therefore, a conspirator, a state criminal! I will stay, even if I have to pay for it with my head! Better to die innocent than to escape guilty. If I escape, I will be guilty of at least that. The King ordered me to remain at Vaux-le-Vicomte and investigate the arrangement of his bedroom. He suspects there are secret passages there.
"Well, go ahead and sort it out," I said, feeling how little respect I had for such selflessness, which was no different from ordinary stubbornness, mixed with stupidity. "You remind me of a rabbit who approaches a boa constrictor's mouth in the hope of being caressed, simply because he's heard somewhere that boa constrictors are very fond of rabbits."
"Don't joke like that, d'Herblay!" Fouquet retorted. "If you waste another half hour on your jokes, you'll be in no mood for jokes! And refuse the carriage. Take Rapide and Fodre from my stables. They are my fastest horses. They are already saddled, as are Robuste and Valle. I give them to you, or any other horses you prefer."
"You're giving us your best horses!" I exclaimed. "I expected nothing less, thank you! But I'll leave Fodre with you in case you come to your senses. As for Porthos, Robuste would be more suitable; he's more resilient."
Fouquet nodded and headed into the palace, obviously intending to explore the King's ill-fated bedroom. Without wasting any time on further words, I waved for Porthos to follow me and headed for the stables.
"Was your guess confirmed?" Porthos asked.
"Exactly!" I replied. "We're leaving right now. The horses are already saddled in Fouquet's stables."
We found Rapide and Robuste under their saddles, a pair of loaded pistols in their saddlebags, sword scabbards hooked to the saddle pommels, and two pairs of excellent jackboots with spurs, one to my size, the other to Porthos's. We quickly changed our boots, mounted our horses, and galloped away.
"Remember, Porthos, your duchy depends on the speed of our travel!" I exclaimed. "But if, unfortunately, we are late, you risk losing your barony, and I my bishopric!"
"Why on earth would we be late?" exclaimed Porthos. "This good horse will carry me to Heaven or Hell! We are great friends!"
“So much the better!” I exclaimed and spurred my Rapide.

Arriving at Belle-Ile, we went to see the commandant, General La Vivi;re, in his office, leaving Porthos to wait for me in the reception room.
“Good evening, Count, I am taking command of the fortress,” I told him.
“Show me the documents that give you that right,” La Viviere replied.
"I am acting on the orders of Monsieur Fouquet," I said. "I am the Bishop of Vannes, a great friend of Monsieur Fouquet. Don't you recognize me?"
“I recognized you, Monseigneur, but the fortress has become the property of His Majesty, and Monsieur Fouquet is no longer in charge of the fortress and the island,” the commandant objected.
“Have you seen the deed of gift?” I inquired.
La Viviere was embarrassed.
"I only know what everyone knows," he replied. "Everyone says so."
"Who cares what these 'everyone' says?" I objected. "Do you have more compelling reasons for disobeying me?"
“I was sent here by the commandant of this fortress by order of the King and I obey only his orders,” the commandant replied.
“And where is this order?” I asked.
The commandant walked over to the cabinet, unlocked the locked door, and pulled out an order. I glanced at it and rejoiced inwardly.
"Don't you know that every order of the King must be stamped with the state seal, which is kept by Chancellor Seguier?" I asked.
The commandant looked in surprise at the order I returned to him.
"Indeed, how could they have forgotten the seal?" La Vivi;re asked himself, confused. "Perhaps the order is valid even without the seal? After all, it does have the King's signature!"
"Do you think His Majesty was joking when he decreed that every order of his must bear the state seal?" I asked, laughing. "Just take a look at this."
With these words, I presented the commandant with an order to arrest the secret prisoner and place him in the fortress of Pignerol.
"You see, my friend, this order is drawn up absolutely correctly. It bears the state seal, which was personally affixed to it by Chancellor Seguier!" I said. "He even signed his name below the seal, to be on the safe side. And I ask you to pay attention to one important detail. This order does not include a name. If you wish, I can add your name, Count La Vivi;re. Would you like this turn of events?"
“If you have an order for my arrest, I am ready to obey,” the discouraged commandant replied.
"I merely wanted to demonstrate to you that I could arrest you and imprison you in the fortress, but that is not my current plan," I replied. "I hope I have convinced you to submit to me?"
“You’ve convinced me,” the commandant replied.
"Don't be upset," I added, noticing a portrait of Ignatius Loyola in the commandant's room, which hadn't been there in this familiar office under the previous commandant. "I assure you, I have an even more reliable way to convince you to submit completely to me, but I wouldn't like to use it unless it's necessary."
I pointed with my eyes to the portrait of Ignatius Loyola, and then raised my hand to slightly adjust the hair on my temple, doing this in such a way that the commandant could notice the ring on my hand.
The commandant's eyes flashed for a moment, after which he bowed before me.
“You are the complete master here on Belle-Ile, Monseigneur,” he said more calmly, and I heard in his voice notes of complete and sincere submission, although without servility.
"I had no doubt about it," I replied. "I declare the fortress under siege, and troops are to be ready to fire a salvo at any ship not assigned to the fortress if it attempts to dock. A quarantine is declared. No one is to leave the island without my permission, and no one is to enter it."
The commandant bowed with dignity and went out to carry out my order.
"Porthos! Come in!" I cried. "General La Viviere invites us to his study for a short respite and dinner before we go to our rooms."
"Saved!" I thought, collapsing into a chair. "Finally, I can get at least a few hours of rest. But I can't relax! If the King sends d'Artagnan to arrest me, the situation will be more than difficult!"

Chapter 269

I interrupted my story about d'Artagnan as he sat in the King's reception room, deep in thought. During this time, Colbert had come to the King twice, leaving with a worried expression. Finally, he came in a third time and was still there. Almost an hour and a half had passed.
"Aramis and Porthos left on some urgent matter," he mused. "Why would Aramis leave Philippe without his guardianship? Only to take Louis to the Bastille. Understandable, but he did that last night! Why wasn't he with Philippe this morning? He probably decided to make Philippe believe he'd taken the King to some more distant location. But before that, he escorted Philippe to the Louvre. Naturally, he needed an arrest warrant. He came to the Louvre to obtain the warrant's seal, and the seal is in the hands of Chancellor S;guier, who didn't go to Vaux-le-Vicomte. This is just a show for Philippe, nothing more, since he placed the King in the Bastille without any warrant, simply deceiving the Marquis de Besmos that the prisoner had been released by mistake. Okay, so Aramis didn't yet fully trust Philippe and decided, just in case, to mislead him about where Louis had been taken. Okay, he could mislead Philippe with an order, but he didn't have to go anywhere. If Louis had been placed in the Bastille, then the order was apparently for placing a prisoner under a false name in some other prison. I'd guess somewhere nearby, since Aramis wouldn't want to leave Philippe for long. However, he probably didn't even have a prisoner, and he hid the order, as I would have done. So, he simply needed to hide somewhere, under the guise of going to the place where he'd supposedly placed the King. What did he do next? Naturally, he visited Fouquet to find out the news at court. And Fouquet had already visited the King. He left an hour and a half ago and most likely returned to Vaux-le-Vicomte. Fouquet will cover the eighty-five miles to Vaux-le-Vicomte in six hours by carriage. No, I'm wrong! After all, the King ordered him to investigate the bedroom, and Fouquet himself, it seems, is eager to find out everything. Well, then, he will ride and hurry. When you carry out the King's orders, given in such a tone, there is no time for comfort on the road! The journey will take him no more than three hours. So, in an hour and a half, he will be in Vaux-le-Vicomte, and most likely, he will meet Aramis there. Naturally, he will pounce on him with reproaches, Aramis will realize that his case has failed and will hurry to disappear. Where should he hide? With Athos in Blois? That is no solution; they will find him there, and Aramis will not drag Athos into his affairs. So he will head straight for the island of Belle-Ile! That is where I can find both Aramis and Porthos! Well, I shouldn't rush there if the King orders me to arrest them. I'll go first to Vaux-le-Vicomte, then to Blois, and only after that, perhaps, to Vannes. If Aramis hasn't stopped there, I can spend a day or two making inquiries about him. That will give him extra time. After that, I'll leisurely make my way to Belle-;le. If, however, the King orders someone else to arrest Aramis and Porthos, then, on the contrary, I should hurry straight to Belle-;le to warn them. But will I be able to leave? Will the King grant me leave under these circumstances? Of course not. It follows that I must provoke the King into making disrespectful remarks about me, take offense, and ask for his resignation, which will allow me to go to them immediately. Not a very pleasant prospect, but what can I do? Or perhaps send someone else to warn him? Bazin, if he's not with them yet? Can I trust the lives of two friends to Bazin? He's a resourceful guy, if you remember him from his earlier years. But what is he like now?
D'Artagnan stopped twirling his right mustache and glanced at the wall clock. He had been sitting in the King's reception room for two hours already.
The sound of a bell was heard, Hubert, hearing this ringing, entered the King, after which he almost immediately came out and turned to d'Artagnan:
- Captain, His Majesty asks you to come see him.
D'Artagnan stood up quickly, adjusted his sword belt and resolutely stepped into the King's office.
The king looked resolute and stern. Colbert stood next to him with some papers in his hands.
"D'Artagnan, you must go immediately to the island fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer," the King said. "If the conspirators are Fouquet's friends, they are there. One of them, as you know, is the Bishop of Vannes. Monsieur Colbert, remind me who assisted the Bishop of Vannes in supervising the construction of the fortress of Belle-;le?"
“Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux,” replied Colbert.
"Captain, you are to arrest the Bishop of Vannes and the three men named, du Valon, de Pierrefonds, and de Bracieux," said the King. "Take all four bound and in a closed carriage to the Louvre, where I will interrogate them with your assistance. To arrest the rebels, take as many men as necessary to capture these four alive."
"Your Majesty, Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux is not three men, but one and the same," d'Artagnan said as gently as possible. "But to seize him by force, only the number of men needed to arrest three rebels would be needed. This man is extremely strong."
"Do you know him?" the King asked sharply.
“I met him several times, I don’t remember exactly how many,” replied d’Artagnan.
"You will take with you as many troops as necessary," the King replied. "You have no right to fail if the fortress resists. Even if the entire population resists you, the fortress must be mine; not a single person disobeying my will must remain within it."
"How much time do I have to get ready?" asked d'Artagnan.
"You must leave as quickly as possible, within half an hour at the latest, and move as quickly as possible," the King replied. "You must not let the criminals escape under any circumstances! If they escape you, Captain, I will consider you an accomplice to the conspiracy and a state criminal. If you carry out my orders properly, you will receive a marshal's baton."
"It takes considerable time to assemble and transport an army sufficient for a siege to the fortress, and a naval campaign requires your orders. Besides, the expenses…" d'Artagnan began, but the King interrupted him.
"The relevant papers have already been signed, and you will receive the money from Colbert immediately upon leaving my office," Louis replied. "You can take ten minutes to get ready. If you arrest the rebels before they arrive at Belle-;le, I will make you not a field marshal, but Grand Marshal of France. But if you let the rebels escape, I will personally tear up your captain's patent." The king's musketeers. And this will be a great favor on my part, an extreme leniency, which I will show you solely out of gratitude for the service you have rendered me, you know what I mean. Anyone else who failed to carry out this order, I would have had them court-martialed. Is everything clear to you?
“Why me?” d’Artagnan wanted to ask, but held back.
He'd already considered the situation and understood that it would be better for his friends if he were entrusted with their arrest. That way, they could be saved, meaning he would save them. Furthermore, he could rush to their aid without demanding their resignation or antagonizing the King prematurely. But he was troubled by the thought that the King had a reason for entrusting him with the arrest of the rebels.
"Colbert has learned that Aramis and Porthos are my friends!" d'Artagnan guessed. "He's set a trap for me. If I fail this mission, I'll be declared an accomplice. It's bad! But it would be much worse if someone else had been sent to arrest Aramis and Porthos, for example, d';pernon or Marshal de Grammont . Anyone!"
The king waved his hand, indicating that the reception was over.
Colbert followed d'Artagnan out of the King's office and handed him the King's order, which ordered all troops, land and sea, to obey Monsieur d'Artagnan, captain of the king's musketeers, acting by order of the King of France and for the good of France.
"Congratulations, Captain," said Colbert. "You are going to receive the baton of Marshal of France! However, fulfilling the King's orders will not be easy."
"Do you think so?" asked d'Artagnan.
"The fortress of Belle-;le is practically impregnable; it can only be attacked from the sea," replied Colbert. "Furthermore, the fortress is commanded by your friends, whom you must arrest. It's not easy for people like you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, to step beyond friendship. Are you prepared to arrest your friends to achieve success?"
"So it is!" thought d'Artagnan. "That ferret has discovered that Aramis and Porthos are my friends! So the reason why this matter was entrusted to me has been revealed!"
" You seem to be asking me, Monsieur Colbert, whether I am prepared to carry out the King's orders?" d'Artagnan asked calmly. "In other words, you are asking me whether I rightfully hold my position as captain of the king's musketeers?"
“I have not the slightest doubt that you will fulfill your duty, Captain,” Colbert replied with a smile.
"Prepare the money for this order you hold," d'Artagnan replied with a smile. "You heard that the King gave me only half an hour to get ready, five minutes of which have already passed. I'll have the money brought to the entrance to the Musketeers' Barracks; I don't have time to wait and count it!"
“The money is already prepared,” Colbert answered calmly. “Take it.”
With these words, he approached the secretary's table and took from the suitcase left on his desk two purses of gold, which he had prudently taken with him before his last visit to the King, which proved that Louis was acting according to the plan drawn up by Colbert.
"Thank you, Monsieur Colbert!" the captain replied. "Another time, perhaps, I can discuss with you such concepts as the duty of friendship and an officer's honor, but not today. I hasten to carry out the King's orders."
With these words, d'Artagnan left, while Colbert returned to the King's office.
The King's order, among other things, instructed d'Artagnan to raze the fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer to the ground in case of resistance, and to decide which of the fortress's rebellious inhabitants should be executed and which should be pardoned. Furthermore, he was specifically instructed not to allow a soul to leave the fortress, and to arrest the Bishop of Vannes and Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux.
“Colbert is right,” thought d’Artagnan. “I’m not the man to seize the opportunity to gain a marshal’s baton at the cost of my friends’ lives. But I’m also not one to willingly put my head in the noose. Well, I must get there before the others and assess the situation, and then we’ll see who wins this game of conscience and death! Damn Colbert! Now I won’t be able to wander around looking for my friends, stopping first in Vaux-le-Vicomte, then in Blois! How was he able to figure out so precisely where Aramis and Porthos went? Perhaps he has spies everywhere? No, he couldn’t have known about Aramis’s crime! That means this man has extraordinary analytical skills. So much the worse!”
Returning to the room where the sergeant was waiting for him, d'Artagnan gave orders:
"D'Arlencourt, I leave immediately for Belle-Ile, accompanied by twenty musketeers. Look at these orders. You are to gather an army sufficient to lay siege to the fortress and follow me. If they refuse to obey you, contact Colbert and inform him of my orders. He will issue you the necessary credentials; I have no time for that. I leave in five minutes."

Chapter 270

As I have already written, Fouquet, in order to please the King, ordered changes to be made to the fortification plans for the fortress of Belle-;le, according to which the fortifications of the walls facing the coast of France were to be weakened, and those facing the sea were to be strengthened. I took measures to ensure that work on strengthening the walls facing the sea and, accordingly, England, was carried out, while work on weakening the walls facing the coast of France was not even begun. This was very fortunate for us in our current situation, especially since the cannons were not moved either. Belle-;le could be perfectly defended from attackers from any side, be it England or France. So I had no fears for the defense of the fortress, since it was doubtful that the King would throw all his naval forces into assaulting the island fortress, which, although more numerous, were certainly No faster than Fouquet's warships, well armed and equipped with the finest rigging, adapted for privateering expeditions against the merchant ships of countries that were not our strong naval allies—that is, strictly speaking, against any foreign ships. Moreover, Fouquet's ships were manned by the finest gunners in France, reckless, fearless, loyal to the superintendent, and able to quickly reload and aim a cannon, hitting the base of an enemy ship's mainmast with at least the second shot, no matter the pitching of the ship, and managing to insert a cannonball below the enemy ship's waterline just as that part of the ship's side was briefly visible above the waves. So I had no reason to fear either a naval assault on the fortress or a naval battle. Belle-;le could be considered impregnable, at least until the French fleet was equipped with ships as maneuverable and well-armed as Fouquet's, and with crews as good or better than his own. The ships were subordinate to the fortress's commander, and the commander was subordinate to me. I effectively became the rebellious master of an island fortress in the very underbelly of France, and I was prepared to wage war against her if that were my last remaining means of salvation.
Of course, I didn't want this war and hoped for a peaceful outcome. I still had options, including fleeing France. Looking back, I believe I should have chosen the best ship in Fouquet's fleet and immediately set sail for Spain or Portugal, or even Italy, Holland, or wherever. Under my control, under the authority of the Jesuit Order, there were even vast and quite independent territories in the New World. But I reserved this option for the most extreme case. A fighting spirit awakened within me. I understood that young Louis XIV would not be so easily defeated; I felt like the monarch of a small but powerful island nation.
"Well, it's no big deal that we were forced to leave the mainland and move to Belle-;le," I thought. "We should wait for the warships to arrive, after which we'll have a chance to test the strength of Belle-;le's fortifications, the range of its guns, and the accuracy of its gunners."
I remembered how King Charles of England, or rather his prime minister and favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, banned all ships from leaving England to prevent Milady from leaving with two diamond pendants stolen from Buckingham. This ban, of course, didn't stop Milady or the four friends carrying out Queen Anne's orders. I was saddened not by the fact that Louis XIV had declared a hunt for me and Porthos, but by the fact that there were only two of us, not four. If all four of us had been together, then we wouldn't have feared the King's wrath. Together, we stood up to both Richelieu and Mazarin, and these men were both wiser and more experienced than the young Louis!
I ordered the commandant to announce that a state of emergency had been declared throughout the fortress, and that round-the-clock duty should be carried out with particular care, since there was information that dangerous enemies would try to enter the island's harbors under the guise of royal ships, which is even more than likely, and in all the island's harbors at the same time.
"Don't let a single ship into the harbor, even one flying the French flag!" I told the commandant. "This is a provocation. Spain has seized some of our ships and will use them to try to seize the island."
The commandant did not believe my words, but this was not required; it was enough that he still obeyed me and received the version that he had to voice to his subordinates.
The next day, I noticed that the sea around the island was extremely deserted; there wasn't a single ship in sight, not even a run-down fishing schooner. Apparently, this was the result of collusion or even betrayal. Either way , all the ships had left the ports of Belle-;le, including the run-down boats. Apparently, the commandant had told them something about me, or one of his subordinates had. However, I realized that it no longer mattered who had betrayed me; I had to adapt to the new circumstances.
Porthos noticed it too.
"Listen, Aramis!" he said suddenly. "Don't you think the sea looks a little strange?"
"Too calm?" I asked, feigning distraction and pretending that this circumstance had gone completely unnoticed by me.
"That's not the point!" Porthos objected. "I'm looking at him and I can't figure out what exactly is unusual about him, but I'm ready to swear there's something wrong with him!"
"Are the seagulls screaming too loudly?" I prompted.
"No, that's not it! Seagulls always scream when they see fishermen," Porthos said doubtfully. "Wait a minute! Where are all the fishermen? I don't see a single boat!"
“There are probably not many fish in the sea today,” I answered indifferently, trying to pretend that I didn’t attach any importance to the absence of ships and didn’t even notice it.
“I don’t see a connection between the amount of fish in the sea and the number of boats with fishermen,” Porthos shrugged in bewilderment.
"What should fishermen do in a sea where there are no fish?" I asked.
"So that's it," said Porthos. "You seem to be right. Fishermen catch fish, and when the fish run out, they swim off to where there are still some left."
"You see, Porthos, how simple it all is?" I asked, hoping to end the conversation on this topic.
"Then where are all the other ships?" Porthos asked five minutes later.
“What do you mean, Porthos?” I asked.
"There are more than just fishing boats," Porthos said uncertainly.
“What do you need all this for?” I asked.
"You have to look at something when you're strolling by the sea!" Porthos said in surprise. "Otherwise, what's the point of such a stroll?"
“Breathe in the fresh sea air and admire the waves and the seagulls…” I answered absentmindedly, peering into the distance and wondering the reason for these changes.
"But that's not what's strange," Porthos persisted. "Those two sailing ships I sent to the mainland for beef, pork, and other provisions—they didn't return either, and it's about time at least one of them returned!"
It was such a surprise to me that I had to suppress a cry of despair.
"Repeat what you said, Porthos?" I asked. "Have you sent both our sailing ships to the mainland?"
"You know, Aramis, I can't live on fish and chicken all the time; I'm craving something more substantial," Porthos replied innocently. "Besides, you just said we're out of fish! See how thoughtful I am? They'll bring some real food here soon, so we can at least eat like normal people, if we have to stick around on this damned island where I'm simply dying of boredom!"
"You should have at least consulted me! You could have left at least one sailboat! What have you done, my God!" I exclaimed. "We have no choice left; we won't be able to sail to England or Spain."
"Thank God!" replied Porthos. "I hate sea voyages!"
"We're lost!" I said, laughing nervously. "Porthos wanted some veal and pork! I'll owe my death to your appetite!"
"They're dead?" Porthos asked, surprised. "Are the provisions so scarce here? What's so despondent, Aramis? Fish and chicken will do at a pinch; I'm not picky, by God, if that's how things turned out. Just don't sweat such trifles."
I could only smile sadly at him in response, and then I thought that there was no point in upsetting him if it did not increase our chances of salvation.
"I had planned a short sea excursion for today, but now it will have to be postponed indefinitely, dear Porthos," I replied to Porthos. "Now we find ourselves trapped on this island."
"It's just until our sailboats return," Porthos replied guiltily. "Not that long to wait, I suppose."
“Dear Porthos,” I replied, “it seemed to me that you were bored on this island, and I was planning to leave it altogether in a few days.”
"Aren't we expecting some important order from the King, like the one you keep telling me about?" Porthos asked in surprise.
"Orders?" I asked, puzzled, having almost forgotten the story I'd been feeding him all this time. "Ah, yes! Orders. Of course, we're waiting for orders. But they'll arrive soon."
"Damn it, he's not going to arrive by air! Since we're on the island, that means the King's order will be delivered by ship," Porthos reasoned. "And that means we can leave the island on the very ship that will deliver the King's order to us!"
"Your logic is impeccable," I replied, unwilling to explain to him how wrong he was. "We really can sail back on the very ship that will bring us the King's command."
"In shackles on my feet and hands," I added mentally, "straight to the Bastille, or worse! However, our fate also depends on how many members of the Order there are on the island, and how devoted these people are to their spiritual general."
"If you're so eager to get back, we could get a shuttle. There are shuttles here, after all," said Porthos. "I can get us one; I just spotted one here. It'll be fine for a sea voyage, and it could even take us to the shores of France."
"A shuttle? To France? No, that's a bad idea," I resolutely objected. "Not there, and not on that kind of vehicle!"
Porthos shrugged and began to watch the seagulls, as I had advised him earlier.
I thought I shouldn't continue to deceive Porthos so basely. Indeed, when did I begin to deceive him? At first, I deceived him only about the means to an end, but the end he was striving for was quite achievable! Porthos wanted to become a duke, even a peer. Only the King could make him a duke. But Louis XIV would never do that! And what merits could inspire the King to such generosity? If Porthos had a charming daughter, and if... No! This path was not for Porthos! And he had no other path to the dukedom! Except the one I had chosen. If Louis couldn't make Porthos a duke, another king was needed! It was as clear as day! So my goals coincided with Porthos's, although he didn't suspect it. But as soon as I realized that I had been exposed and Louis had been restored to his place, I had no time for remorse or confessions. We had to save ourselves, and save Porthos. If I'd confessed to him at that moment what had happened, he would have realized we were simply running for our lives. But Porthos never ran away, so telling him we were going to complete a service to the King for which Porthos would receive the dignity of Duke was the only way to save him. But it's extremely difficult to deceive someone who believes your every word, especially if that person is one of your best friends, one of your true friends!
"Porthos!" I said decisively. "I have something to tell you about our affairs at Vaux-le-Vicomte."
“But you’ve already told me everything!” Porthos said, surprised. “An impostor made an attempt on our good King. We captured him and threw him in the Bastille. It was a delicate matter, since the impostor vaguely resembled the King, although, you know, I didn’t see any resemblance! Our King is so noble, his bearing, his clothes, and all that, you know! And this pathetic little man, whom we tied up and took to the Bastille, isn’t fit to hold a candle to our glorious Louis XIV. What else can we add? What is there to discuss?”
"There is much to talk about," I objected. "But apparently you are not quite ready for it."
"I understand, Aramis," Porthos replied. "You believe the prisoner could have escaped from the Bastille and started a rebellion? In that case, we must hurry to the King's aid!"
"Porthos, do you see the ship?" I interrupted Porthos. "Isn't that a sail?"
"A ship!" Porthos exclaimed happily. "And not just one! I see four! No, there are more! Why, there's a whole fleet here! And you're attacking me because of a couple of sailboats!"
"Yes, Porthos. These are ships of the royal navy!" I replied. "Warships!"
"So we're not in danger of starving to death!" Porthos rejoiced. "After all, warships don't only have dried fish!"
"You're right, Porthos! We don't have to worry about dying of hunger. The King won't allow it," I predicted gloomily.
"We'll have suckling pig with horseradish for dinner tonight!" Porthos said dreamily.
"To hell with the pig, Porthos!" cried Aramis. "Porthos, sound the alarm! Gunners to the guns! Your voice is louder than mine, shout it, Porthos! And let's hurry to the fortress."
"Alarm? But why alarm?" Porthos asked in surprise.
“Because these are the ships of the rebel we placed in the Bastille,” I lied. “Your prediction has come true, Porthos!”
"How did you find out about this?" Porthos asked in surprise.
"Think about it! Do the king's ships really approach a fortress belonging to the King with their battle flags raised and their battlements open?" I exclaimed, dragging Porthos up onto the fortress walls.
At my command, the fortress, which had already been brought into combat readiness, bristled with cannons in the direction of the Royal Navy ships. While the order to fire had not yet been given, I could count on the troops' obedience, but I was gravely afraid that the officers and soldiers would refuse to fire on the ships approaching the fortress under the flags of His Majesty the King of France.
We barely had time to run into the fortress and occupy the commanding heights when the first ship approached within firing range.
"If I give the order to fire, there might be a mutiny," I thought. "But if I show weakness and don't give the order, all the ships will simultaneously approach the island, and then the moment will be lost! If only they would send a messenger!"
Luckily for me, at that very moment a boat sailed away from the flagship under a white flag.
"Don't shoot the envoy!" I commanded.
When the boat reached the shore, it turned out that the role of the envoy was being played by the captain of one of the sailing ships, whom Porthos had sent for food.
“What’s going on, Captain?” I asked.
"I was captured, brought here, and given a package for you, Monsignor," the envoy replied.
As soon as I glanced at the envelope, I recognized d'Artagnan's handwriting, so I immediately opened it and read the following:

"The King's order: Seize Belle-;le. In case of resistance, consider the garrison hostile and attack. No negotiations, only complete capitulation; in case of refusal, exterminate the garrison. Arrest all garrison soldiers who show disobedience. Arrest the Bishop of Vannes and Baron du Valon and escort them to the Bastille. If they are killed, deliver their bodies to Paris. If they escape, pursue them by sea, preventing them from escaping to any of the neighboring states. This order is for execution by Charles d'Artagnan, Captain of the King's Musketeers.
Should the aforementioned Bishop of Vannes and Baron du Valon surrender voluntarily and the fortress offers no resistance, the garrison is relieved of any responsibility for obeying the rebels. If even a single shot is fired at the King's fleet, the culprit is subject to execution on the spot. In the event of armed resistance, the fate of the defenders of Belle-;le is left to Captain d'Artagnan personally to decide.
In the event of voluntary surrender, the rebels will have the opportunity to personally inspect the order of His Majesty the King. I certify the authenticity of the text of His Majesty the King's order.
Signed: Captain d'Artagnan."

I crumpled the paper in my hand.
"What did Monsieur d'Artagnan tell me to tell us verbally?" I asked the envoy.
“Captain d’Artagnan invites you to his ship for negotiations,” he replied.
"Here we are again!" Porthos rejoiced. "My dear d'Artagnan has come to us!"
With these words he jumped onto the parapet of the fortress and began waving both hands, shouting:
— D'Artagnan! We are here, d'Artagnan! It's Porthos and Aramis!
"Sit down and calm down!" I cried sharply. "Sit down and listen, I tell you!"
"It's d'Artagnan!" Porthos continued to rejoice, hugging me by the shoulders with his heavy arm.
But I covered his mouth with my hand.
"Are you crazy?" I whispered to him. "If it were d'Artagnan, why would he send a messenger to us? He could have come himself, without fear! Who can guarantee that this isn't a trap?"
The smile slid off Porthos's face.
"A trap?" Porthos whispered. "By whom?"
"From the one they don't talk about," I whispered in a low tone, putting my finger to my lips. "The man from the bed."
"So that's it," said the naive Porthos. "What are we going to do?"
"We invite Monsieur d'Artagnan to negotiate with us," I said to the envoy. "Is that correct, Monsieur Baron?"
"Of course!" Porthos replied joyfully. "We are always glad to see d'Artagnan, wherever we are!"
"Go get an answer!" I said to the envoy. "Let the envoy through! Don't shoot!"
The boat with the envoy sailed towards the ship, and I put my hand on Porthos’s shoulder.
“We need to have a serious talk, Porthos, and clarify some of the specifics of our situation,” I said.

Chapter 271

I couldn't refuse a meeting with d'Artagnan. Besides, I couldn't sacrifice the lives of all the soldiers and officers for the sake of slightly delaying Porthos and my death. There remained a fleeting chance of escaping by sea, if we had a fast ship and if we could set sail early, without waiting for the Royal Navy to appear. I had made a mistake! I had placed my hopes on the fortress's impregnability, believing that the King's troops would have a hard time taking it, but I hadn't taken into account my own moral inhibitions, the voice of God within me that prevented me from starting a new civil war. Perhaps I was flattering myself, and it wasn't the voice of God, but doubt that the garrison would submit to me. Why lie in my notes, which are not intended for anyone to read? Even so, I was afraid that they wouldn't listen to me, that they would betray me and hand me over. A man He always easily finds noble motives to explain his actions, committed for far from the most noble reasons, or even for downright shameful ones. The authority of the General of the Jesuit Order is not sufficient to subjugate the garrison commander to the point of armed resistance against the King's troops. Although the Order's charter stipulates this, not all Jesuits are prepared to go that far. Besides, the garrison wasn't composed entirely of Jesuits! What good was the resistance in La Rochelle, which we ourselves had once stormed? After all, it disobeyed the King for almost the same reasons I intended to rebel against his son. No, armed resistance to the King is not my path! I haven't woven my web of influence so subtly and so long just to turn into a cornered, embittered ferret!
I had to save at least Porthos, if I myself was not destined to be saved. I had to explain first to d'Artagnan, and then somehow to the King, that I alone was to blame for everything, that I had no accomplices, and that Porthos had simply been misled by me, sincerely believing he served the King!
"Listen, Porthos," I said decisively. "I am the scoundrel who deceived you!"
"Are we planning a prank?" Porthos smiled. "We'll play a joke on d'Artagnan."
“I deceived you, Porthos, I drew you into a state crime,” I said, emphasizing each word.
"You deceived me?" Porthos asked with a soft smile. "Why?"
“At that moment, I thought it would be better this way,” I answered, embarrassed.
"Did you do this for my benefit?" Porthos continued.
“That’s what it seemed to me at the time, Porthos, although in reality everything turned out to be completely different,” I said sincerely.
"Can you really be held responsible for your hopes being dashed?" Porthos asked naively. "After all, if we start holding someone accountable for their hopes not being fulfilled, then we'll all be to blame!"
"But as a result of my miscalculations, you could suffer greatly, Porthos!" I continued, despairing that Porthos refused to understand the full extent of my guilt before him.
"If you only knew how many times I've suffered because my hopes were dashed! What a thing!" Porthos burst out laughing.
"It's my fault you're now a state criminal!" I cried out in despair.
I think I would have felt better if Porthos had gotten angry and blamed me for his misfortune. But that didn't happen. Porthos's enormous heart wasn't enormous for nothing; it was also infinitely kind, something I confess I never noticed, though I should have seen it every hour! And with his subsequent words, Porthos, who thought he was reassuring me, only made my heart clench even more, filled with despair and pain for my actions toward such a noble man.
"And when d'Artagnan and I disobeyed Mazarin's orders, and instead of obeying Mordaunt, we obstructed his actions and ultimately sent him to his ancestors? We should have been called criminals too!" Porthos smiled disarmingly. "And nothing happened! We're alive and well! We got away with it! Maybe this time too, everything will work out?"
"Lord, grant me patience!" I cried. "Please understand, Porthos, that I've drawn you into a conspiracy! We've kidnapped the real King and replaced him with his twin brother! The death penalty is for that!"
"That must have been a fine trick!" Porthos chuckled. "That's no easy feat! You're quite the mastermind, Aramis! If I'd known I was tying the King's arms and legs with ropes, I'd have been gentler with him."
"Is that all you have to say to me about this?" I cried out in despair. "But we rebelled against the King! We might die a painful and shameful death on the Place de Gr;ve! And you find this situation amusing, lamenting only that you weren't careful enough when dragging and tying up the King, whom we didn't even wake up! Doesn't the prospect of being executed upset you?"
"I believe you," Porthos replied seriously. "If we've encroached on the Royal power, that means we could indeed be executed. That's a far cry from receiving a ducal title."
"Yes, a thousand times yes!" I exclaimed. "That means we're criminals! We both won't be rewarded, but punished, and you, completely innocently, because I deceived you! Everything you did, you did because of my deception! I'm an adventurer, a conspirator, and a rebel!"
"It means you've realized our King isn't as good as they say," Porthos replied. "I believe you, Aramis. After all, you consulted d'Artagnan, and he advised you on this matter?"
"I didn't consult anyone! I decided this alone, me, and no one else!" I said wearily. "And therefore, responsibility for this crime lies with me alone!"
"Well, now it's between the two of us," Porthos retorted coolly. "So, goodbye to piglet and horseradish? We won't get proper food today or tomorrow, that damn fish again?"
"Soon there might not even be any fish," I said in a completely tired voice, because I didn't understand this man at all. "How would you like a menu consisting of bread and water?"
"At least some variety. First bread, then water!" Porthos replied calmly and winked. "Still, it would have been better with a pig and a bottle of Burgundy!"
“We’ll most likely be executed,” I said resignedly.
"We're being executed, you say?" Porthos chuckled again. "We had a grand time last time!"
"Oh, Porthos, my dear Porthos, I won't let this happen!" I almost howled. "I promise I'll find a way to save myself, believe me."
"So that's why you were so upset that I sent away both sailboats?" Porthos asked, frowning.
"Alas, yes!" I admitted a fact that would have been obvious from the start to any military man except Porthos.
"Then we're even, for not only did you deceive me, but I also let you down. Forgive me, Aramis!" Porthos said sincerely, looking into my eyes with regret.
I wanted to howl and whine, throw myself on the ground and dig it with my hands, kick it and curse it for not opening up under me so that I could fall straight into Hell.
"This is unbearable!" I exclaimed. "You are a saint, Porthos! I expected you to be indignant and swear."
"What's the point of arguing when the deed is done?" Porthos asked innocently. "We have our swords with us, don't we? So we'll sell our lives dearly!"
"Oh, Porthos, dear Porthos!" was all I could say.
“You probably think, Aramis, that I’m too upset about not being a duke and a peer?” Porthos said indifferently. “It’s nothing, don’t think about it. I’ve already forgotten about it. I just wanted to have some fun. I was too bored at Pierrefonds, where everything was smooth, well-fed, rich, cozy, and, God forbid, monotonous. Many times I thought that my whole life could pass like this – one day would be no different from the next. Frankly, I don’t care about titles, I don’t care about all the dukes and peers put together or about each one of them individually! Somehow it occurred to me that I should come up with a goal for myself that would be simply unattainable. Achieving the impossible – that’s what we did when we were together, all four of us. And we did achieve it! What’s it like to do what’s obviously impossible, to achieve what’s absolutely impossible?” Isn't that the spice of life? Do you think, my dear Aramis, that I'm such a fool as not to understand that the King will never make me a duke, much less a peer? Even our dear Athos, who, I've heard, is actually a marquis, calls himself only a count, out of modesty. Do I look like a man who would seriously dream of rising above Athos? Ranks in the noble hierarchy are insignificant to me! I even became a baron by accident; I'd say my joke went too far, and to my own surprise, I received a baronial coronet for my carriage when I least expected it. D'Artagnan, I remember, came to me and began praising my life, my wealth, and my strength. My late father used to say to me: "Isaac, if someone praises you, beware, it means they want something from you!" I immediately thought my friend wanted something from me, but he didn't know how he could lure me into this new adventure. I immediately made up a story about how I passionately wanted to become a baron, and I think he believed me. What's more! Even I eventually came to believe that fairy tale myself! Tell me, my dear Aramis, do you really think that, just so some neighbors would stop turning up their noses at me, I'd be willing to go who knows where, do who knows what, and even spend my hard-earned money on it, just to get such a trifle as a baronial coat of arms? To hell with all the coats of arms in the world! I was simply bored, and the best entertainment for me would be a joint venture, all four of us! Naturally, I pitched this idea to our friend, and he happily seized on it, thinking he'd caught my interest and now he could command me! If he'd simply come and said, "Porthos, damn it! I have a matter I can't handle without you. It's devilishly dangerous, I don't know when or how it will end, and you have no prospects for anything good except the danger of being killed or imprisoned! So, do you agree to follow me?" I would have answered him, "Why such long speeches? When are we leaving?" So, when you came to me and promised me a ducal title, that very thing I'd recently dreamed up as an unattainable goal, I simply pretended that I desperately needed that very duchy. So what if I don't become a duke? I never seriously hoped for that!
"My friend, if it were up to me, you would become a prince!" I said sincerely.
"Nonsense, I prefer to remain Porthos!" replied Porthos. "I already have three names, one of which is a baron's." The joke has become reality. This doesn't happen twice in a lifetime. By telling me I won't become a duke, you haven't told me anything new.
"Dear Porthos!" was all I could say.
“Yes, Aramis, I’m listening,” replied Porthos. “So, have we finally fallen out with Louis XIV? Things are bad. He won’t invite me to dinner again, much less to supper. I think that if I invite him to dinner at my place, he’ll refuse too. And yet, in my castle, following the example of all the ancient French castles, I built a special room called the ‘King’s Bedroom’, in case His Majesty is passing by and wants to rest, enjoying my hospitality. This room contains the most exquisite and newest materials; no one has ever slept in it, it is furnished according to the latest fashion and luxury. I don’t think this bedroom will be needed anymore. What do you think, would it be better to make it my own bedroom, or have the doors sealed with stones? Or perhaps I should convert it into a library? I have twenty thousand volumes of all kinds of books, and I think I’ve even begun to read two of them.” But after reading a couple of pages, I gave up.
“I acted like a complete selfish person,” I replied. “Your life will be different. You won’t be able to return to Pierrefonds. You probably won’t even be able to return to France. I can’t even promise you that we’ll be alive in a week. You don’t have to forgive me.”
“Come on,” Porthos interrupted. “You acted solely in your own interests, just like everyone else on Earth. I can’t possibly be angry with you for not being a saint. And that’s enough about that. And as for the fact that we might not survive the next week—well, a soldier’s whole life is lived with the understanding of that fact! We’ve lived too long in this world! We’ve buried so many comrades, it’s impossible to count! And as for those who died in duels, you could say they didn’t give their lives for a pinch of snuff! At least you and I were aiming for something great. Better to die strained from the effort than in a warm bed. And yet, most people go to the next world from their beds! How boring!” You lie there, unable to rise, aware that your life is drawing to an end. You're spoon-fed rice water and mashed apple, and you chew it toothlessly, unable to taste it, and you defecate, oblivious to the stench it produces. Your relatives and servants avoid visiting you, hastening the moment when you'll free them from your presence! Better a bullet to the heart on the battlefield, or, at worst, an executioner's axe that instantly severing the head from the body. Never mind, Aramis. This way or that, what difference does it make if all roads ultimately lead there?
With these words, Porthos shook my hand, which almost made me cry out.
"Forgive me!" Porthos said, embarrassed, noticing the pain on my face that I couldn't hide. "I misjudged my strength again."
"It was I who misjudged my powers!" I cried out in despair. "It is I who should beg your forgiveness."
“You received it a long time ago,” Porthos waved it off.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I wasn't ashamed of them. Porthos's nobility was boundless. And we always called Athos noble! I don't think Athos could have been more at the height of his nobility and brotherhood than Porthos was at that moment!
Porthos didn't do anything; he simply forgave me for the simple reason that he considered me his friend. I hugged Porthos tightly, thinking that I should have hidden my tears from him, otherwise he might start begging me for forgiveness! That would be too much!
"Listen, Porthos," I said finally. "You are the unfortunate victim of a deception I led you into. You are not the King's enemy. The blame lies entirely with me, and I am the only one to blame in this matter, so I believe you are in no danger. With d'Artagnan's intercession, you will easily make peace with the King."
“Even I don’t believe this fairy tale,” Porthos calmly objected. “You and I are in an equal position and our destiny will be the same.”
"We'll both be arrested and executed!" I insisted. "The fortress is fine, but it won't withstand a siege involving the entire royal fleet under d'Artagnan's command. Besides, I've decided not to resist d'Artagnan."
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos exclaimed. " But he's the one who commands the fleet! He'll let us escape."
"He received orders to arrest us," I shook my head. "I believe his career and life depend on how he carries out this order."
"And for such a trifle d'Artagnan would betray our friendship?" Porthos asked in surprise. "Would you really do that in his place?"
I blushed deeply at these simple words of Porthos.
"But he agreed to lead the pursuit of us!" Aramis exclaimed.
"Of course, to give us a chance to escape!" Porthos objected without a shadow of a doubt.
"It's hard to predict what exactly he's up to," I shook my head doubtfully. "D'Artagnan is d'Artagnan."

Chapter 272

"Very accurately stated!" I heard d'Artagnan's voice, after which I was surprised to see him himself. "I am I, have no doubt about it!"
Indeed, with these words our friend appeared before us, having sailed in a boat, which we had not noticed due to our heated discussions.
"You're waiting for me on the shore, friends! How sweet!" he exclaimed, easily jumping out of the boat onto the pier.
Quick as a twenty-year-old, he ran up the stone stairs to the landing where we met him. Following him, not as quickly but almost keeping pace, came an officer.
D'Artagnan stopped halfway. His companion did the same.
Seeing that d'Artagnan was accompanied by only one officer, I ordered everyone except Porthos to withdraw so that they would not overhear our conversation. d'Artagnan nodded and turned to his companion:
"Sir, despite the King's order placing the entire fleet at my disposal, you have disobeyed my command. I am prepared to acknowledge your superiority on your ship only within certain limits. This is not a Royal Navy ship, so I request that you retire to the boat, as I will be holding confidential negotiations with the enemy."
"Sir," the officer replied, "I have scrupulously carried out the orders given to me before sailing. I was ordered to follow you everywhere and not to allow any negotiations with the enemy without first being informed of their content. That is precisely what I am doing."
D'Artagnan trembled with anger.
"Sir," he said quietly but distinctly, "it seems to me you have twenty pockets, and in each of them lie a dozen orders that bind me hand and foot. Meanwhile, I have received from the King the highest authority in all branches of the armed forces, land and sea, which I believe I informed you of immediately upon my arrival on your ship and gave you the order to read from the first letter to the last!"
"Captain," the officer replied, "the orders I have received in no way contradict those you have received. You are in charge, and I am in charge of accompanying you at all times, not moving further than one fathom."
"Sir," d'Artagnan continued, "I no longer care for you or the orders Monsieur Colbert gave you! I have been insulted! In my entire life, I have only been truly angry six times, and in five of the previous cases, it ended in the death of the one who angered me, and only in one case did the person manage to escape and hide behind a secret door! I see no walls here, therefore, no secret doors. Therefore, nothing will prevent me from impaling you on my sword like a beetle!"
"D'Artagnan himself isn't free in his actions!" I remarked. "However, he seems seriously committed to ensuring our salvation, which is why he's feigning anger. Knowing him, I can see he's calmer than ever."
The officer turned pale, but answered very reservedly:
"Captain, you can kill me, but my assistant has orders for that. If you return to the flagship in this boat without me, you will be immediately arrested for dueling in wartime, and my assistant will lead the entire operation to capture the fortress."
Porthos and I watched this dramatic scene with bated breath.
D'Artagnan came close to the officer.
- Sir, besides the fact that you are to be no further than a fathom from me, do you have any further instructions?
“In all other matters I must obey you completely, Captain,” was the reply.
"Then be at ease!" cried d'Artagnan.
The officer stood at attention.
"Porthos, cover this young man's ears with your hands, but be careful not to crush his head. I need him alive and unharmed!"
Porthos pressed his plump palms so tightly to the officer's ears that the latter began to fear that his head would crack like a dry nut under the hooves of a young stallion.
"Be careful, Porthos. Can't you see he's barely alive?" d'Artagnan said with a smile. "Be gentle. So, the officer is no more than a fathom away from me, all orders are being carried out, all conditions are met."
D'Artagnan and I hugged each other, after which D'Artagnan also hugged Porthos.
"I didn't expect to be so helpless!" d'Artagnan said regretfully. "While nominally leading the campaign, I'm essentially just Colbert's puppet! But let's talk quickly."
"What do these strict rules mean?" asked Porthos.
“Porthos knew nothing about it, he was only an executor of my will,” I hastened to say.
D'Artagnan cast a reproachful glance at me, which made me feel uneasy.
"The devil take it!" cried d'Artagnan. "I had such a plan, and it's falling apart at the seams! I was going to take you both aboard my ship and take you wherever you wanted, then return to the King, and come what may. But now I believe that in that case they'll simply add me to you, and all three of us will be dragged before the King in chains."
"This doesn't fit!" Porthos exclaimed.
At the same time, he absentmindedly squeezed the officer’s head a little harder, so that d’Artagnan had to shout, “Be careful, Porthos!”
"There's only one thing left to do," said d'Artagnan . "I'll begin the attack right here."
He pulled from his cuff a map of the fortress he'd drawn during his previous trip. I could only marvel at how accurate it was. The spot d'Artagnan had pointed to was one of the most impregnable, even though from the outside it might have seemed like a very good place for an assault.
"This will allow you to escape in the ensuing chaos," d'Artagnan continued. "At least prepare a shuttle for yourself, because if not me, then Colbert's spies, I guarantee, will turn over every pebble on the island to find you."
"Hide?" exclaimed Porthos. "Retreat? Never. Isaac du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux never retreated!"
"Porthos, are you going to fight against d'Artagnan?" I asked in surprise.
"No way!" exclaimed Porthos.
“You will not retreat, but will conduct a lengthy reconnaissance mission with the goal of occupying a more strategically advantageous position and preventing encirclement and subsequent capture,” d’Artagnan explained.
"That's a different matter!" Porthos calmed down. "Such things are acceptable in combat."
"There's another option, though," d'Artagnan said. "That scoundrel Colbert has filled the ship with his spies, who have all sorts of orders restricting my actions. I'll feign irritation, resign my powers, and while they find a replacement, you'll have at least a day to escape."
“That could work!” I nodded.
“Now, Porthos, let the officer go,” said d’Artagnan.
"Sir, at ease!" d'Artagnan ordered the officer. "And accept our thousand apologies for the inconvenience caused you by Baron du Valon's strong embrace. You reminded him of one of his favorite nephews, and he could not contain his outburst of affection. In a couple of days, your ears will no longer hurt. They will even return to their natural color, but that will only be in two weeks, and until then, they will resemble eggplants. Buy yourself a fuller wig; I will pay for it. You have not disobeyed orders, and I have not disobeyed any orders.
"And as a bishop, I absolve you of your sins, if you have any," I continued. "Your path to Heaven is assured."
“However, don’t rush into this,” d’Artagnan winked. “At least until you and I return to the ship!”
I know what happened next from d'Artagnan's own story.
Having boarded the ship, he assembled a council of war from the captains of the squadron entrusted to him.
"Gentlemen, I offered the rebels their surrender, but they refused," he said. "I intend to invite the two senior officers of the rebel fortress to negotiate on the flagship. We will demonstrate our strength to them, after which I hope to persuade them to surrender. Do you agree with me, gentlemen?"
At these words, the officer who had accompanied d'Artagnan to the shore took from his pocket a sealed packet with the number "1" on it and handed it to d'Artagnan.
D'Artagnan tore open the package with disbelief, pulled out and unfolded the paper and read:

"Monsieur d'Artagnan is forbidden to conduct any negotiations until Belle-Ile has surrendered and all prisoners taken with weapons in their hands have been shot.
Signed: Louis."

This clearly contradicted the order that d'Artagnan himself had received, according to which if the fortress did not fire a single shot, military action against the fortress should not be initiated!
D'Artagnan could hardly contain his indignation, but, having mastered himself, he answered with the most amiable smile.
"Who told you, sir, that negotiations wouldn't be necessary to force the fortress to surrender?" he asked. "It seems that for the enemy to surrender, at the very least, they must be declared an enemy and their pitiful position compared to the attacking forces must be demonstrated. Otherwise, no fortresses surrender, and the orders clearly state that the fortress's surrender must be sought! So, I'm doing exactly what's required of me, so don't bother me with all your absurd paperwork!"
"You've already been to the island," the officer objected. "You only had one word to say to the enemy: 'Surrender!' You had plenty of time to say it."
“I also had to explain to them the hopelessness of their situation in order to convince them to surrender,” d’Artagnan objected.
"The Commander-in-Chief does not conduct negotiations in person, especially on enemy territory," the officer replied dispassionately. "Firstly, it's extremely risky; secondly, such an action only involves collusion with the enemy. I have every right to exercise the powers granted to me."
"Excellent, sir!" exclaimed d'Artagnan, barely containing his anger. "I see that all the powers granted to me by His Majesty's papers are annulled by papers that have only just been shown to me, and of whose existence I had no idea! As I understand it, when two orders contradict each other, the one signed later is the one that has the highest authority. Shouldn't we check the date and time of your papers with the date and time of mine?"
"My paper contains a note announcing that it will annul the powers granted by His Majesty to Captain d'Artagnan if he behaves as stated in these papers," the officer replied. "You can verify this."
With these words, the officer handed the paper to d'Artagnan.
“In case you decide to tear up this order, I have a second copy,” he warned.
After thinking for a second, d'Artagnan feigned anger and exclaimed:
“Gentlemen!” he addressed the assembled officers. “I see that I have lost His Majesty’s confidence! The order granting me extraordinary powers is a mere piece of paper! Men far below me in rank have numerous orders in their pockets countermanding it! I wouldn’t be surprised if the last sailor on this ship also has some instructions for me! Well, I resign my command, and we are returning to the shores of France. You will be appointed a new commander-in-chief, who, I hope, will not be bound hand and foot by numerous packets of numbers and orders! In that case, he will probably accomplish what I see no way of accomplishing myself. We are returning, gentlemen!”
At the same time, d'Artagnan was almost certain that the time he had thus given his friends would be sufficient for them to disappear in an unknown direction.
But the same officer pulled out an envelope numbered "2" containing an order that read:

"In the event that Monsieur d'Artagnan should express a desire to resign his powers, remove him from command and deliver him under arrest to the King's disposal; the officer holding this order is instructed to assume command of the army and navy to carry out the mission entrusted to Monsieur d'Artagnan, who is to be considered from this moment onwards as the head of the expedition, the commander of the troops sent against Belle-Ile, and to complete the mission of taking the fortress and arresting or executing the rebels."

“If I put this order in my pocket,” thought d’Artagnan, “no one will know its contents, and then come what may!”
At that very moment he saw that all the officers around him were reading the same order, copies of which this officer had distributed to them.
"Sir," the same fatal officer bowed as he approached, "you must immediately go ashore with these four officers. A boat awaits you."
"Gentlemen!" he addressed everyone present. "You have received the King's order. From this moment on, I command the assault on the fortress."
"Well, Monsieur Colbert," d'Artagnan thought to himself, "you have won this battle. Will you be able to win the war against me?"
And he descended into the boat, accompanied by four officers.

Chapter 273

After parting with d'Artagnan, Porthos and I went to the main fort.
“So Porthos,” I said, “d’Artagnan, at the cost of his career, and even, perhaps, at the cost of his freedom, gives us a day.”
"What will this give us?" asked Porthos. "And should we accept his sacrifice?"
"If we're saved, we'll repay him this debt of friendship with interest, no doubt about it," I replied. "But if we're not saved, then the dead can't be held accountable. Besides, if we die, then perhaps we won't accept his sacrifice. He'll report our deaths to the King, and in that case, he won't face any disgrace. Perhaps he'll even be made a Marshal of France for this heroic deed!"
Porthos did not detect the bitterness in my words.
"How wonderfully everything is working out!" he exclaimed. "Whichever way you turn, the outcome is quite satisfactory! Either we die for a friend, or we save ourselves to save a friend! You know, Aramis, I will never forget this adventure until my dying day!"
"I have no doubt about that, Porthos!" I replied with a bitter smile.
"Even if your memory, my dear Porthos, didn't retain events for more than a week, there's still a good chance you'll never forget this adventure until your dying day," I thought. "What a damned irony! My poor friend, whom I seem to have brought to such a predicament, is actually rejoicing in the circumstances!"
"Do you remember Locmaria's dungeon?" I asked Porthos. "I'm talking about that very dungeon where we ambushed the foxes so many times."
"Yeah, right," Porthos grumbled. "That damn cave! Two sleepless nights and not a single fox pelt left in the end!"
"So the Lord decided that these pelts were more necessary to their owners, the foxes, and did not allow us to get hold of them," I replied. "Forget about the foxes. I'm talking about the cave."
"It's just a cave, what business is it of yours?" Porthos asked. "Did you hide treasure there?"
"Something better for us under the current circumstances!" I replied. "There's a pretty good launch hidden at the entrance to this dungeon. True, it still needs to be rolled down to the sea, but there are rollers there, and there's a pretty decent natural chute leading to the sea. Between you and me, we can manage and roll it ashore."
"I can manage to roll the longboat down to the sea on the rollers alone!" Porthos replied serenely. "We just need someone else to take the free rollers from behind and place them in front of the longboat's bow!"
“That’s why, dear Porthos, we need the strength of both of us,” I explained.
“Well, if it comes down to it, then it turns out that there’s work for you too,” agreed Porthos.
"Excellent! However, three more assistants will be waiting for us there. This very night we will roll the longboat to the shore and put out to sea in it," I replied. "It looks like the tide will be in tonight, so we won't have to drag the longboat far along the shore."
"Where are we sailing to?" asked Porthos.
“Anywhere, just get away from France,” I replied.
"Are we leaving France forever?" Porthos asked with some sadness.
"We'll probably return to it, but to do that, we'll have to escape Colbert's clutches tomorrow," I replied. "We'll return to France victorious, Porthos, have no doubt about it! It's best for us to disappear from the island now, so that our friend d'Artagnan doesn't have to sacrifice his career to save us. And then we'll secretly return to France, if only to make sure d'Artagnan is alright and doesn't need our protection."
"That suits me," agreed Porthos. "After all, we're not retreating, but exchanging an unfavorable position for a more advantageous one?"
"Exactly so, dear Porthos!" I agreed.
But then, completely unexpectedly, the sound of cannon fire reached us.
I opened the window and the blood must have drained from my face, because Porthos asked me why I had suddenly become so pale.
"They're attacking!" I said. "Our friend d'Artagnan would never attack until the twenty-four hours he promised us were up."
"So he was relieved of command?" Porthos asked.
“No other way,” I replied. “Apparently, he’s been arrested, and someone else is commanding the attack! They’re attacking in a completely different place than d’Artagnan intended, which proves the attackers have a different commander. This spot was chosen perfectly for the attack. This commander is well acquainted with the layout of the fortress, and he’s a good commander. We won’t hold out for long. Besides, I’ve decided not to give the order to return fire. I don’t want any harm to come to the innocent soldiers and officers of the garrison. It seems we shouldn’t wait for nightfall and high tide. We’re heading for the Cave of Locmaria immediately!”
Porthos jumped to his feet, but suddenly cried out in pain.
"What's wrong with you, Porthos?" I asked anxiously.
"Nothing special," the giant replied. "I just suddenly felt an unbearable pain in both leg muscles. It's the first time this has happened to me! Give me a minute, it will pass."
“You need products that help with excessive muscle fatigue,” I said.
"What kind of products are these?" asked Porthos.
“Fresh milk or meat, millet, beans, carrots, spinach, potatoes, or fruits: apricots, peaches, bananas, nuts,” I said.
"None of what we have here on the island," Porthos replied with a grin. "No wonder my legs ache as if I've been doing squats with a young bull on my shoulders for four days straight!"
“Chew this herbal infusion,” I said, pouring a small pinch of powdered medicinal herbs into his palm.
Porthos licked the medicine I offered him from his palm and said that he felt much better.
He was clearly lying; the powder wasn't supposed to take effect for at least five minutes, not immediately. And yet, Porthos jumped up as if nothing had happened and said he was ready to follow me anywhere.
"Well, Porthos," I said, "there's a great deal of commotion in the fortress right now, making it the perfect time for us to conduct a lengthy reconnaissance mission to secure a more strategically advantageous position and prevent encirclement and subsequent capture! The launch awaits us in the Locmaria Cave! Forward!"
And I pointed my finger toward the coast opposite the one from which the French royal ships had attacked us. I understood that the opposite coast was probably also patrolled by ships, but perhaps d'Artagnan had managed to delay the dispatch of ships to that shore?
I opened a desk drawer, took out a heavy gold box, and emptied two handfuls of diamonds from it into Porthos's pockets, leaving for myself only a couple of rings with large emeralds. After that, I threw the box away with contempt: the gold was too heavy to take with me!
"On the road, friend Porthos! Hurry up!" I shouted, pulling Porthos along with me.
Having carefully hidden from prying eyes, Porthos and I finally reached a deep cave, to the exit of which I had previously ordered a good-quality barge to be rolled on rollers.
"Porthos, let me go first," I said. "Three Breton servants are waiting for us in the cave, and you don't know the signal, without which you risk getting a bullet or a sword thrust."
Having found all three at the appointed place, I ordered one of them to go for Porthos.
As soon as everyone was gathered together, we headed towards the hidden barge.
The barge was supplied with provisions, water and weapons, in a word, it was ready for a long voyage.
"There are two ways to get the barge down to the sea," one of the servants said. "We dragged it along the top; the slope there is smooth, nothing will get in our way."
"But they might see us, and then everything's lost!" I objected.
"The other way is along the bed of this cave," the same servant reported. "However, at the end of the cave lies a large rock that recently collapsed from above. It will prevent us from pulling the barge out to sea unless we remove it."
"I saw that stone!" said Porthos. "I can remove it alone if necessary."
"Monsignor! It will take at least ten men to move this stone!" the servant objected.
"You're right," I agreed, "we'll try to drag the barge along the top. But we'll have to wait until dark."
Suddenly the barking of dogs was heard.
“It’s a pack,” Porthos remarked, “the dogs are following the fox’s trail.”
"Who hunts in such troubled times?" I asked, surprised.
"Probably the one who considers this time and place most suitable for hunting!" Porthos concluded thoughtfully.
“The King’s Guards, who managed to land on the island, can afford to amuse themselves with hunting,” I suggested.
"Guards!" said one of the servants, who cautiously peered out of the cave.
At that moment, the fox, escaping from pursuit, ran into the cave, and the dogs ran after her, filling it with loud barking.
"Oh, damn it!" I cried. "Our hideout has been discovered!"
"That's true," Porthos agreed. "But if none of the dogs return from the cave, the guards will hardly find the entrance in this darkness."
“So we need to kill them all, and silently,” I agreed. “Let’s get to business!”
The Bretons rushed forward with knives in their hands, and in a few minutes the dogs were finished.
“Okay,” I concluded. “Now it’s the owners’ turn.”
"How many are there?" asked Porthos.
“There are sixteen of them,” answered one of the Bretons.
“I hope they are well armed,” Porthos smiled with a smile, “I hate long reconnaissance without reconnaissance in force!”
"We can handle that," I said. "Their eyes are unaccustomed to the darkness, whereas we've already gotten used to it here and can see quite well. Get everything ready—muskets and daggers."
The arriving guards, despite the darkness, discovered the entrance to the cave. For a moment, they hesitated to enter.
"Our dogs have all disappeared!" one of them exclaimed. "It's dark in the cave, and we have no flashlights. Perhaps there's a steep, deep drop off there, and all our dogs have fallen into it?"
"Listen," said one of the guards, probably the commander. "We're not hunting a fox. The dogs we brought from the coast are on the rebels' trail! Monsieur Colbert specifically ordered several belongings of the Bishop of Vannes to be taken so the dogs could follow his trail! We thought the dogs were distracted by the fox, but perhaps they were on the right scent, and the fox simply thought the dogs were after her?"
"Where did the dogs go?" asked another guard.
"Perhaps the cave is long and twisting, and their barking is simply lost on us. They're continuing their pursuit. Are we really going to leave our dogs here and return home empty-handed?" the first guard continued to persuade the others. "I admit that if the dogs were distracted by the fox, then they're not the best bloodhounds, but we simply don't have any other dogs! Besides, it's quite possible they've picked up the rebels' trail!"
"Well, Lieutenant, you're in command here," said another. "We're going inside!"
At these words, six guardsmen cautiously entered the cave one after another. The ten remaining outside listened tensely to the sound of their footsteps. We, with the help of our two allies, darkness, and surprise, easily dealt with these six .
"It looks like there really is some kind of hole there," said the senior officer, whom the others called lieutenant. "Here's what we'll do! We'll tie ourselves together with some kind of rope and descend as a chain, securing each other."
Since there was no rope to be found, the guardsmen decided to hold each other's hands, forming a human chain. As soon as the fourth guard in the chain disappeared into the darkness, a deafening roar was heard and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.
"Damn it, it's an ambush!" the senior officer shouted. "We'll flush them out of there! I think these are the very people we're hunting!"
"Hunting humans is one of the most exciting forms of hunting!" I thought. "But some of the hunters have already become the hunted! Be careful, lest the rest share their fate!"
I managed to reload the pistols, although perhaps some of the gunpowder spilled onto the ground in the darkness, but I decided that since I would be shooting almost point-blank, half the gunpowder would be enough.
Porthos and I, with the support of three Bretons, would have easily dealt with all sixteen guardsmen. Ten of them were already dead, but reinforcements unexpectedly arrived.
I decided to retreat, taking advantage of the enemy's confusion. We had almost rolled the longboat to the very mouth of the cave, leading to the sea. While Porthos pushed the longboat, three Bretons took turns placing rollers under it, and things were going smoothly. But ahead of us lay a large boulder, blocking the cave's escape route to the sea.

Chapter 274

We finally managed to drag the barge to this large stone, which stood like a giant guard in the very center of the passage. There was no way to go around it or drag the barge over it. It had to be pushed aside.
Porthos, like a Titan of antiquity, braced his shoulders against the top of the rock and gave it a mighty push. All four of us joined in, but I must admit, this merely doubled the force with which Porthos had been pushing the stone alone. After the third attempt, the rock was swayed; after the fifth push, it rolled down, clearing the way for the barge to reach the sea, and for all five of us, freedom.
The Bretons and Porthos dragged the longboat across the final stretch into the ocean, while I covered their retreat with muskets at the ready. Matters were complicated by the fact that reinforcements had arrived to join the advancing guards. Some of them pursued us into the cave, but others could ride on horseback and meet us on the shore. We had to hurry.
Having estimated the number of those arriving, I realized the utter futility of further fighting. The odds were too great. Engaging in a fight would have been fatal , but launching into the sea, opening the way for the enemy pursuing us, would have been equally foolhardy.
"Porthos, we have only one way out!" I exclaimed.
"Excellent!" replied Porthos. "That's exactly one more than none! Quite enough! What does it consist of?"
"How far can you throw this keg of gunpowder?" I asked, pointing to a hefty barrel half a muid high.
“Probably twelve to fifteen meters,” the giant answered.
“I’ll light the fuse, and when I shout ‘go!’, throw it as far as you can,” I suggested.
"I'm ready!" Porthos replied. "Set the fire!"
"Don't forget to duck immediately after you throw it!" I cried to Porthos. "Stand up, on the count of three! One, two, go!"
Porthos threw the barrel with all his might and ducked behind a tall rock. There was a deafening roar. The cavern's roof collapsed above the barrel's fall. The passage through which the guards had pursued us was sealed shut, leaving our pursuers with no choice but to return the way they had entered the cave, and we, it seemed, were safe.
Porthos, who had hurled that keg of gunpowder into the enemy's midst and wreaked untold havoc in the cave, heeded my call and followed us, resuming his reconnaissance of the terrain under the changed circumstances. Only six great leaps separated him from the cave's exit when he suddenly felt his knees buckle again, his legs refusing to obey him.
I couldn't understand what made Porthos stop.
"Come on, Porthos, hurry!" I shouted.
"I can't!" Porthos shouted back.
He tried to lift his legs with his hands and make them obey his master, but to no avail. Finally, clinging to the cave walls with his hands, he stood up, though his legs refused to obey him at all.
I finally realized what happened.
"Wait, someone will help you now!" he shouted.
Realizing that I alone could not lift Porthos, and that leaving the barge unattended once it was already launched was also impossible, since it could be captured by the enemy, I sent the Bretons to help Porthos.
The brave Bretons jumped out of the boat and rushed to the aid of the giant, but at that moment a huge stone, twice the size of the one that our Hercules had so recently crushed from its age-old place, slowly slid down from the edge of the cave.
"Watch out!" I shouted to Porthos and the Bretons, but it was too late.
A huge boulder slid down, blocking Porthos's exit, and then collapsed inside the cave, apparently burying the glorious Baron du Valon forever. A cloud of dust rose, through which I could barely discern Porthos's mighty body disappearing beneath the falling boulder, or perhaps a torrent of earth, rocks, and rubble.
heart felt like it had burst and torn in two. I nearly lost consciousness. I jumped to the site of the collapse, but discovered there was nothing I could do: the rock had sealed the cave like a huge door, and most likely had also crushed our glorious Porthos to death!
I felt utterly empty and desireless. But the Bretons grabbed me and laid me down on the bottom of the longboat.
"Monseigneur! You must save yourself!" shouted one of them, named Jerome.
"What for?" I objected in a completely indifferent voice.
“In the name of Jesus!” Jerome replied and made a secret sign.
After this, the Bretons leaned on the longboat and pushed it into the water. Then, turning its bow away from the shore, they pushed it with all their might into the rapids. They themselves, clinging to the sides, nimbly, like cats, scrambled aboard and found themselves inside. A strong side current caught the longboat, and since at this point it flowed away from the shore, generated by a small river rapidly flowing into the sea, the longboat began to move away from the island quite quickly. To top it all off, the Bretons pulled hard on the oars. We were rapidly moving away from the shore.
"Now those guards will emerge from the cave and start shooting at the boat," I thought. "If the bullets don't finish me off, they'll punch holes in the bottom of the boat, and it will sink, taking me with it."
Thinking like this, I didn't feel sorry for myself at all.
"I'm probably going to die soon," I thought. "How funny! Why doesn't this bother me at all?"
And then my heart sank again with sharp pain.
"Porthos! Porthos!" I thought in despair. "Porthos, I have ruined you! Woe is me! Let the waves swallow me up, or let a stray bullet strike my heart!"
I decided I should stand up straight, exposing myself to the bullets of the guardsmen, who should have been on the shore by now. I raised my head over the side and saw with surprise that the longboat had already drifted quite far from the shore, where the guardsmen who had been pursuing us had only just appeared. The Bretons continued to row.
“Perhaps it would have been better to look for a place where we could hide from them?” I thought. “Oh, I’m so unhappy! I failed to protect our dear Porthos! I dragged him into a hopeless task and couldn’t save him. After all, it turns out I’ve simply betrayed our friendship! How will I show myself to Athos and d’Artagnan now? How will I look at myself now? After all, it seems I’ve become disgusting to myself!”
At that moment, the longboat rocked on a particularly high wave. I hit my head on the side, my vision darkened, and I lost consciousness. As if through a veil, I heard distant gunshots from the shore. I later learned that three bullets had struck the longboat's side well above the waterline, but they hadn't even made a hole through it, as the longboat was already far away. There was no time to waste; while the two Bretons continued to row with all their might, J;r;me hastened to unfurl the sail, after which the longboat plunged out into the ocean, out of the reach of the guards' musket balls.
For over an hour, the longboat carried us away from the island. J;r;me exposed my face to the spray of salt water, bringing me back to my senses. But still, indifferent to my fate, I lay in despair on the bottom of the longboat, oblivious to the spray of salt water, intensified by the rapid sailing, drenching my face and clothes.
Suddenly Jerome said:
- Monsignor, there is a sail on the horizon!
"A chase?" I asked indifferently.
“They may not have noticed us yet,” Jerome replied, ordering the sail to be lowered so as not to attract attention.
However, it was apparently too late: the ship was rapidly approaching.
I took out a telescope from one of the suitcases that had been previously packed into the launch and looked in the direction of the ship.
“They see us and are coming straight towards us, we can’t escape,” I told the Bretons.
"What shall we do, Monsignor?" asked Jerome.
"Nothing," I replied. "We'll wait. The Lord decides our fate not only at this very moment, but, as you well know, at every moment of our lives. Let's trust in Him."
At that moment, nothing of the musketeer Aramis remained in me; I was entirely the Bishop of Vannes, and even more so, simply the Abb; d'Herblay, who sees service to God as the only sensible purpose in this life. Under different circumstances, I probably would have prayed to the Lord for our salvation, and even more likely, I would have simply devoutly believed in my destiny, in my star, drawing me who knows where. But in my present state, I could think of nothing but Porthos's terrible fate, his death beneath a huge granite boulder. Therefore, I watched our approach to the ship with the detached feeling of an outside observer, as if I were someone other than Aramis, and Aramis's fate did not concern me in the least.
Soon the ship approached to the distance of a cannon shot, and we heard a roar, after which a cannonball fell into the water not far from the launch.
"That's a warning shot," I told Jerome. "They'll sink us if we try to escape. Dry your oars."
This command in nautical slang means to remove the oars from the water and stop rowing. J;r;me looked at me in surprise. I immediately realized I'd said something stupid, because we were no longer rowing, but under sail.
“I meant to say, ‘Reef the sail,’” I corrected myself.
This nautical command means that the sail should be tied with special ropes called "lines" to stop it from sailing.
The ship came almost right up to the launch.
"Hey, on the launch! Surrender!" the ship's commander shouted through a megaphone.
The Bretons looked at me and I nodded my head.
"Shout to them, Jerome, that we surrender," I said with great difficulty. "I seem to have completely lost my voice."
Two dozen muskets were aimed at us.
"We surrender!" Jerome shouted.
A rope ladder was thrown overboard.
"Come aboard one by one!" the captain shouted. "The first sign of resistance will be fired upon!"
And turning to the Bretons, he added:
"We only need Monsieur d'Herblay and Baron du Valon. The rest will be spared."
“We accept your terms,” I shouted, not giving the Bretons time to think.
"How are you, Monsignor?" asked Jerome.
"You can't change fate," I replied indifferently. "And it's no use anymore. And they can't do anything to Baron du Valon anymore, that's the main thing!"
"But, my General!" Jerome whispered in my ear. "Is it wise to take such a risk?"
"Trust in the Lord, my son," I said dispassionately, feeling my voice gradually returning to me. "Besides, we have no choice."
“Excellent!” I thought. “Walking towards death—at least that’s some kind of action! Still better than inaction, and twice as good as running away like a frightened hare! Running without Porthos has ceased to have any meaning for me. I haven’t been the Order’s general for long, but it seems I’m destined for martyrdom. Well, I’ll try to present the matter in such a way as to become a martyr for the Christian faith. What a diversion in the final hours of life! I wonder what the name of the ship that will be my guide to Hell is? It would be hilarious if the ship’s name were the Virgil! In that case, I’d be like Dante on his majestic journey!”
My indifferent gaze slid over the ship's side. Suddenly, reading its name, I realized that God had not abandoned me. So He had forgiven me! I quickly jumped to my feet and nimbly boarded the ship, ahead of the other Breton sailors.
Having boarded, I confidently approached the captain and made a mysterious gesture with my hand, which caused the captain to bow respectfully. To an outsider, however, it might have seemed simple politeness; we Jesuits have a much finer understanding of gestures than laymen. Afterwards, I showed the captain the ring bearing the Order's emblem. The captain bowed his head another inch, indicating that he understood me, expressed his deepest respect, and was ready to obey. I knew this captain was a master; his position in the Order was higher than J;r;me's, and therefore his obedience to me was practically limitless.
I was immediately placed in the captain's cabin, and the captain himself ordered everyone to leave, after which he came up to me and asked:
— Where does Monsignor order us to head?
I just waved my hand wearily away from the island, to the west, after which I leaned back on the pillows and closed my eyes.
“The commander of my Bretons, Jerome, he is also an initiate, but not a master, unlike you, captain,” I said.
After this I would have liked to forget myself in sleep; my strength had indeed left me, but my thoughts were rushing about and did not give me peace.
"Glorious Porthos!" I thought bitterly. "You were just a few steps short of complete salvation! Ah, Fate, how treacherous you are! Instead of saving us both, you saved me alone and condemned me to eternal torment! Perhaps it would have been better if this stone had been a tomb for us both! But I will bear my fate to the end."
My heart was still constricted with grief, and tears no longer gave relief to my grief; my eyes were dry, for the salty moisture had run out in them.

Chapter 275

The boat delivered d'Artagnan and four officers to the shore.
"Your sword, Captain!" said the eldest of them, Guards Lieutenant Lefevre, whom d'Artagnan knew very well.
"Would you like to examine the finish of the hilt?" asked d'Artagnan. "Perhaps later, Lieutenant Lefevre, I will give you that opportunity, but right now I need it myself."
“The prisoner must surrender his weapon,” Lefebvre replied.
"That's the truth!" agreed d'Artagnan. "Who's the prisoner here? I don't see him!"
“You yourself, Captain,” the lieutenant answered in the same dispassionate voice.
"What, Lieutenant Lefevre, are you thinking of rebelling against the King?" d'Artagnan asked in surprise, raising his left eyebrow and casting a surprised glance at all four guardsmen. "You're taking it upon yourself to interpret the King's perfectly obvious order in an unfounded and expansive manner, adding your own fantasies to it. This constitutes disobedience to His Majesty, and therefore rebellion."
The lieutenant was embarrassed.
"Our dear Jodolly was kind enough to distribute copies of the King's order to all of you," d'Artagnan continued. "Read carefully, and don't invent anything that isn't there!"
“It says right here: ‘Remove and deliver under arrest,’” Lefebvre read out, surprised and somewhat hesitant.
"Read it from the beginning," d'Artagnan objected. "It states the conditions under which this must be done: 'In the event that Monsieur d'Artagnan expresses a desire to resign his powers, remove him from command and deliver him under arrest to the King's disposal.' Did you hear me announce my resignation?"
"You said it yourself: 'I resign my command,' didn't you?" Lefebvre asked in surprise.
“I will now briefly explain to you the difference between the term ‘command’ and the term ‘powers,’” replied d’Artagnan. “‘Command’ is an action that I have the authority to perform. And ‘powers’ are my rights that give me the opportunity to exercise command. Don’t understand? Then a simpler example. You undoubtedly know what it means to fire a musket. Now, a musket is a means for firing a shot, and a shot is the result of using this means. If I don’t have a musket, I cannot fire it, but this does not mean that I don’t want to fire and voluntarily refuse to fire. If I have a musket, then I am free to fire or not to fire as I wish. A soldier can be blamed for not firing when he should have fired, and he had every opportunity to do so. But a soldier cannot be blamed for not firing if he did not have a musket at the time. A soldier who throws his musket to the ground is a deserter. But a soldier whose musket has been confiscated by his superiors is not a deserter for that very reason. If a commander's sword breaks, and a deputy galloping alongside him hands him his, that deputy didn't lay down his weapon without a fight, he didn't surrender, he's not a deserter; he simply handed over the weapon out of necessity and under pressure of circumstances. Because it's not proper for a commander-in-chief to be unarmed. The deputy simply has to find another weapon, perhaps from his adjutant or batman. Do you understand that?
“Not quite,” Lieutenant Lefevre answered uncertainly.
"Come on, pull out of your coat the envelope numbered three or four, which states that if Captain d'Artagnan objects to the lawlessness being perpetrated against him, the lawlessness must be perpetrated against him anyway!" d'Artagnan continued in a mocking tone. "Do you have such a document? Is it possible that Monsieur Colbert didn't bother to prepare such an abomination? Well, if not, then listen to what I'm telling you! I complained about the difficulties I was having in fulfilling my duties as your commander because I was being hindered and restricted in my actions. This is not an assertion that I am abdicating my authority! I was disembarked from the ship and sent ashore, and command of the operation was assumed by another man, junior to me in rank and position! Well, I endured that too. But my papers and the rights delegated to me by them, that is, by the King of France himself, remain with me, just as your papers and your rights remain with you. I am prepared to go to the King to determine which of us is right, but if you attempt to arrest me, then I will kill all four of you, after which I will report to His Majesty the injustice you attempted to commit against me, and, likely, no charges will be brought against me. If it turns out that I was wrong, I am prepared to bear responsibility to the fullest extent of the law. And you will be buried with honors, as men who died by mistake, as a result of a disagreement between us over the interpretation of the wording. Does this state of affairs suit you?
“This is all somehow strange and not entirely convincing,” Lefebvre said doubtfully.
“Listen, Lieutenant,” said d’Artagnan with a kindly smile. “You know me, and you know that I’m not mad. Would I show disobedience if I knew the King would punish me for it? Does it really matter whether all five of us go to the King as good friends, comrades in military affairs, or whether you accompany me like guards, and I ride in the middle between you, without a sword, and, God forbid, without a baldric and without a hat? Would I risk my freedom and ask for punishment for disobedience for such a trifle? Of course I wouldn’t! The fact is, I know my rights, and it’s just I warn you not to exceed your authority. After all, I would have stabbed all four of you long ago, since you are not my adversaries, and you know it very well! One sword of mine is much faster than four of yours! But I will not do that. I suggest you simply walk with me to that tavern over there, where we will have a glass of wine at my expense, after which we will discuss the situation calmly. I am ready to go to the King and give him an account of my actions, and that is all you want from me, is it not? We, five Frenchmen, are not going to have a gratuitous duel here, in full view of good citizens? Believe me, I do not wish your death at all, and if, moreover, you manage to inflict a few scratches on me before you die, it will not upset me too much, but it will not please me either. A bad peace is better than a good quarrel!
Lieutenant Lefevre decided that there would be no harm in all five of them going into a tavern to have a glass of good wine.
This pub, "The Pork Leg," was located near the barracks, so soldiers and officers off duty often ate there. This was the case this time—there were more than two dozen guardsmen and musketeers in the pub.
"Master, wine, the very best, and bring it quickly! And to everyone present, too, I'm treating you today!" said d'Artagnan, throwing six pistoles on the table.
The wine was immediately brought, and those present stared in surprise at the captain, who suddenly decided to treat them.
"Will you allow me to raise a toast to the health of our King?" d'Artagnan asked Lieutenant Lefevre.
"I have nothing against it!" Lefebvre agreed.
"A moment's attention, gentlemen!" cried d'Artagnan. "I am Captain d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers, and some of you know me, for I too notice familiar faces here! I offer drinks to everyone and propose that you all drink to the health of our glorious King Louis XIV , and wish him long life and a glorious reign! Our King is truly great! Did you know that he issued a decree that only those orders of his are valid that bear his own signature and the state seal affixed by Chancellor Seguier? Such are the papers!"
With these words, d'Artagnan took a document out of his pocket, unfolded it and began to read it aloud.

"The King's Command.
 Captain Charles d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers is ordered to arrest the rebels believed to be hiding on the island of Belle-;le and deliver them under escort to Paris. Should the rebels leave Belle-;le, they are to be arrested wherever they are found, up to the borders of any neighboring states, including neutral waters. For these purposes, Captain d'Artagnan is authorized to command all land and naval forces to achieve his assigned mission. All soldiers, officers, nobles, and ordinary citizens of France are to provide Captain d'Artagnan with any assistance he requires and to obey him in the execution of this mission.
Signed: Louis.
"Sealed with the state seal of France and the signature of Chancellor S;guier."

"You can verify the authenticity of this document," said d'Artagnan, handing it to the guard nearest him. "Look at it and pass it on to someone else, and be careful not to tear it or spill wine on it!"
The guardsman made sure that the document bore the King's genuine signature, the Chancellor's signature and the seal.
"Have no doubt, the paper is genuine," said the captain. "So, to the health of His Majesty King Louis XIV , vivat!"
Those present shouted "Vivat!" three times and emptied their cups.
"Now return the document to me, and from this moment on you are all in my service," said d'Artagnan. "And here is my first order. Arrest this Lieutenant Lefebvre, take from him the unsigned and unsealed document, the document with which he intended to incite his three subordinates to rebel against His Majesty. Hand it over to me."
"But excuse me!" Lefebvre exclaimed.
"Your sword, Lieutenant!" d'Artagnan demanded. "And please, no nonsense. With your left hand, grasp the scabbard, right in the middle, and carefully remove it, along with the baldric. We don't need any unnecessary bloodshed."
Lefebvre jumped to his feet, but immediately felt the blade of a sword from one of the guards present pressed to his throat.
"Calm down, Lieutenant Lefevre, no need to fuss, and everyone will remain safe and sound!" d'Artagnan said with a grin.
Lefebvre realized that the copy of the order he had, unsigned or sealed, was of no use. He removed his sword and scabbard, placed it on the table, and handed the document to d'Artagnan.
“Gentlemen, take this sword, as well as those of his three companions,” said d’Artagnan. “I sentence all four to three days in the dungeon. These are not the rebels I am hunting by the King’s orders, but it is quite possible that they are their accomplices. They have been interfering with my duty. Take them to the barracks, let them sit and think about how they could disobey the King’s orders. And for me, bring a good horse, hardy and fast, and be sure it’s fresh and not tired; he has a long ride ahead of him! And quickly! That’s all my orders for today . Innkeeper, another round of wine for everyone present! Don’t be stingy, pour plenty!”
With these words, he threw ten more pistoles on the counter of the tavern and left the tavern.
Ten minutes later he was already rushing towards Paris.

Chapter 276

D'Artagnan raced towards the Louvre like a whirlwind on his horse, but he was still an experienced enough rider not to overexert the poor animal, choosing his pace wisely and giving the horse the necessary rest from time to time.
He had nowhere to hurry, hardly anyone was chasing him, so he, according to the proverb, “made haste slowly,” that is, he did not waste time, but he did not intend to overdo it in this haste.
Finally, he reached Paris, arrived at the Louvre, and immediately appeared before the King in his traveling clothes.
"Your Majesty, you sent for me, and I am at your feet!" d'Artagnan said, bowing to the King's hand. "I am delighted that you needed me, but I regret that I did not manage to complete the mission entrusted to me."
“Sir,” asked the King, “for what purpose, in your opinion, did I send you to Belle-Ile, providing you with the highest powers?”
"Your Majesty, I know nothing of this, since my powers were in fact limited in every way," d'Artagnan replied in such a submissive tone that not a hint of pride or resentment could be heard. "An infinite number of junior officers, who even without these high powers should have been subordinate to me in accordance with my rank, were invested with superior powers, sufficient to prevent me from doing anything to fulfill the mission entrusted to me by Your Majesty. I believe this camarilla of minor officers with high powers was better informed than I was about the purpose of my trip and the means of achieving it. I could not fulfill the duties of commander of the expedition, since I was not one. I was of neither use nor adornment to this expedition." But since Monsieur Jodolly informed me that I must immediately appear before Your Majesty, leaving the further direction of the operation to him, I, captain of your musketeers, was forced to hasten to carry out this order of the lieutenant of the guards.
"Captain, if you had acted in accordance with the task assigned to you, your actions would not have been hindered by any authority granted to these officers," the King retorted. "I had reason to distrust you, and that is why I surrounded you with people who were supposed to warn you against wrongdoing, that's all."
"And these men informed me that they would be better able to carry out the task assigned to me," d'Artagnan replied. "Well, in that case, the rebels have been captured and in less than a day will appear before Your Majesty to learn their fate."
" What did you mean, Captain?" asked the King. "Do you have information that the rebels have been arrested?"
“Of course, Your Majesty!” cried d’Artagnan. “Since I calculated with perfect precision that I had only one day left to arrest the rebels, and I would have successfully completed this mission, since we had almost agreed on their surrender, and since Lieutenant Jodolly judged, That I am probably acting too slowly, I draw the only possible conclusion from this: that Lieutenant Joedoli himself will arrest the rebels in less time, that is, in at least half a day, within the twelve hours closest to the time of my removal from the case. So, since the twelve-hour period has already passed, I am simply convinced that the rebels have been captured and are being transported, bound and unarmed, under reliable escort to Paris, to the Louvre, or perhaps to the Bastille. If I were to assume anything else, I would allow myself to doubt the correctness of Lieutenant Joedoli's decision. But I do not in any way intend to question his decisiveness, competence, or strategic and tactical talent. After all, Monsieur Colbert himself trusts him far more than he does me! So, the rebels will soon be brought in, bound and defeated.
"You allow yourself to joke, Captain," the King replied coldly. "Perhaps you are aiming for the position of royal jester? The position, after that of Monsieur Chicot, my grandfather's jester, seems to be vacant!"
"The position of jester doesn't particularly appeal to me, Your Majesty," d'Artagnan objected. "But who knows? If Monsieur Colbert hands out envelopes to jesters with orders to strip them of their marshals' and generals' responsibilities, then perhaps it's better to be a jester than a marshal?"
"We will judge the wisdom of Monsieur Colbert's actions by the results of the expedition," the King replied coldly. "You were ordered to arrest two rebels and take the fortress of Belle-;le under my control. Did you accomplish your assigned tasks, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
“I have already had the honor to report that as soon as I began to carry out these tasks, I was deprived of my powers,” replied d’Artagnan.
"If you were stripped of your powers, then Colbert's men had reason to doubt your determination in carrying out your mission," the King countered. "What was your fault that forced them to resort to this measure?"
"You'd better ask Lieutenant Zhedoli himself about that, Your Majesty," the captain replied. "I tried to carry them out in the order they were given. If I hadn't been interrupted, I would have carried them out exactly."
"Really?" the King was surprised.
“It is very difficult to prove it now that I have been interrupted, but even more difficult to refute it, Your Majesty,” d’Artagnan answered humbly.
“Your actions did not contribute in the least to achieving these goals,” the King objected, although less self-confidently.
"To accept the fortress given to you, Your Majesty, under your control, the most effective means were negotiations. I tried to explain to the chief officers of this fortress that it belonged to you, Your Majesty, and therefore they were simply obliged to hand it over to me," the captain replied with a bow.
"Were the negotiations successful?" the King asked.
"So successfully that not a single shot was fired from the fortress, Your Majesty," replied d'Artagnan. "At least as long as I remained within range of the cannon shots."
"That's also hard to believe," said the King. "But, indeed, as you so accurately noted, it's difficult to prove, and even harder to disprove. But how did you manage to convince the rebels to surrender?"
"I convinced the rebels that our forces were vastly superior to theirs, and that the soldiers and officers of the fortress would not fight against the troops of the King of France," d'Artagnan replied. "Each of these arguments is extremely persuasive, and taken together they are invincible, Your Majesty. I expected the fortress to surrender without a fight within twenty-four hours, and I am convinced that this would have been the case had not Monsieur Joedoli interfered with his numbered envelopes, from which, like a magician, he extracted papers depriving me of my authority and any possibility of any action."
"What prompted Zhedoli's intervention?" the King inquired.
" I communicated my demands to the rebels, gave them time to consider, and intended to invite these officers aboard the ship to hear their response," d'Artagnan continued enthusiastically. "I was not allowed to do so. I did not go into the reasons. I obey the King's orders, verbal or written."
"What you're saying sounds good, Captain, but these people would never give up!" the King objected.
"That's Monsieur Colbert's opinion," d'Artagnan clarified. "If he understands battle strategy and tactics better than I do, and knows these men better than I do, then he would be better off leading the campaign. It's strange he didn't volunteer to carry out this mission himself. However, I dare say I could have found arguments to persuade these men to accept my terms. Therefore, I cannot agree that my first steps were pointless, Your Majesty. If they had been successful, all the tasks you set would already have been accomplished."
"What if you're wrong, Captain?" asked the King. "What if they refused to surrender?"
"I draw Your Majesty's attention to the fact that I intended to invite two senior officers aboard the flagship to answer," d'Artagnan said. "If the rebels had refused to surrender, I would have arrested them there, on the flagship, after which the fortress would have been left without commanders and would have submitted to Your Majesty's lawful demands. After that, I would have taken control of Belle-;le and delivered the rebels you named to you—that is, I would have carried out all your orders without shedding a single drop of blood. The blood of your subjects, Your Majesty. A fortress that had not fired a single shot would not have deserved Your Majesty's wrath. Everyone would have remained alive and well, except for the two rebels, who would have been completely at your mercy and would have been arrested by me."
"You claim you would have brought your two friends to me?" the King said incredulously.
The King emphasized the word "friends" so much that d'Artagnan winced.
“So that’s it!” he thought. “Colbert learned that Aramis and Porthos are my friends, and guessed that I might try to rescue them! This is where his distrust of me stems, and he has infected the King with this distrust! Well, they are not so much mistaken about me, but I would have done everything so carefully that I would not have been suspected of anything. That is precisely why they did not allow me to act! But why the hell was I entrusted with this matter in the first place? To prove my guilt? This whole mission was simply a trap for me, and nothing more? They did not even hope to arrest my friends with my hands; they wanted proof of my complicity in this matter! Even Colbert, who is unaware of the nature of the conspiracy, is bending over backwards to overthrow me by proving my involvement in a crime of which he himself knows nothing. He still hasn't forgiven me for giving me the position of captain of the king's musketeers instead of his relative! What a vile, vengeful soul!"
"Doesn't the fact that you entrusted me with this mission prove that you believed I would carry it out?" d'Artagnan asked. "That's all I see it as. I can't prove to you that I would have acted exactly as I say, but Monsieur Colbert can't prove that I wouldn't have acted the same way! Should we suspect of treason a man who, in thirty-five years of impeccable service, has never given any reason to doubt his fidelity?"
"I have nothing to reproach you for, Captain," the King replied. "But those are things of the past. As for the future, only the future will tell. If you continue to call the conspirators who have encroached on my freedom, my power, and who, quite possibly, could even have encroached on my life, your friends—if you still consider these scoundrels your friends—you deserve the same punishment as they.
“Your Majesty overlooks the fact that I acted contrary to their plans and single-handedly thwarted them,” d’Artagnan calmly retorted.
"I don't lose sight of that," the King countered. "That's precisely why you were given the chance to prove your loyalty or to prove yourself a traitor. Which did you choose?"
"Regardless of my choice, Monsieur Colbert's spies were hasty, since they had no time to obtain either proof of my loyalty or proof of my treason," the captain replied. "And yet, if Monsieur Colbert and the spies he has sent truly serve Your Majesty far better than I do, then Your Majesty and I will soon be able to confirm this. Within the next twelve hours, they will arrive to report that they have taken the fortress of Belle- Ile under Your Majesty's control, that the rebels have been captured. However, even in this case, the price of such a victory must be considered. If, as a result of the fighting, the fortress is razed to the ground, your fortress, Your Majesty, if this fortress of yours is reduced to rubble, and if the English decide to seize Belle-Ile tomorrow, they will do so without firing a shot." In that case, Mr. Colbert's men destroyed the jewel of the border fortresses, the finest of the sea outposts, a fortress of paramount importance to the security of the state, a fortress that belonged to you, Your Majesty. Of course, in that case, they deserved a reward. I, however, am guilty of attempting to preserve this fortress, so vital to France, in its original state. And yet, all I wanted was a day to think it over, after which the rebels would surrender without a fight. It's hard to believe, but it's undeniable.
The king turned pale.
“If the fortress had to be destroyed, it will be rebuilt anew; for me, something else was more important,” the King said in an icy voice.
"For Your Majesty, it was far more important to capture two rebels, the Bishop of Vannes and Baron du Valon; I remember that. I told you how I intended to carry out this order, but I was prevented," the captain said, almost dispassionately. "Monsieur Colbert's men had a better plan, and no one was stopping them from implementing it. Well, as I already said, in that case, within the next twelve hours, the rebels will be delivered to Paris, bound or killed."
The King dug his nails into the arms of his chair so hard that the tips of his fingers turned white.
“That’s right, they will be delivered alive or dead,” he stated crisply.
"They will not be delivered alive," d'Artagnan replied firmly. "These men might, under certain circumstances, lay down their arms before me and surrender. But there is no one else in the world who could take these men prisoner."
"I almost said they might have surrendered to the Comte de la F;re!" d'Artagnan thought with horror. "Thank God I came to my senses in time. It would have been an unforgivable stupidity to drag him into this too!"
"Then they will be brought to me dead," the King said stubbornly. "And that will suit me perfectly, since if they were brought alive, it would only be to hang them."
"The Bishop of Vannes, even dead, can elude anyone," the captain of the musketeers replied confidently. "As for Baron du Valon, even completely unarmed, he could lay waste to thirty guardsmen before they could overcome him. And with a sword in hand, or any hard and sufficiently heavy weapon, or even, in a pinch, a shaft, he could lay waste to forty men without batting an eyelid."
“If necessary, I will send several hundred, several thousand people there, but these people will be captured or killed,” the King exclaimed, but his voice did not contain the confidence that sounded in the captain’s voice.
“You told me, Your Majesty, that if I brought you the said rebels, I would receive a marshal’s baton,” d’Artagnan chuckled . “I suppose a Marshal of France’s baton has already been prepared for Monsieur Colbert? I’m afraid this baton will have to gather dust for many decades before it is used.” awarded to this man. At least not for such a victory.
"Enough, Captain!" cried the King, feeling that he could not object to d'Artagnan. "You are tiring me!"
"That problem is easily remedied, Your Majesty," the captain replied. "Either give me a vacation, in which case not only will I get a break from duty, but you'll get a break from me, too. Or grant me retirement, in which case our mutual relaxation will last much longer."
“Go,” said the King.
"On vacation or in retirement?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Wait," Louis waved his hand. "You will be informed of my decision."
D'Artagnan bowed low and left the King's office.
“If His Majesty needs me, Hubert, I’m here,” he said to the King’s secretary.
He then left the royal chambers in an unknown direction.
"Where's 'at home'?" Hubert asked belatedly. "In the barracks or at the apartment?"
But he received no answer, as d'Artagnan had already left.

Chapter 277

The ship carried me to the shores of Spain. I looked at the waves and grieved that I had failed to save Porthos, and that I would most likely never see my remaining friends, d'Artagnan and Athos. But I was wrong. I met them, and therefore I know what was happening to them at that very time. I will therefore return to the story of d'Artagnan. This part of my narrative is especially dear to my heart. Thank you, Lord, for what happened then, and what I am about to write about now, here and now!
D'Artagnan reasoned that, regardless of whether he'd received a resignation or a furlough, he'd be off duty for a while, left to his own devices. This was precisely what he needed to rush to Porthos and me immediately, so he hurried back to Belle-Ile without delay.
The blockade of the island had already been lifted, so he easily crossed over to it in a rented boat and decided to simply wander around the crowded places, listening to the conversations of passers-by.
He soon learned of an extraordinary event: two noblemen, accompanied by several Bretons, had hidden in the Locmaria Cave. They were discovered by a detachment of guardsmen, who then offered fierce resistance, killing ten of the sixteen guardsmen. When the guardsmen were reinforced by several dozen soldiers, the fugitives made their way through the cave to the seashore. A detachment of guardsmen attempted to pursue the fugitives, following them through the cave's passage, but the fugitives detonated an explosion that killed many of the guardsmen, and apparently the fugitives themselves.
D'Artagnan realized that such an event couldn't have happened without Porthos and me. He immediately went to the indicated cave and conducted his own investigation. Naturally, I learned the results of his investigation much later, but I'm writing about it here for the sake of narrative continuity.
The guards' bodies had already been removed and buried, but everything else remained unchanged. There was no one to restore order there, and there was no need.
"This is where they entered the cave," d'Artagnan said to himself. "I understand! They must have hidden the barge here. A very convenient place. They must have dragged it in from above, and were planning to lower it down to the sea, but something prevented them. Apparently, those sixteen guardsmen arrived, ten of whom never emerged from this cave."
Carefully examining all the traces of the incident, d'Artagnan vividly imagined the scene of our battle, almost as clearly as if he had witnessed or participated in it. Having walked through the cave to the spot where Porthos had collapsed it with a keg of gunpowder, he realized there was no further passage. He then returned the way he had come, passed over the cave on horseback, and descended to the sea where the cave opened onto the shore.
Here he saw traces of monstrous destruction. A huge boulder lay right by the shore, having rolled out of the cave's mouth. Some unknown force had torn it out.
D'Artagnan climbed to the very mouth of the cave, which was blocked by an even larger boulder. He didn't even try to move it; it was beyond human strength.
"The exit from the cave is closed!" d'Artagnan continued to reason. "That means my friends are either buried alive inside this damned cave, or they luckily managed to escape before this huge stone sealed it forever."
The second outcome seemed unlikely to him. Besides, even if, as he believed, we had both managed to escape the cave, and even boarded the longboat and set sail, that couldn't guarantee our freedom. Royal ships, packed with Colbert's spies, were patrolling these waters even now. During these unusual events, there was no hope of escaping them. Since, as he had discovered, we hadn't yet been caught, he decided that we were most likely still buried in this cave. Besides, the inhabitants of the fortified city had told him something similar.
D'Artagnan came closer to the stone, which he almost certainly considered to be Porthos and me's common gravestone.
In a rage, he began kicking the rock, pushing and pulling at it with his hands. It seemed he wanted to vent all his despair on that rock. Indeed, that rock, which had rolled so untimely down the steep bank, had, in his opinion, prevented both of us, if not from being saved, then at least from continuing the fight for our lives.
"Damn you, you damned, dull, cold stone, murderer of my friends!" d'Artagnan cried. "I'll blow you up, but I'll get to the remains of dear Porthos and Aramis! I'll bury them with honor. Beware, you hateful stone! I'll destroy you, just give me time!"
The sound of the ocean drowned out his screams, but d'Artagnan, who in his youth had not restrained his anger, and over the years had gradually become accustomed to suppressing his feelings more and more strongly and not to show them in public, decided to give vent to all that anger, all the hatred for the injustice of this world that had accumulated in him over the past thirty-five years.
Suddenly his voice grew hoarse, his throat tightened, and he realized he'd practically lost his voice. He covered his face with his hands and fell silent. Suddenly, he heard a sound. It was a rhythmic thumping, coming from the cobblestone to which the captain had directed his curses.
Not believing his ears, d'Artagnan ran up to the stone and pressed his ear to it. Yes, there it was! Someone was pounding the stone from inside with another stone.
"Porthos! Aramis! Is that you? Are you alive?" d'Artagnan cried hoarsely, ignoring the tears streaming from his eyes, leaving dark streaks of wet dirt on his dusty cheeks.
Without remembering himself, he snatched his dagger from his boot and began to dig the ground with it, furiously raking it with his hands and throwing away stones, sand, earth and roots.
"I'm going crazy!" he suddenly thought. "I'm delirious. I've dreamed something incredible."
Looking around, he picked up a heavy boulder from the ground, walked with it to the cursed stone that sealed the cave, and began to pound on it: two blows, a pause, three blows, a pause, two more blows. Then he put his ear to the stone again.
In response, he heard a knock in exactly the same order: two blows, a pause, three blows, a pause, and two blows again.
"It's Porthos!" d'Artagnan screamed frantically, despite his broken voice. "Damn it, Porthos and Aramis! That's our signature knock for all occasions, the signal for the four brave musketeers! They're alive! Damn it, at least one of them is alive!"
And d'Artagnan began to tear up the earth to the left of the stone even more furiously than before.
By nightfall his efforts were rewarded and he was able to stick his hand into the cave.
"Porthos! Aramis!" he croaked through the hole.
“D’Artagnan,” came from the cave.
The captain's hand was grasped by a hand so familiar, yet so foreign. It was undoubtedly Porthos's, a huge, long-fingered hand, but, my God, how thin it was! Nothing but skin and bones!
“You’re alive, Porthos…” d’Artagnan said weakly.
"I would have died long ago if it weren't for a breath of air from a small crack, if it weren't for a few sips of water from this spring!" a weak voice replied, but it was Porthos's. "But, you know, d'Artagnan, I couldn't feed on locusts. I'm no saint, apparently. I'd rather die of hunger than eat spiders."
"Porthos! Locusts aren't spiders, they're grasshoppers," d'Artagnan laughed through his tears. At that moment, he was happy.
Ah, if only I had known at that moment that Porthos had been saved, how happily my heart would have beaten, how the wrinkles on my face would have smoothed out, how my soul would have sung! But at that time I knew nothing of Porthos's happy rescue. And even now I thank God for this mercy! I am not Porthos's murderer! How comforting it is to think of that!

Chapter 278

I must say that at this time, events of extreme importance for France were taking place in Spain. The fact is that not long ago, following Spain's defeat at the Battle of Dunkirk against the combined Anglo-French forces, the fortunes of Philip VI, brother of our Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, were seriously undermined. This forced him to make peace and sign a peace with France that was disadvantageous to Spain. Flanders was torn from Spain and divided between us and England. Under the terms of the Treaty of the Pyrenees, Spain lost Roussillon, half of Cerdagne, and Artois. The treaty also stipulated the marriage of Infanta Maria Theresa to Louis XIV, with a dowry of half a million escudos. The treaty stipulated that if the dowry was not paid in full, the King of France would not renounce his rights to the Spanish throne. Indeed, our King Louis XIV was the grandson of King Philip III of Spain and the son-in-law of the current King Philip IV of Spain. The rights of the married couple Louis and Maria Theresa to the Spanish throne were quite strong, as Philip IV had no other heirs who could lay equal or greater claim to the throne. The only obstacle was that King Louis and Queen Maria Theresa had signed a renunciation of these rights in their marriage contract, but only on the condition of paying half a million gold escudos, which were never paid. This gave the right to declare this renunciation null and void. Consequently, Spain could have become another Bourbon fiefdom, and our King could easily have become King of Spain as well. However, at that very time, the Queen of Spain was pregnant, and the entire Spanish nobility, including, of course, the royal family, eagerly awaited the birth of the Dauphin, the heir. The birth of the long-awaited heir to the Spanish crown could have averted the danger of a severe dynastic crisis that could have erupted in the event of Philip IV's death. Hoping for the birth of a Dauphin, Spain delayed paying the dowry, since in that case the claims of Louis of France and his wife to the Spanish throne could be ignored. Naturally, this irritated the King of France. Relations between France and Spain became tense. I had no fear that Spain would hand me over to Louis XIV as a state criminal. On the contrary, I expected to be greeted with love and affection. At the same time, I, a very influential person in In European politics, due to the fact that he was effectively the general of the Jesuit Order, he could be useful for diplomatic activities both in the event of Spain's desire to enter into open conflict with France, and in the event of both sides' desire to achieve reconciliation and improve relations. Whatever one might say, Philip IV needed me , and I needed him. I wasn't jealous of his relationship with the Duchess de Chevreuse, since I hadn't loved the Duchess for a long time. And besides, Chevrette had so many lovers that being jealous of them all would have been sheer madness. Recently, she had been in a very close relationship with the Duc de Longueville, which freed me from the Duke's company and allowed me to see the Duchess de Longueville more often. True, the Duc de La Rochefoucauld also stood between us, and he also occasionally sought the Duchess's attentions, but I must say that the Duchess naturally preferred me. However, I digress, for I am writing now not about the Duchess de Longueville, but about affairs in Spain. All of this is very much connected, because the Duchess, too, had her eye on Spain, hatching all sorts of intrigues, and making plans. In this sense, she wasn't far removed from the Duchess de Chevreuse. Ah, and why was I always drawn to beautiful noble intriguers, of no less status than the Duchess? Probably because my close acquaintance—closer than could be—with Marie de Chevreuse began my career, not so much in the military realm as in intrigue, conspiracy, bribery, and espionage. Well, it must be admitted that this path is far more effective, but also more dangerous. A fall from this ladder that leads to the very top can be quite painful, and many, many have experienced this firsthand.
I decided to call myself the Duke of Alameda. I had everything I needed—purchased lands, charters of nobility, and so on, right down to a castle, a coat of arms, a carriage, and liveried servants. After all, there was a certain advantage to being the general of the Jesuit Order! Of course, now I had many people under my command, even entire cities in the New World! Although in France itself, not every Jesuit would have submitted to me unconditionally, or was I simply not yet confident in the strength of my authority? I asked myself: "Why didn't I declare myself governor of Belle-;le and declare war on Louis XIV ?" The answer for me is simple. I could easily have fought the King of France, but I would not have fought against d'Artagnan, and yet it was to him that the King would have entrusted the storming of Belle-;le! But if I had known that my timidity would cause me to lose Porthos, perhaps I would have decided on military action.
There is no need to discuss this topic now, because Porthos, as it turned out later, remained alive, which means I did the right thing.
I'll add here that a few months after my arrival in Spain, the Dauphin was born, and, of course, I had no part in it. For these reasons, Spain refused to pay the dowry promised to Maria Theresa and Louis. This led to a deterioration in relations and a resumption of hostilities, as a result of which Spain lost its dominant position in Europe and gradually became the object of French territorial claims. As a politician, I initially defended Spain's interests, but circumstances soon arose that which I will recount later, as a result of which I became more interested in protecting French interests than in ensuring Spain's rights. As a result, Spain lost a number of possessions in Central Europe. Philip IV should have listened more carefully to my advice, and even more carefully to my requests, conditions, and demands. Only an alliance with its recent adversaries, England and the Netherlands, saved Spain from annexing Catalonia to France. The country's economy and state apparatus fell into complete decline. But all this happened much later; now I was simply seeking a calm haven where I could rest from the storms that had befallen me, restore my soul, tormented by remorse, and formulate a plan for future action.

Chapter 279

d'Artagnan tirelessly dug a passage to reach Porthos. While he was digging, Porthos told him of the events that had taken place, which, in general, almost coincided with the captain's understanding of them from the traces of the battle and the explosion left at the site. He was, of course, delighted that I had apparently managed to escape on the longboat, although Porthos wasn't certain of this, only assuming and hoping for such an outcome. After all, he couldn't know for sure, as he was buried under a huge boulder.
"Damn it! Colbert's spies on fast warships have probably captured him," d'Artagnan thought with annoyance. "The king will hang him! We must hurry to his rescue!"
"Aramis has probably disappeared," the Gascon said, trying to cheer Porthos up. "You, Porthos, must leave France. No one is looking for you now, but it would be better for you to set sail not from here, but from another port. Go to Calais, from there by sea to Canterbury, then to my estate, which General Monk gave me. It's called Monkville. You'll find it easily; I'll give you directions, as well as the documents by which you'll establish yourself there."
"What about Pierrefonds?" asked Porthos.
"Have you made a will?" d'Artagnan inquired.
"Yes, of course!" replied Porthos. "I left the bulk of everything I own to Raoul de Bragelonne. But, of course, there's a clause in the will that says you, Aramis, and Athos can take whatever you want, and I left all my suits and a few other odds and ends, worth about a couple of thousand livres, to Mouston."
"Well, then, your wealth will not be lost!" replied d'Artagnan. "Your entire fortune will go to your friends, who will eventually be able to return to you everything that can be returned, or convert it into money and return it to you again. But if you are captured, I cannot vouch for your life, and your fortune will also go to the treasury. Therefore, the best thing for you is England. Manage my estate of Monqueville as if it were your own. You will be happy there."
“But it’s boring and lonely,” Porthos answered.
"I hope it's not as boring and lonely as in that damned cave of Locmaria!" replied d'Artagnan.
"Yes, that's for sure!" Porthos replied and burst out laughing.
“And now, Porthos, you need something to eat,” said the captain.
Luckily, d'Artagnan had a flask of wine and some biscuits with him, which he'd grabbed in case his investigations dragged on and he had to spend the night in or near the Locmaria cave. This couldn't have come at a better time.
"Eat little and slowly, Porthos!" he said, pushing the crackers through the hole he had made. "Don't rush, or too much food will kill you!"
"Where do you see an excess of food here, d'Artagnan?" exclaimed Porthos. "These four biscuits are enough for me in one bite! And besides, dying from overeating—that must be such a sweet death! These last hours, or days, or months—I honestly don't know how long I've spent here—I've been dreaming of just that—dying from gluttony!"
"In a couple of hours, you and I will treat ourselves to a treat at the tavern I've made a note of," d'Artagnan encouraged Porthos. "I promise you suckling pig with horseradish and a couple of bottles of wine."
"Piglet with horseradish!" Porthos exclaimed with affection. "How long I've dreamed of this! A domestic piglet? Do they even keep pigs here on the island?"
"A wild piglet, the one I was running around the forest with just a moment ago, the one with the stripes and the damp pink snout," d'Artagnan clarified. "I've had my eye on it and told the innkeeper to have it ready for my return this evening. It's yours now."
"Your words are like honey to my ears!" exclaimed Porthos.
He began to dig the ground twice as furiously as before, although he had done it quite nimbly before.
"Well, now things will go well!" thought d'Artagnan. "If the innkeeper hasn't prepared the suckling pig, I'll tear his soul apart! And it's not my fault that my words about ordering it for myself for the evening were a complete lie. After all, I had to somehow support my comrade in his time of need! Well, if there's no suckling pig, smoked ham will do, or, at worst, a couple of partridges!"
Fortunately, Porthos hadn't been idle during the entire time he'd been in the straitened circumstances caused by the falling stone. He'd pulled off one of his boots and dug as best he could. Unfortunately, his boots had no spurs, and the ground was solid rock, so Porthos could have freed himself through his efforts, as his strength was already waning. However, he'd managed to dig three-quarters of the way through, and if he hadn't been exhausted by hunger and despair, he likely would have escaped.
When the passage was finally wide enough, Porthos, now thin and exhausted, was finally able to climb out. His tattered clothes hung in baggy rags, his cheeks were covered in thick stubble—in short, Porthos was unrecognizable.
"Porthos! You've transformed remarkably, and that's to our advantage. Perhaps, with a little caution, we could transport you back to France. If you were a little shorter, I'd be able to safely escort you anywhere, even right under Colbert's nose. Your height, however, is still a bit disconcerting. It attracts attention. But now I'm at peace with you; you'll slip easily into Calais if you keep to a certain diet and don't return to your normal size too quickly. In any case, don't shave your beard! However, I'll escort you as far as is reasonable and possible in our current situation. So, soon you'll be the owner of an estate in England."
“I always wanted to live somewhere in the south,” Porthos said simply.
“Well, since your new place of residence will be further north than your previous one, you will be able to continue dreaming of living in the south,” replied d’Artagnan.
"But I want to take Muston with me!" exclaimed Porthos.
"That would be foolish. Colbert's hounds might figure it out," d'Artagnan objected. "But I'll try to think of something."
Incredible as it may seem, the innkeeper had a suckling pig, though not wild, but domesticated, but Porthos didn't care. With his powerful teeth, he even ground up the cartilage, leaving only a pile of gnawed bones on his plate.
"Such gluttony after a long fast would have killed anyone else," said d'Artagnan. "But for you, Porthos, this portion is just a light snack, and I think it will do you no harm."
"And you think correctly, my friend!" replied Porthos. "I've noticed that my stomach can digest anything my teeth have ground up, and I have no complaints about my teeth! In the old days, I would have eaten two such piglets in one sitting, but if you say that after a long fast one should not overeat, I believe you, d'Artagnan! This piglet and two bottles of Burgundy have dulled my hunger somewhat, and I can wait for dinner quite calmly."
"He thinks there's still dinner to come!" d'Artagnan thought ironically. "It's already well past ten o'clock; the smartest thing to do now would be to get at least four hours' sleep, and he's thinking about dinner! I know Porthos's appetite!"
"My dear friend, we will leave the island early in the morning, around four o'clock, or at the latest five," said d'Artagnan. "That's when the fishermen go out to sea. You and I, disguised as fishermen, will set sail for the open sea, then, as soon as we're out of sight, we'll sail south along the coast of France to Saint-Lazaire. From there, we'll head first to Nantes, then to Angers, then to Le Mans and Rouen. From there, I'll go to Paris, and you'll head to Calais."
"I really don't want to part!" Porthos said sadly.
“I share your regrets, but there is no other way,” said d’Artagnan.
“We could go to Blois and visit Athos,” Porthos sighed sadly.
"Neither Blois, nor Pierrefonds, nor Tours, forget it," d'Artagnan retorted. "We must avoid places where you are known, and especially meetings with people known to be your friends. Monsieur Colbert, it turns out, has a very extensive network of spies, and he knows your name, as well as the names of all your friends, even acquaintances and acquaintances. Only Calais, and by the shortest route. Besides, I don't have much time; in two days I must be in Paris to appear before the King. Now it's time for bed, Porthos; I'll wake you very early in the morning!"
The friends spent the night at the same inn, choosing a common room on the ground floor so that in case of a surprise attack at the door, they could escape through the window. D'Artagnan paid the innkeeper in advance and ordered him to be awakened at half past three. However, this was unnecessary, as he had become accustomed to waking up precisely at the time he had set for himself in the morning.

Chapter 280

Let me return to the story of how I ended up on a ship whose captain was the Master of the Jesuit Order.
Two hours of sleep was enough for me to fully recover my strength. After that, I called the captain, who hadn't gone to bed at all.
"Your name is Geraldine d'Argenson, isn't it?" I asked.
"Exactly so, Monseigneur," replied Captain d'Argenson. "The fourth degree of initiation."
"From this moment on, Captain d'Argenson, your rank rises to the third rank," I said, offering the captain my hand bearing the Order's General's ring to kiss. "You have rendered the Order a significant service. Now, your task is to identify all of Colbert's special envoys on this ship, inform me of their names, and bring them one by one to this office for discussion. Don't worry, nothing terrible will happen to them."
“At your word, Monsignor, I will throw anyone overboard, including my first mate,” the captain replied.
"Well, that's only in the most extreme cases," I replied with a smile. "We're very peaceful people, until we get angry."
The captain bowed his head, combining a gesture of agreement with a gesture of submission.
"You will receive further instructions directly from me, or from the person who tells you the next password," I said, whispering in the ear of the captain of the "Hercules nobilis sub lapide." Remember?
“I’ll remember, Monsignor, I know Latin,” the captain replied.
I came up with this password in memory of dear Porthos.
"This password will mean that the messenger comes from me, and he is to be obeyed as I am," I clarified. "How long will it take you to uncover Colbert's spies?"
"I will name two of them to Monseigneur right now," replied d'Argenson. "They are Lieutenant du Chante and Lieutenant d'Aunay."
“Describe them briefly,” I asked.
The captain told what he knew about these people.
" Excellent, invite du Chante to my place," I ordered. "And you wait outside the door until I call you."
Three minutes later a young lieutenant entered the room.
"Monsieur du Chante," I said coldly, "you have some orders from Monsieur Colbert, I know about that."
“These orders were given to me by Monsieur Colbert, but they come from the King of France, which gives me special powers on this ship,” replied the lieutenant.
“Go ahead,” I said dryly, extending my hand with a gesture that completely excluded disobedience.
"I'm only required to produce these documents in special cases," du Chante objected. "This isn't such a special case, as far as I can tell."
" You can't judge anything definitively," I said softly, but at the same time extremely coldly. "Captain d'Argenson, come in!" I added clearly and somewhat louder.
"What would Monsignor like?" asked the captain, who had just entered the cabin.
"Please repeat where this ship is heading?" I asked.
“Wherever the monsignor wishes,” the captain replied.
"This officer claims to have orders from the King that can force you to countermand my orders, is that true?" I continued.
“No orders will make me disobey you, Monsignor,” the captain replied with a bow.
"One last question, Captain," I said. "If I told you to throw Lieutenant du Chante and Lieutenant d'Aunay overboard, what would you do?"
"Should we tie them up first, or just throw them out?" d'Argenson inquired.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied. “Thank you, go.”
After the captain left the cabin, I continued the conversation.
"You must realize, du Chant;, that in the world and in France itself there is a power stronger than your pathetic King," I said in a didactic tone. "This power will reach you anywhere and anytime. As for that insignificant Colbert, I don't even want to talk about him. I can do anything to you, Monsieur du Chant;. Do you believe me?"
"I believe you, Monseigneur," replied du Chante. "But I am an officer and am accustomed to the thought of death in the line of duty."
“Really?” I exclaimed approvingly. “Are you a Catholic?”
“Of course,” replied du Chante.
"What is your attitude towards the Jesuit Order?" I asked him quietly and clearly.
“My attitude towards religion concerns only me and the Lord, you will not intimidate me,” du Chante answered boldly.
Then I made some secret sign, after which du Chante's face changed.
"I see you understand some things quite well," I nodded. "In that case, why do you think the captain listens to my orders and disobeys the King's?"
"Are you a second-level member of the Order?" du Chante said, frightened.
“Aim higher,” I answered dryly.
"First level?" the lieutenant stammered.
"Do you see this?" I asked, showing my ring.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed du Chante. "General!"
With these words, du Chante fell on his knees and kissed the stone on my ring.
"My life, my deeds, my family belong to you, command them, Monseigneur!" exclaimed du Chante.
"Stand up," Aramis said softly. "You will tell me the names of all of Colbert's spies on this ship."
“De Trabuson, d'Aunay and I,” replied du Chante.
"Do you know of any Colbert spies on other ships or in the ground forces?" I inquired.
“No, Monsignor,” the lieutenant replied.
“Okay,” I said. “Give me your papers.”
The lieutenant took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. I immediately opened it and pulled out a document that read:

"The bearer of this document, Lieutenant du Chant;, has the authority to arrest or execute the state criminals Bishop d'Herblay of Vannes and Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux. All civil servants and all military officers are required to assist Lieutenant du Chant; in the execution of this order. For failure to assist or for obstructing the execution of this order, the said persons will be held accountable to the fullest extent of wartime penalties, including execution by firing squad for nobles and officers or hanging for soldiers and commoners."
Louis."

Chapter 281

I immediately noticed that the order lacked a state seal. The King had issued an edict requiring all his orders to be certified by the state seal, but apparently Colbert was in too much of a hurry and decided that this would do. Well, that meant other similar documents were also unsealed. That made things easier!
“Okay,” I said, putting the order back into the envelope. “I’ll keep this paper for now, and I’ll decide what to do with it. You’ll receive further instructions tomorrow morning. Go.”
After du Chante had left, I informed the captain that he need not worry any more about the fellow, as he was ours, and ordered Lieutenant d'Aunay to be sent to my cabin.

"Are you a Catholic?" I asked Lieutenant d'Aunay after he entered the cabin and sat down on the chair offered to him.
"No more than is required for a peaceful life in a Catholic state, and no less than the Church and the monarchy demand of me," the lieutenant replied. "But all my relatives are Catholics, and I attend church regularly. I have nothing to reproach you for, but if you suggest I become a priest, that path is not for me."
“What do you know about the Jesuit Order?” I asked.
"I know such an Order exists, but what does it matter to me?" the lieutenant replied, shrugging.
“So you serve the King not for religious reasons, but for career reasons,” I said.
"It's my business who I serve and for what reasons," d'Aunay replied discontentedly. "If this is an interrogation, then first explain to me by what right you are interrogating me, and then I'll consider whether to answer you or not."
I made a secret sign, to which the lieutenant paid no attention.
"Did you know that I can tell the captain to throw you overboard, and he will carry out that order without batting an eye?" I asked.
"So you're an admiral?" the lieutenant asked calmly. "But if I'm innocent, why throw me overboard?"
"And by the way, you have documents, relying on the contents of which, you intend to cause a mutiny on the ship," I replied. "And mutineers on ships have always been thrown overboard or hanged from the yardarm. Choose whichever you prefer."
“I have no such documents and I have no intention of causing a rebellion,” Lieutenant d’Aunay replied, without losing his composure.
"This document was handed to you by someone claiming to be Colbert's lieutenant. He gave you an envelope containing what he claimed was an order signed by the King. In fact, this order is a forgery. It was composed by this man himself, a rebel, a state criminal. He forged the King's signature and convinced you that this order gives you the right to command even the captain of this ship, is that correct?"
“You are mistaken, sir, what’s your name again?” the lieutenant objected calmly.
"If you please, I will recite the text of this order for you from memory," I smiled. "It reads as follows: 'The bearer of this, Lieutenant d'Aunay, has the authority to arrest or put to death the state criminals Bishop d'Herblay of Vannes and Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux. All civil servants and all military officers are required to assist Lieutenant d'Aunay in the execution of this order. For failure to assist or for obstructing the execution of this order, the said persons will be held accountable to the fullest extent of wartime penalties, including execution by firing squad for nobles and officers or hanging for soldiers and commoners. Signed: Louis.'"
Lieutenant d'Aunay turned pale, but tried not to show it.
"Will you dispute it?" I asked.
“If I had such an order,” he replied, “and if circumstances arose in which I had to carry out such an order, then I would not be a rebel, but an executor of the king’s will.”
"Provided the order were genuine," I smiled. "The King's genuine orders always bear the seal of Chancellor Seguier. This one doesn't. Therefore, it's a forgery! But since we know it's a forgery, you become an accomplice to a crime against the King's will, a state criminal, a rebel who must be hanged or thrown into the sea, where you have no chance of survival, especially if a cannonball in a sack is tied to your feet and your hands are tied. You must admit, swimming in such a position is quite difficult."
“You won’t do that,” said the lieutenant, turning even paler.
"Captain!" I exclaimed.
As soon as the captain entered the cabin, I asked:
"Captain d'Argenson, I've spoken with Lieutenant d'Aunay, and I'm sending him on a diplomatic mission to the bottom of the sea," I told the captain. "To speed his journey to his final destination, he'll need a cannonball, which should be placed in a sack and tied to his feet. Afterward, you will lower my envoy into the sea. He won't need his sword on the journey; he'll leave it here."
"It shall be done, Monsignor," replied the captain. "Lieutenant, your sword!"
"By what right?!" d'Aunay exclaimed with a squeal.
“I can cancel my assignment if you undertake to carry out some of my other orders that do not involve diving into the depths of the sea,” I replied with a smile, “but first you will give me the letter whose existence you just denied.”
"There it is, damn you!" the lieutenant exclaimed. "It's violence, but I recognize your right as the strong and submit to your authority."
"Thank you, Captain," I replied, nodding my head to indicate he could go. "And you, Lieutenant, stay a couple more minutes."
“If you don’t run me through with your sword,” d’Aunay replied apprehensively.
"No, what are you saying!" I smiled. "That's not necessary, you're a very understanding officer."
"What do you want from me?" asked the lieutenant.
"What is your full name, d'Aunay?" I demanded. "Speak!"
“Lieutenant of the Royal Guard Jean-Pierre d'Aunay,” the lieutenant replied.
“Take paper and pen, sit down and write the following,” I said, after which I began to dictate.
"I, Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, Jean-Pierre d'Aunay, having met the Bishop of Vannes, Monsieur d'Herblay, voluntarily handed him a forged order bearing the forged signature of King Louis XIV of France, handed to me in the name of Monsieur de Colbert. I did so because I recognized the invalidity of this order, since I consider it to be forged, as it does not bear the seal of Chancellor S;guier. I undertake not to obey orders received from the supposed envoys of Monsieur de Colbert, no matter who signed them, and not to execute orders that do not bear the signature of His Majesty King Louis XIV and the state seal.
Signed: Jean-Pierre d'Aunay"
"Put today's date and your signature," I said. "If the order is forged, such a document will prove you are not an accomplice to the rebels and will protect you from the King's wrath. In this case, you will recognize that I saved your life and will serve me faithfully from now on."
"And if the order that Colbert gave me, and which you took from me, is not a forgery?" asked d'Aunay, handing me a document he had dictated and signed.
“Just a minute, I’ll read it to make sure everything is written correctly,” I replied, reading the document.
Having made sure that everything was written accurately, I put the document in the same envelope where the King’s order lay, hid the envelope in my bosom and, with feigned absentmindedness, asked again:
— You seemed to ask something?
"I asked what would happen if the order that Colbert gave me, and which you took from me, was not forged?" d'Aunay repeated.
"In that case, you are a state criminal and subject to execution by hanging, as stated in the document itself," I answered calmly. "And what exactly is the matter? Why are you so worried about this?"
"You have deceived me!" d'Aunay exclaimed with hatred. "You have ruined me! You have forced me to write a denunciation of myself!"
"Just a moment," I objected. "Firstly, you can inquire with any lawyer or attorney about the requirement for the state seal on the King's orders. You'll see I'm right. Secondly, I've convinced you not to go down as my ambassador, but if you've changed your mind, I'm prepared to return to my first offer, and the captain, as you can see, will assist me with that. You agreed to carry out some of my orders, and I needed a small guarantee of your compliance, since I don't intend to accompany you on my missions. You will always remember that if you attempt to deceive me, your confession will be delivered to Monsieur Colbert along with the order he handed to you through his envoy. But that's only if the seal on the order is missing due to Monsieur Colbert's oversight, which I doubt. In the extremely unlikely event that the order was indeed signed by the King, he himself previously declared such orders invalid. So the risk to you is minimal; at worst, just a minor reprimand and the loss of your next promotion upon reaching the appropriate seniority level. A minor inconvenience. Just a minor inconvenience. If you don't deceive me and carry out my instructions precisely, then I will keep this letter as a small souvenir of our acquaintance. However, my instructions will be few in number, they will be easy for you, and upon completion, you will be able to receive both documents at your disposal. Are you satisfied with this turn of events, or shall we return to discussing your mission on the seabed?
"What am I supposed to do?" Lieutenant d'Aunay asked gloomily.
"I'm giving you until morning to consider the pros and cons of your new situation, and in the morning you'll receive instructions on what you're to do," I replied. "And I wouldn't advise attempting to assassinate me. These documents won't be in my custody, I assure you. There are many people on this ship who are personally loyal to me, as you'll soon see. So, if anything happens to me, these papers will be immediately delivered to Colbert, and they won't cause you any trouble, no matter how small, because the lack of a seal completely excuses you! You've just had the opportunity to see for yourself that I have allies and assistants on this ship, including the captain. The ship is in my hands; I am the supreme authority here. The source of my power is not clear to you, and it's not necessary. Just remember this: it is stronger than the power of the King, and if it were possible to travel to other planets, we could establish our dominion there, too, for which Earth is too small. Now go."

Chapter 282

After this I had a conversation with Sub-Lieutenant de Trabu;on.

“Mr. de Trabu;on, I would like to ask you a few questions,” I said, carefully examining the newly arrived guard.
"You seem to be some kind of bigwig around here, I see," the junior lieutenant replied gruffly. "You're talking to me as if I'm obligated to answer you."
"That's true," I agreed. "To make our conversation short, I'll now outline his plan for you in general terms."
"Very curious!" agreed de Trabu;on.
"First, I'd like to know your views on certain theological issues," I said, casually making a secret gesture. Noticing that it had no effect on my interlocutor, I continued. "On this basis, we're unlikely to find anything interesting to talk about."
“I suppose so,” the junior lieutenant agreed.
“After this, I will ask you to give me the envelope that was handed to you on behalf of Mr. Colbert, and you will refuse to do so,” I continued.
“I don’t know about any envelope,” de Trabu;on answered cautiously.
"You know about it, you're lying to me, but I don't care," I waved my hand dismissively. "This paper is worthless, as it doesn't bear the Chancellor's seal, and the King has issued a decree stating that orders without such a seal are invalid. You can verify the absence of a seal by looking at the document. But whether you agree with me or not is a matter of indifference to me. Our conversation will be as follows. I threaten to throw you overboard, but you won't believe my words, and you'd be right to do so."
“You don’t have enough power for this and you don’t have the courage to commit such a crime,” de Trabu;on said uncertainly.
"I have enough power and I have enough determination for this, but I will not do it only because it is unwise," I replied. "You are not my friend, but you are not my enemy either; you are not dangerous to me, since I know your intentions and your capabilities, and I am dangerous to you, since you do not know my capabilities, and they, believe me, are great, and you do not know my intentions, and in relation to you, they depend to a great extent on your obedience."
“But I have no intention of being obedient to you,” de Trabu;on objected.
“That’s precisely the issue we’ll now discuss in more detail,” I replied, almost kindly. “So, you’re declaring that you won’t obey my orders. I’m convinced that your resolve is as firm as flint; there’s no way to influence you. What then can I do with you? Simply killing you is completely useless. Better to make an example of you for those who are more compliant. Knowing how I’ll treat you, I believe they’ll be much more likely to decide to cooperate with me. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. So, you’ll be an interesting example of how I deal with intractable people. I intend to use this example in my future work, recruiting supporters for my mission. So, your disobedience and your refusal to cooperate with me are quite desirable for me. I’ve already convinced two of Colbert’s other spies to obey me; your submission will be superfluous. I don’t need you.”
"And what will you do with me?" de Trabu;on asked, incredulously and with some apprehension.
"Oh, don't worry about that!" I cried. "I'm not going to kill you, and I don't even want to separate you from your family."
"With my family? What are you talking about?" the junior lieutenant exclaimed.
- Well, you probably have a wife, maybe even an adult daughter or two.
“I have a son,” de Trabu;on replied.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “You’ll all go to Turkey.”
"To Turkey? For what?" the junior lieutenant asked in surprise.
"I will personally place you as a eunuch in the harem of a pasha I know," I replied. "I will place your son or sons, if there are several, in similar positions in other harems. Don't worry, I have the means to find out exactly how many children you have and what gender they are. Your wife and daughters, if you have deceived me and you have any, I will place them in the pasha's harem."
"By what right?" exclaimed de Trabu;on, jumping up from his chair.
“By right of might! Sit down, Trabu;on, sit down!” I said harshly. “Do you know what the right of might is? It is a right that has been used for too long in France by certain individuals who thought neither of the fate of the country as a whole nor of the individual citizens who make up that country! Cardinal Richelieu executed anyone who threatened not just his power, but even his reputation! Cardinal Mazarin robbed anyone whose money, in his opinion, should have belonged to him, the Cardinal, and not to the person who possessed it. The Chevalier de Luynes, Marshal d'Ancre, the Duchess de Chevreuse, and many others.” The favorites twisted the Kings and Queens at their whims, while the latter used the entire nation solely to satisfy their greed, envy, vindictiveness, lust, sensuality, and other unbridled passions. They did all this by right of might. The current King, by right of might, takes from a young man the only thing he had —his pure youthful love—trampling his feelings, his honor, his life into the dirt. It's no longer enough for him, like all his lustful ancestors, to snatch wives from husbands who've grown lukewarm to the charms of their faithful spouses and reward them for their ambiguous role as cuckolds with castles, court titles, and military awards. It's not enough for him to be able to imitate those same ancestors, who, having fathered illegitimate children with unmarried girls, arranged for them to marry noble fools who, for the royal favor, were happy to become honorary cuckolds, and then retreat to their ancestral estates, remaining there and keeping a low profile while the royals amused themselves with their wives and produced bastards. Such amusements no longer seem interesting to our dear King. He prefers to take away the only love of an honest, pure, noble young man, who is dearer to me than my own son, simply to toy with her for a while, perhaps to have a few children with her, and then to banish her from sight to some monastery to atone for his and her sins before God. And he plans to send the young man he has wronged to a place where he will most likely be killed, simply to be rid of a man who would be a living reproach to this young, august lover of vainglory. All this is done by the law of the strong. So, Mr. de Trabu;on, I declare to you that I am stronger than your insignificant King Louis XIV, I could have thrown him off the throne, as one throws a chess king off the board, I could, if I wanted, have destroyed him, but I was also strong enough that when the matter was almost done, or finally done, I allowed all my work to be destroyed, allowed power to return to this insignificant man only because he was defended by someone whom I respect enough to agree that his point of view on this problem may have the right to be considered. I, who could move the King like a pawn, decided to leave him in place only because it was enough for me to be convinced that I could do it, after which I allowed myself to prove that I could not be tempted by the pursuit of illusory wealth or power, and that I was ready to listen to the will of the Lord, I was ready to follow the path that the Lord showed me, and if he gave me a sign that my path was wrong, I would not insist on my mistakes, but would agree with his will, with his choice, and go into the shadows, allowing events to take their course and develop as he decided.
“You are talking about something too terrible, but beyond my understanding,” said de Trabu;on, pale as a sheet.
“I said to myself: ‘If your plans have failed, rejoice, for the Lord’s plans have succeeded.’ And I withdrew from affairs. Instead of fighting, I retreated,” I said more to myself than to my interlocutor. “I could have unleashed a new war, a civil war, a difficult and protracted one, a war of the rebellious island fortress of Belle-;le against the King of France. Many months would have passed before Fate chose who would be victorious. And in any case, England and Spain would not have remained in this matter! I would have managed to draw these neighbors into this war, just as Buckingham supported the La Rochelle people with troops, weapons, and personal courage, Henry II of England and Philip IV of Spain would have helped me! That is strength! The King would not have stood firm. The island of Belle-;le would have become a new state, and I would have been its King.” But even without that, I have subjects, and territory, and guns, and money, and gunpowder, and ideas that my subjects are ready to defend at my first word. But I threw it all away! I did not want to start a civil war against my King, no matter how wrong I thought he was. I resigned myself, I fled, I was ready to die from a stray bullet from someone like you. I resigned myself, but the Lord gave me strength and gave me the means to save myself and my cause.
"You don't look like a resigned man," de Trabu;on retorted, stunned. "You give the impression of a lion about to spring, whose leap will be fatal to its intended victim."
"Yes, damn it!" I cried, snatching up a porcelain figurine from the table, depicting the Magi bringing gifts to the baby Jesus. "I yielded to the will of the Lord, but the Lord took from me my friend, whom I loved more than I ever knew. And I will never forgive either the Lord or the King!"
With these words, I furiously threw the figurine on the floor with such force that the smallest fragments flew in all directions.
“The king who deprived me of a friend will never be forgiven,” I said. “I would forgive him my death! If he seized me and ordered my execution, I would bless him as I died. But I will not forgive him for the death of my dear friend, my brother, my beloved Porthos. He will pay me for it. And if you, Monsieur de Trabu;on, stand in my way, I will destroy you. Not physically. I will destroy you morally. I will turn you into dust, into ashes. You will not be a man, you will be a eunuch. You will serve figs, peaches, and grapes to the pasha, who will enjoy the charms of your wife before your eyes. How do you like that prospect?”
“You won’t do it,” whispered de Trabu;on, breaking out in a cold sweat.
“For what reason?” I asked coldly.
"I agree to serve you, just don't do this," said the junior lieutenant. "My God! I believe you're capable of this! Your eyes, your gaze, prove it. Tell me you won't touch my family!"
“Complete obedience on your part, Monsieur de Trabu;on, to me and me alone, is what will protect you from such a fate even if someone "No one else would want to do this to you," I said, looking my victim straight in the eyes. "I can protect the man loyal to me, but I can also punish the traitor. Either you obey me and your family, like you, is safe, or..."
"I understand! I agree!" de Trabu;on quickly replied.
“Give me your paper, the order that was handed to you in the name of Colbert, and which was supposedly signed by the King,” I said.
“I don’t have it,” Trabuson replied.
“Don’t lie, I know you have it,” I objected.
"A gust of wind accidentally tore it out of my hands and carried it out to sea," Trabuson stammered. "If you don't believe me, you can search me or order your men to do so."
"I don't believe you, Trabuson, but I won't search you," I replied. "A small lie breeds great suspicion. Remember that. Having agreed to work for me, you almost immediately afterwards, by refusing to give me this document, sowed deep doubt in my mind about your loyalty. That's not how things are done. Go."
Trabuson paused for half a second—long enough for me to realize he was right, and that he couldn't decide whether to admit he'd deceived me earlier or stand firm. He was obviously afraid I might somehow find out, and I suspect he was determined to hide the order as far away as possible, or perhaps even get rid of it at the first opportunity, perhaps by throwing it into the sea that very night.
The letter's whereabouts no longer mattered to me. I realized that, although I had apparently sufficiently intimidated Trabu;on, I should not rely on him in important matters. He had betrayed his duty out of cowardice, and therefore he would just as easily, or even more easily, betray me for the same reasons. But Trabu;on was only one of three of Colbert's spies I had exposed, and I could trust the other two completely. It would have been better, indeed, to use him as a model for how I dealt with those who disobeyed my authority. I knew in my mind that this would be better, but my heart refused to allow me to kill a man who, as it seemed to me, was still completely innocent. Even knowing that in the future he might become the cause of many of my misfortunes, I could not deal with him, for in his past he had been pure. Yes, he was Colbert's spy, and yes, all of them together led to Porthos's death, but Colbert and Louis were responsible, and they were merely the executors. I had no intention of carrying out the punishments I threatened poor Trabu;on with; it was simply a play of nerves, a clash of wills, a bluff. I could have done it, I was strong enough, but I didn't plan it. Alas.

Chapter 283

The next morning, shortly before the ship arrived at its destination, I summoned the captain and three of Colbert's converted spies.
"Captain, after you drop me off at the port of San Sebastian, you may return to your previously assigned mission," I said. "You may explain your prolonged absence by saying that three of your officers presented you with orders from the King, forcing you to hunt down state criminals—me, that is. Here are two of those orders. De Trabu;on dropped his document into the sea. Messrs. du Chant; and d'Aunay, you may retrieve your documents; you will need them for your report to Monsieur Colbert. Captain, as you see, the documents do not bear the state seal. This may explain some doubts about the advisability of carrying out the orders, since our King has declared throughout the country that none of his written orders are valid unless they are authenticated by the state seal."
De Trabuson made a sour face.
“There are two dozen sailors and officers on the ship who will tell a different version of events,” he said.
"Don't worry, they'll all confirm your version; the captain will see to that," I said. "Besides, you three are Mr. Colbert's confidants, aren't you? If you three tell the same story, why would Mr. Colbert doubt the veracity of your account?"
De Trabuson was embarrassed.
"Is that all I have to do?" he asked.
“A little later I will give each of you additional instructions that concern only you personally,” I replied.
"Can we go?" de Trabu;on asked, and the other three present looked at him in surprise.
“If you’re in a hurry, I won’t keep you,” I replied.
De Trabu;on grabbed the hat he had placed there from the table and left without saying a word.
Du Chante and d'Aunay remained with me, as well as Captain d'Argenson.
"Gentlemen, you have all acknowledged my right to command you for reasons that are compelling to you," I said. "For this reason, I have no doubt of our successful cooperation in the future. A cooperation that will be beneficial to both you and me. But I'm not so sure about de Trabu;on."
"Why not throw this very de Trabu;on overboard?" asked Captain d'Argenson.
"The disappearance of Colbert's man will arouse more suspicion than the discrepancy between his words and those of other agents," I said. "Besides, as a bishop, I am firmly against any violence except when it is absolutely necessary for the good of the cause. So, are my instructions clear?"
“Yes, monseigneur,” replied du Chantet.
“We understand,” replied d’Aune and the captain.
"My three Breton men will return to their homes, where they'll be more useful," I added. "I'm asking you, Captain, to land them somewhere on the French coast, but not on Belle-Ile. They're probably still looking for them there. They'll be back there in a couple of months, when things have calmed down."
The captain nodded his head in agreement.
"After we tell Colbert your version, what's our next task?" du Chante asked.
"And will Colbert believe us if de Trabu;on presents his version?" d'Aunay doubted.
"Even if de Trabu;on disobeys me and tells Colbert everything as it is, and that's likely what will happen, his testimony will differ from that of Colbert's two other men, the captain's, and the sailors' accounts," I replied. "I hope you, Captain, can explain to the sailors what they should say about these events if they are questioned. But who will question them? Where are the sailors, and where is Paris? Two of Colbert's three returning agents will tell the same story; of course, Colbert will believe them, not the third, who presents a different version. By doing so, de Trabu;on will only undermine his own credibility. Furthermore, to increase their credibility, tell them that those same sailors told you that it has become known that Baron du Valon is buried on the island of Belle-;le under a huge stone, where the Locmaria cave opens onto the ocean shore." You couldn't have known this from anyone except the fishermen, since you weren't there. But you know it, and it's the absolute truth. This will indirectly prove that you encountered fishermen at sea, and will cast doubt on the words of de Trabu;on, who doesn't know this and can't explain how you know it. As for further interaction, do what you must, according to your positions and rank. If you are needed, my man will approach you and refer to a message from a passenger on the longboat from Belle-;le. The mention of the longboat from Belle-;le will unmistakably prove to you that this man is from me. He will also show you a drawing of my ring. This will mean that he has brought you a task that must be carried out. That will be all, Captain. I will add only one thing, which should become the very essence of your voluntary agreement to obey me. Whoever has given you orders to harm me, or Captain d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers, or the Comte de la F;re, or his son, the Vicomte de Bragelonne, or the Duchess de Longueville, you must under no circumstances carry out such an order. These people are protected by the power I represent; to harm any of them is to harm me and the power I represent. This must not be done under any circumstances, never, remember that. If any of these people ask you for help, you must help them. This is the most important thing you must understand right now.
Fear no one in this world but me, for from now on my power over you is greater than that of a king, and your actions will be kept under the watchful eye of people you know nothing about. But you need not fear my power either, so long as you do not turn against me. So, congratulations, gentlemen, you are now protected. Of course, I cannot protect you from a stray bullet, or from a treacherous sword thrust, or from a flowerpot falling from a window. Such circumstances are in God's hands. But in all matters concerning human judgment on this earth, believe me, I will intervene if disaster threatens my people, and I will force Fate to relent and act as I desire.
You will maintain contact with me via carrier pigeons, which you will find at one of the following addresses. These cards contain the addresses and names of those with whom you will be dealing. Read and remember them, as I will burn these cards as soon as our conversation is over.
I placed three cards with names and addresses in front of my new agents and turned over the hourglass. As soon as the last grain of sand fell to the bottom of the lower flask, I removed the cards from the table.
“I gave you five minutes to memorize the addresses,” I said. “Have you remembered everything?”
“Let me take another look,” asked du Chante.
“Okay, but from now on, develop your memory,” I replied and turned the watch over again.
When the clock had struck five minutes again, I took the cards and burned them over a lit candle, and threw the ashes out the window leading to the sea.
"Time's up. Instructions have been given. Go," I said.
After the departure of all three, the captain soon re-entered the cabin, which he placed at my disposal, as I had asked him to return some time after the end of the conversation.
"Please, Captain, invite only du Chante to me, but only in such a way that the others do not know about it," I said. "And you too, stay after that."
I said to du Chante, who had entered:
"Du Chante, you are a brother in faith and a member of our union. I trust you implicitly. Keep an eye on the others. Especially de Trabu;on."
“I understand that, Your Eminence,” replied du Chante.
“May the Lord bless you for this good deed,” I answered kindly and crossed myself over the bowed du Chante.
When du Chante left, the captain and I were left alone.
"Captain d'Argenson, thank you for your service," I said softly. "I will leave you at the port of San Sebastian, and when I need you, I will find a way to contact you. You have fulfilled your duty; in confirmation of your new powers at the third level of initiation, remember the following sign and remember the following password."
After this, I made a mysterious sign with my fingers and whispered some words into the captain's ear. The captain bowed, after which I placed my hand on his head and said:
“I bless you, my son, go with God,” after which I crossed his forehead in the air.

Chapter 284

When d'Artagnan returned to Paris after the unexpected discovery and rescue of Porthos, he planned to appear before the King as if nothing had happened. But the long excavation of damp sand, stones, and rubble in the wind, as he raced to get to his beloved Porthos, played a cruel joke on him. First, he was sweating from the effort, forcing him to throw off his coat. Then, when he stopped digging, he was so excited by the meeting with his friend that he didn't notice the draught blowing across his hot body and sweat-soaked shirt. While he rode, seeing Porthos off to Rouen, he paid no attention to his health. But upon arriving home, he suddenly realized how tired he was, and, worst of all, simply ill. Yes, the same iron, unbending, three-veined d'Artagnan had suddenly become ill. He abandoned the idea of appearing before the King as quickly as possible for new orders because he simply lacked the strength to go anywhere. If he had been told at that moment that to receive a marshal's baton, he simply had to go to the window and wave his hand, he still wouldn't have been able to get out of bed. Illness struck him down just as he reached home, although it had attacked him much earlier. His iron will was enough to remain in the saddle until he reached the safe haven of his own apartment in Paris, not far from the Louvre, where he could be found should he be urgently needed.
Two hours had passed, but it seemed to him that not even a minute had passed since he had fallen asleep when someone began persistently knocking on the door of his apartment.
"Come in, whoever you are, the door is unlocked!" he said, not recognizing his own voice before a violent coughing fit overwhelmed him.
"It is I, Captain," said Lieutenant d'Arlencourt. "His Majesty wished to see you."
“My dear d’Arlencourt, I myself would like to appear before His Majesty, but I am in such a broken state that I am ashamed to appear before his august gaze,” the captain replied with a sigh and coughed again.
"What message should I convey to His Majesty?" asked d'Arlencourt.
"Tell him everything as it is," replied d'Artagnan. "Tell him that you found me in a state that does not allow him to regard me as a loyal captain of the Musketeers. It would be unwise to count on my service now. I should remain at home not so much out of humaneness towards myself, but out of philanthropy towards everyone I meet along the way, and, of course, towards His Majesty himself."
"In what diplomatic terms would you advise me to describe your condition to the King?" asked the lieutenant.
“What the hell of diplomacy?!” d’Artagnan replied. “If I were a duke or a prince, you would have to choose diplomatic expressions when describing my condition. If I were sick, you would have to say: ‘The Duke was forced to decline the dinner offered to him.’ If I were lying drunk, you would have to say: ‘His Serene Highness was tired of the cognac.’ If I were incontinent, you would have to invent a florid phrase about being forced to remain seated as much as possible. But I am a simple captain, albeit a count. Of me, one can simply say: ill. But if there is a mission I must carry out, I will carry it out even if I die afterwards. But first, I will carry it out. Tell him so. But on the condition that I do not have to appear before His Majesty in this state, which would be of no benefit to either me or him.”
D'Arlencourt bowed and left, for he realized that every word was given to d'Artagnan with great difficulty, and this long, florid phrase could only have been uttered in such a state by such a Gascon from head to toe as d'Artagnan, who, even without the strength to speak, had to say something strong.

"Well, where is my captain of the musketeers?" Louis asked impatiently of d'Arlencourt, who had just entered.
“The captain is ill, Your Majesty, but he said that if you have a mission for him, he will carry it out even at the cost of his life,” replied d’Arlencourt, cutting short the captain’s ornate speech, leaving only its essence.
"The matter I wished to entrust to him is of the utmost importance and most urgent, and, besides, I can entrust it only to him," said the King. "But I require Monsieur d'Artagnan in perfect health, vigorous, and full of strength. However much I may hurry with this matter, I will wait until he is fully recovered. Tell Captain d'Artagnan that I wish him a speedy recovery and will not expect him back until he is completely well. If it takes a week, two, or three, I will wait. Until he is fully recovered, tell him so."
D'Arlencourt bowed and left, after which he relayed the King's words to d'Artagnan word for word. The lieutenant had an exceptional memory, and he did not consider it possible to abbreviate the King's words.
"That's interesting," d'Artagnan thought. "I hope he doesn't plan to have me arrest Athos. As for the arrest of Porthos and Aramis, I failed miserably! And what a stunning success! After all, the blame for the failure of the operation lies entirely with Monsieur Colbert! Now, I believe His Majesty has already been informed that Aramis has escaped and Porthos is dead. How wonderful that the King believes Porthos is dead. If he thought Aramis was also dead, I could rest easy. Well, Aramis is a cunning fox; Colbert's bloodhounds will never catch him!"
At least, that's how d'Artagnan later conveyed his thoughts to me when he told me about it, and I, of course, believe him. I'm not offended that he compared me to the Fox. La Fontaine's frequent readings of his fables aloud taught me that every person can be compared to some animal, and a comparison to a fox doesn't offend me in the least. Especially if it's the Fox from La Fontaine's fables!

Chapter 285

The King decided to visit the Queen Mother.
“Mother, good afternoon,” he said. “I hope your health is better?”
"My health will never be better than it was, my son, get used to it," the Queen replied. "Every new day adds years to my age and takes away my health. This is God's law, established for everyone in this world, and it makes no exception for Kings and Queens. Thank you for inquiring about my health."
"Your health always interests and worries me to the highest degree," Louis lied. "Just like your life. And yet I know so little about you! Tell me about your youth."
"Youth is always better than old age, even if it included undeserved humiliation, poverty unbecoming one's station, insulting and baseless threats, and mortal danger for the most trivial reasons," the Queen replied. "All the bad is forgotten with time, and the good, unfortunately, too, but the memory lingers on, the feeling that once upon a time there was youth, strength, health, and desire, there were loyal friends, and brave, talented men willing to serve not for money or other rewards, but simply because they believed that any nobleman's loyalty to his Queen is a demand of duty and honor."
“Tell me about these people, mother,” asked the King.
"Ten years ago, Cardinal Giulio Mazarin made the same request," the Queen recalled. "He was seeking loyal nobles for himself, and wanted to know from me the names of those he could rely on. But every era has its heroes! Why dredge up the affairs of twenty years ago? And now, thirty years ago. But, strangely enough, among my former protectors, there were those who proved useful to the Cardinal."
“It’s Captain d’Artagnan, I know, mother,” said Louis.
“So you’re asking me questions to which you already know the answers,” the Queen concluded.
"I know the name, I know the man, I know him as the captain of the king's musketeers, but this knowledge is not enough for me," replied the King. "I have good reasons for trying to find out everything I can about this man."
"But you spent so much time with him!" the Queen replied. "He was with you on hunts and on ceremonial outings; he or his men guard you constantly. And they guard you well! If my father-in-law, Henry IV , had had his own d'Artagnan, he would not have perished by Ravaillac's dagger, I assure you!"
"I know that d'Artagnan is a faithful servant and a devoted officer," Louis agreed. "But by the will of fate, he has divulged a secret that no one should know!"
At the word "secret" the Queen shuddered.
"What secret are you speaking of, my son?" asked Anne of Austria, trying to remain calm.
"Don't worry, mother, he didn't enter her for evil, but for my benefit and, I hope, for France, and, I also hope, for yours," Louis replied. "I should thank him for that!"
“Well, then, thank me,” said the Queen, both afraid to hear what secret was being discussed and afraid of not finding out.
"I would like to ask you, Mother, what would be the best way to thank a man you have known so well and for so long?" asked Louis.
"Your gratitude alone, expressed verbally, is reward enough for any subject," the Queen replied. "But, of course, it wouldn't behoove a King to be overly stingy. Generosity within reasonable limits is the adornment of any monarch. And the best reward has always been, and remains, money. Of course, one could show gratitude in other ways, by gifting a plot of land, a house, a court position, or the next officer's rank. But such gifts can be inconvenient for the giver. After all, positions and ranks should be bestowed not as a reward, but according to which person is best suited for the position and who has earned the next rank. This is excessive for gratitude, but quite appropriate for a reward."
"What do you advise me, mother?" asked Louis.
“In order to advise what the reward should be, one would need to know what this person’s service to you consists of,” the Queen continued her game, simultaneously fearing and wanting to know the essence of the conversation.
"You could say he gave me life," the King replied. "Or at least gave me back my freedom."
"I don't understand this, my son," said the Queen. "If the midwives didn't deceive me, then it was I, your mother, who gave you life. As for restoring your freedom, has anyone ever taken it from you?"
"Exactly so, Mother," replied Louis. "My freedom was taken from me, and I had no reason to hope that it would be returned. I had serious reason to fear for my life. And all this is because of one little secret that you hid from me, Mother."
This time, the word "secret" genuinely startled the Queen. She realized Louis hadn't visited her out of filial piety. This was all a prelude to a conversation about some secret her son had managed to discover, which, she read on his face, he was about to throw in her face like a dirty napkin rendered useless and disgusting by its use. The Queen didn't know what to think and couldn't imagine how to respond to such a challenge.
"Any mother sometimes hides things from her son, if only because she's a woman and he's a man," she said after some hesitation. "But I can't figure out what you're talking about."
“Then I won’t beat around the bush, Mother,” replied the King. “I’ll just ask, how many sons do you have?”
"A rather strange question," the Queen replied, straightening her back abruptly. "A strange and impudent question for any citizen of France, a country where I am still Queen and will be until I die. A country where every person knows how many sons I have! And this question is impudent for everyone who asks it, including you, Your Majesty, for although you are the King, you are still my son! Or do you suspect that I have other children, born to other men, hidden by me?"
“I don’t suspect anything like that, mother, but my question was not asked out of a desire to offend you, because even if you don’t answer me, I already know the answer to it,” said Louis.
"Of course you know the answer," the Queen said in a trembling voice. "As I said, everyone knows the answer to that question. I have two sons, you and your brother Philip. What else do you want?"
"You've forgotten, Mother, about my other brother," Louis said in a level but firm voice. "Or rather, Philippe should be considered the other brother, and the one I'm talking about can't possibly be called another brother, for his birthright is much higher than Philippe's. I'm talking about my twin brother, born a quarter of an hour or so after I was born."
"Silence!" the Queen cried, raising her right hand as if to shield herself from her son's face. "Silence! This secret was never meant to be known to anyone except those who were privy to it by force of circumstances! It is a terrible secret for me, for you, and for all of France."
“Yes, madam, it is a terrible secret,” Louis agreed. “And the fact that I was not privy to it made it even more terrible for me personally! And I had no idea that anyone who learned it could plan such a daring crime! To kidnap me, place this man who looks exactly like me on my throne, and leave me in prison for the rest of my days, or, worse, simply kill me! In my naivety, I believed that my nobles, every single one, were loyal to me, and therefore it was impossible to simply kidnap or kill me without sparking a civil war. And therefore, no conspirators would want to kidnap me, since it would gain them nothing! In the event of my death, my younger brother, Philippe d’Orl;ans, would have to take the throne! This renders all attempts at conspiring against me pointless! But, as it turns out, everything is far from so simple!” The conspirators can simply remove me, destroy me, and put on the throne a prisoner they freed from the Bastille!
"What you say is terrible, but even more terrible, my son, is that you blame it on me, your mother, who is as much a victim of Cardinal Richelieu's tyranny as your unfortunate brother. And you are the least of its victims, for Richelieu did everything to ensure that you, and you alone, would be King, trampling on all the rights of your brother, who had them no less than you, because questions of seniority among twins have always been and are a complex theosophical, philosophical, and legal problem, and history has never had to resolve these questions in relation to the Dauphin, the heir to the throne, especially a throne as great as the throne of France!"
“That sounds unconvincing, madam,” replied the King.
"What exactly do you find unconvincing about what I said?" asked the Queen, taking the offensive. "Do you think the birth of twins is a matter of the mother's will? Do you think I arranged it myself to have two sons instead of one? That's up to the Lord!"
"I would like to understand why you, the mother of two princes, agreed to one of them going to prison, and also why you hid this fact from me?" Louis continued.
“Very well, let’s take things in order,” replied the Queen. “With your permission, I’ll begin with the second question. Why did I conceal from you that you had a brother? Why did you need to know? Do you know how many sleepless nights I spent because I couldn’t influence your brother’s fate? What can you know of the feelings of a mother whose child was taken from her? I was promised that he would be provided with a decent life, befitting his rank, or perhaps only slightly inconsistent with it. I didn’t know he would be deprived of his freedom! He was simply given to a wet nurse, to grow up far from Paris, to live a free and happy life, but without any thought of succession to the throne. The Cardinal decided so because he believed that two heirs to the throne with equal rights was too dangerous for France as it was at the time. And God knows, he was right!” If I had two Dauphins, the Fronde would have used one of you against me, or demanded that you both be removed from the succession. In either case, civil war would have broken out, the population would have split in two, and the throne would have fallen to one of you at random. But it could also have happened that in the struggle, both of you would have been defeated, and your downfall would have been exploited by some noble scoundrel from among the Dukes of Lorraine, or the Rohans, or the Bourbons, the bastards of your august grandfather. Why didn't I tell you? I saved you the heavy burden of responsibility for this decision! At first, you were too young to understand this political decision. And then you were independent enough to ignore it. You were crowned, my son, you became King, and from that moment on, your brother's rights to the throne, as long as you lived, became null and void.
"Exactly, while I'm alive!" exclaimed Louis. "To make his rights more valid, they could have killed me! And I had no idea of this danger!"
"No one was supposed to know this secret, and then you would have been in no danger," the Queen replied. "That's why your brother was placed in the Bastille. It was done to eliminate any possibility that anyone would see him and notice the unusual resemblance between you. You see, everything was done solely for your own good!"
“You answered my second question, but not the first,” said Louis, calming down slightly. “I accept your answer about the reasons why you did not find the time, the opportunity, or simply did not wish to reveal this secret to me. That is perfectly understandable, humanly speaking. But I cannot understand why you, the Queen of France, the mother of the King’s two sons, submitted to the demands of some Cardinal Richelieu, a mere prime minister? Why did you not demand that the Cardinal stay out of this matter? Why did you not protect my brother? Surely some other way could have been found? I think with horror that this other brother, sent to the Bastille, could have been me, and then the other one would have ended up on the throne! How could you have given in?”
“How could I give in?” the Queen said quietly, and her voice sounded hollow, as if from the depths of a well. It carried a long-standing weariness and an almost complete absence of any emotion, as if the Queen’s soul had been burned to the bottom by some terrible fire. “How could I give in? I could do nothing, I could not resist the Cardinal’s will, because the Cardinal held me in his hands, in his pincers, like a spider holds a captured moth, binding its wings, legs, and antennae with a strong, sticky web. The helpless victim only trembles in this terrible agony, foreseeing its doom, and unable to resist this brutal, animal force. Richelieu had a power over me that even King Louis XIII himself did not have . What can I say, he had the same power over the King, but for entirely different reasons.
“I don’t understand this,” Louis objected dispassionately.
“Well then, listen, if you wish to know this secret too,” replied the Queen. “I have not long to live on this earth. I had hoped that this secret would die with me. Believe me, it would have been better for everyone. Think carefully, do you wish to know another terrible secret? If your resolve is to know everything, I will tell you something that no one knows but me and God.”
"Yes, I want to know everything!" said the King, turning pale, for he was in a hurry to demand an explanation before prudence prompted him to abandon his persistence.
“Listen now, my son,” said the Queen.

Chapter 286

"You were named Louis Dieudonn;, Louis the God-given. Your birth was considered a miracle, a gift from God, and I believe this name perfectly suits you and the situation that arose at the time of your birth," the Queen said. "Your birth is a blessing for all of France; that alone should be our foundation. Do you agree, my son?"
“Go on, mother,” replied the flattered Louis.
"That fact will make it easier for us to discuss some of the interesting twists in history that seemed to suggest your birth might never have happened," said the Queen. "It was only a confluence of many different circumstances that led to it, or, if you agree that your birth was blessed by God, you should not judge harshly the circumstances that led to it, nor should you attach much importance to those circumstances that might have prevented it, should you not?"
“Any mother could say the same thing to her son, but it’s not very tactful,” Louis objected, looking a little sad.
"This is important for understanding what I will have to tell you," the Queen continued. "Your august grandfather, Henry IV , could never have expected to become King of France if extraordinary circumstances had not cleared the throne, seemingly by order, for him. Catherine de Medici's four sons died without legitimate issue, the Valois dynasty ceased to exist, and the last Valois on the throne, Queen Margot, was the first wife of Henry IV , the daughter of Catherine de Medici and Henry II , and the sister of Francis II, Charles IX , and Henry III . "
“I am aware of these dynastic vicissitudes,” Louis replied impatiently.
"And you know, of course, that his very wife, the first wife of King Henry IV , Queen Margot, who in some ways contributed to his attaining the throne of France, was rejected by him due to the childlessness of that marriage," the Queen continued. "But Queen Margot wasn't always childless, yet King Henry IV didn't even wish to attempt to leave a legacy through her. He preferred another, namely Marie de Medici, the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, who provided the impoverished King with a substantial dowry for his daughter, which allowed him to improve the kingdom's financial affairs. It was a deal, a trade, nothing more."
“You are insulting my grandmother,” Louis objected.
"She insulted herself by not having fathered her eldest son by King Henry IV ," the Queen retorted sharply, looking sharply at Louis. "I hope you understand that I have sufficient grounds for asserting this, and that such accusations are not made without reason?"
"What are you saying?" Louis whispered, breaking out in sweat.
"I'm saying that Louis XIII , my husband and your father, was not the son of Henry IV ," the Queen replied. "And this fact was known not only to his mother, Marie de Medici, but also to her lover, Marshal d'Ancroix, who, by the way, was also not the father of the Dauphin Louis. This fact was also known to the Bishop of Lu;on, another admirer of my mother-in-law, not a secret one at all, but her open lover. It was she who made him a cardinal and prime minister—I'm talking about Armand Richelieu."
"Are you mad, Mother?" Louis said in horror. "Such accusations are too serious to be uttered, too dangerous to be known, too dangerous to be remembered! Even if things are as you say, they must be forgotten, consigned to oblivion!"
“That’s right, my son,” agreed Anne of Austria. “Now you too admit that there are secrets that are better left unknown, that should be forgotten, and never mentioned again. You have decided to speak to me about one of these secrets, and for that reason, in order to settle this matter once and for all, I will reveal several more secrets to you, and then everything will fall into place. The first secret was that Louis XIII was not the son of Henry IV . The second secret is that Henry IV knew this and intended to divorce his second wife, Marie de Medici, in order to marry his favorite, Gabrielle d’Estr;es, and legitimize her illegitimate children, the eldest of whom was named Caesar Bourbon. Do you understand that this intention of his was the cause of his death, and that the fanatic Ravaillac is merely an obedient tool in the hands of those who did not want this?” Ravaillac's hand was guided by Marie de' Medici, Marshal d'Ancre, and the Duke of ;pernon . But Marshal d'Ancre paid for it, and Louis XIII avenged his father with the help of Charles d'Albert and Captain Vitry. Everyone assumes the young King avenged his father's death on his mother's lover. But he avenged not his father's death, but the death of a man who was never his father. And if Henry IV had not been murdered by the fanatic Ravaillac, it is highly likely that Henry would have renounced Louis and recognized his bastard children, the children of Gabrielle d'Estr;es, as his legitimate children. That is, he most certainly would have!
"And then I, the legitimate son of my father, Louis XIII , would not be King?" asked Louis.
“You simply would not have been born, because in that case he would not have been the King either, and I would not have been married to him, because I am the daughter of the King of Spain!”
"You seek to convince me that I should thank Fate for my crimes!" exclaimed Louis. "Even if all this were true, it is a thing of the past, and I am the son of the crowned King Louis XIII , and therefore I am the rightful King of France!"
"No one intends to dispute your rightful right to the French throne, least of all me, your mother!" replied the Queen. "I tell you this only to lead you to the secret that will explain why I could not resist Richelieu."
"Speak, mother!" Louis exclaimed.
“I told you that Louis XIII was not the son of Henry IV , but I never told you that you are not the grandson of Henry IV ,” said the Queen. “Know then that God, in whose hands we all are, sees all, knows all, and works His will through our actions, even when we ourselves are unaware of what we do! You are the true grandson of Henry IV , only royal blood flows in your veins, you are King of France not only by written law, but also by unwritten law, which only God knows, I know, Richelieu knew, and now you know. Not a soul else knows this.”
“But you said I was the grandson of Henry IV ,” Louis clarified. “Does that mean my father wasn’t Louis XIII ? Who is he then, and how could he not know this? Is he dead?”
"Your real father is Caesar Bourbon, the eldest son of King Henry IV , and he never knew it, never even suspected it!" the Queen replied. "He believed he had come to a rendezvous with another woman, a rendezvous that took place in complete darkness, and that single rendezvous was enough to bring into the world not only you, my son, but also my other son, whom, believe me, I love as a mother no less than you, for whom I mourn and shed tears every night before I fall asleep, and yet you, and only you, my son, have the right to be King of France. So decided that great and at the same time treacherous, terrible man, Cardinal Richelieu! He ruined me and saved me at the same time! If you had not been born, a monastery would have awaited me, at best." I was childless for too long, and that meeting with the King you considered your father did not yield the desired result. Louis XIII was too fond of his favorites, too often, and too rarely and too little attention to me, his lawful wife and Queen. Having a son from him under these circumstances was impossible. I tried my best. And when Richelieu realized my last chance was lost, he arranged for the man most worthy of this honor to become your father and the father of your twin brother, and, God knows, more worthy than Louis XIII himself . The great Richelieu did it in such a way that even he himself could not prove what he knew, and he could not know for sure, but only guess at which of the two meetings led to your birth, and whether there was a second meeting at all, my only meeting with C;sar de Bourbon. The carriage arrived at the appointed place at the appointed time, after which it departed. Whether I was in the carriage or neglected the opportunity, Richelieu preferred not to know. He respected and loved me so much—I know this for certain now, after his death—that he didn't want to know the truth, which might diminish me in his eyes and in those of the King. He merely explained to me delicately that the King was determined to retire me to a convent if the Dauphin wasn't born soon, and that I had only two means of hastening the birth of an heir: one meeting with my husband, which he arranged, and one meeting with C;sar Vend;me, which he also arranged. After all, Louis XIII hadn't graced me with his attention for years! How could I be held responsible for not bearing him an heir?
There was silence. Louis was shocked by the news he had heard.
“Now you know all my secrets, my son,” said the Queen. “I told them to you, and I feel better. Perhaps the Lord wanted it this way. I feel that soon, very soon, he will call me to him. I will leave with a calm soul and a pure heart, for I have nothing to regret and nothing to repent of. Everything I did then, I would do again, if I were to return to those years. I regret nothing!”
— "And Philip?" Louis asked in a low voice.
"Philippe, Duke of Orleans, your younger brother, is the son of Louis XIII . After your birth, my husband and King began to pay more attention to me. Judge for yourself now: could I have challenged the decision of Cardinal Richelieu, the First Minister of France?"

Chapter 287

“Mother, I am sorry that I have forced you to tell me this sad story,” said Louis, after which he embraced her tenderly, perhaps for the first time in the last twelve years, since the time when he had last been much more a boy than a Prince.
"The whole conversation started with your questions about d'Artagnan," the Queen reminded. "So what happened with this d'Artagnan? Or do you simply want my opinion on him?"
“You, mother, did not ask how I found out about my brother,” the King reminded.
"Could it really be from him?" the Queen was surprised. "How could he have found out about this story?"
"No, that's not it," Louis replied. "Other people found out about it. They kidnapped me and put this man in my place, in my bed."
Louis avoided calling him brother or by his name.
"How horrific!" the Queen exclaimed. "But this is a state crime! An attempt on the King's life! A rebellion, a coup! I hope, my son, you have punished the culprits?"
"You don't care who freed me?" Louis asked in surprise.
“Ah, yes, I understand!” replied the Queen. “D’Artagnan freed you! That’s what a service he did you! You’re right, my son, what happened to you is like a second birth! You owe him so much. After all, no one recognized the substitution, not even I! Although I saw that something was wrong with you, who I thought he was, but when he claimed to be ill, I attributed it to illness. Perhaps we would have noticed the substitution sometime later, but what could we have assumed? What should we think? How can we explain it? It would never have occurred to me that someone would attempt such a substitution! And even if I had understood everything, I wouldn’t have known where to look for you or how to save you! It’s a miracle that d’Artagnan rescued you! But how did you manage to return to your place and remove your shadow?”
“D’Artagnan arranged that too, with the help of the Duchess de Chevreuse,” Louis replied.
"Chevreuse!" the Queen exclaimed, her face contorted with anger. "So that's who betrayed the secret to the conspirators! I recall that one of the four musketeers you questioned me about seemed to be in close contact with her! So, the four friends have already broken up? Some carry out a coup, while the others, or one of them, restores everything to its former state? I never would have thought those four would be at odds with each other! It seemed to me that each of them was ready to die for their other friends!"
"Mother, this is precisely the question I came to you with!" Louis exclaimed. "Do you not think it possible that all this is some kind of hellish plan? That all four of them have hatched a plot, the first part of which is my abduction, and the second, my rescue?"
"In any case, I advise you to catch the most cunning of them, Aramis, or the Chevalier d'Herblay," replied the Queen. "I recall that not long ago, thanks to Fouquet's efforts, he became Bishop of Vannes! He is a friend of Fouquet's, remember that! If a friend of Fouquet plotted a coup d';tat and even attempted to carry it out, then Fouquet was also involved in this matter! I have no doubt of it! But Chevrette, it seems, dislikes Fouquet; she is on Colbert's side!"
"The Duchess was very helpful in returning me to my former state," Louis defended her. "But you are probably right in suspecting Fouquet. After all, the abduction took place on the one night I spent at the Ch;teau de Vaux-le-Vicomte!"
"Arrest Fouquet!" the Queen said decisively.
“I have already decided to do this myself,” Louis replied.
"Why didn't you do it?" asked Anne of Austria.
"It's not easy," Louis replied. "Everyone around me pretends to be my friend, but in reality, many, many people are on his side. And if I decide to arrest him, what if another Fronde breaks out? After all, Councilor Brussels is a mere nonentity compared to Fouquet! If his arrest has caused such a stir, what will happen as a result of Fouquet's arrest?"
"He must be arrested unexpectedly, and removed immediately, locked up so that no one can free him!" said the Queen. "Until then, show him every favor."
"That's what I'm doing, Mother, but arresting Fouquet is a serious matter!" said the King. "I can only entrust it to one person!"
"Of course, d'Artagnan can handle it," the Queen agreed. "So why didn't you entrust him with this task?"
"He is ill," Louis replied. "Lieutenant d'Arlencourt reported it, I believe him, he is an honest man, he would not deceive his King."
"Well then, we must simply wait until d'Artagnan recovers," the Queen replied. "I hope his illness is not fatal?"
"I don't think so," Louis answered doubtfully. "Although the lieutenant didn't tell me anything about it."
"Send the best physician to d'Artagnan," said the Queen. "Send Jean-Baptiste Denis to him. And at the same time, find out whether he is truly ill or just pretending."
Louis smiled and kissed the Queen's hand.
"Mother, we understand each other so well!" he said.
He liked the fact that the Queen couldn't even imagine allowing or approving of Philip replacing him on the throne. He was pleased by her outrage at the conspirators. He left his mother's office almost happy.

Chapter 288

The King, when he told the Queen Mother that he took d'Arlencourt at his word, was being disingenuous. In truth, he found it suspicious that the captain of the Musketeers had failed to appear when he demanded, so he dispatched Comminges to visit d'Artagnan and persuade him to appear before his King, explaining that there could be no valid reason for disobeying the orders of the head of state. D'Artagnan did appear, and unlike most people in such a state, he tried to appear as healthy as possible, whereas almost anyone I know would have done everything possible to appear even more ill in such a situation. But the captain was truly ill. The King saw his condition and was ashamed of his insistence.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Louis, "I have complete confidence in your loyalty and have chosen you to carry out a specific task. If you were in better health, I would have communicated all the details to you today. For now, return home and take care of your health, which is very dear to me. The matter that occupies me can be postponed until you are on your feet again."
Louis didn't want to admit this even to his own mother, so he presented the matter as if he had immediately believed d'Arlencourt's words. He enthusiastically accepted the offer to send the captain's best doctor, Jean-Baptiste Denis. Firstly, it seemed like a sign of concern, which might go some way to smoothing over the awkwardness that had arisen. Secondly, the captain's appearance could be deceiving, and Louis XIV was distrustful of everyone, so the testimony of the best doctor would allow him to establish the truth.
Jean-Baptiste Denis found d'Artagnan in a very ill state, fearing that the illness might be more serious than it appeared at first glance. Fortunately, Denis no longer had much faith in the treatment method of bloodletting, and by then hadn't yet developed a taste for animal blood transfusions, so he was at his best as a doctor and expert in his field. He gave d'Artagnan a selection of truly beneficial or at least nearly harmless herbs and powders, primarily those based on garlic, chamomile, sage, lavender, rosemary, lemon, and rose hips. He also prescribed plenty of fluids, honey, prunes, raisins, and nuts, a glass of warm red wine with honey at night, and wrapping himself in two warm woolen blankets to sweat thoroughly and sleep longer. After some thought, Denis decided that while all the medications he'd prescribed were rather pleasant, the other ones were repulsive, and this unacceptably diminished medicine's standing in the captain's eyes. Denis was deeply convinced that true medicine should taste and, if possible, smell disgusting. Taking it should be unpleasant for the patient, or better yet, nauseating and intolerable; only then would the medicine be effective. Otherwise, the patient wouldn't feel the cure, and the treatment wouldn't be as effective. Therefore, Denis prescribed willow bark, wormwood, rowan, and dandelion to accompany everything else. After some thought, he crossed out honey, raisins, nuts, and prunes. After this, Denis realized he'd done everything in his power for d'Artagnan.
D'Artagnan put all of Denis's medicines on the table, paid ten pistoles for everything, and sent the doctor away.
“Damn it, all that garbage he brought with him isn’t worth nine sous!” he said. “But I can’t let His Majesty’s personal physician go without paying him properly! To give him less than ten pistoles would be simply indecent! It’s damn expensive to get sick in Paris! I’ll never get sick again! What did he cross out? Honey, raisins, nuts, and prunes? Idiot! No, he didn’t cross it out, he underlined it, and it’s clear as day that those ingredients are the most important! He couldn’t have crossed that out! His hand was shaking, or his eyesight was failing him, so he drew the line not under the text, but right through it. But you can’t fool me! These are the ingredients I’m keeping, and the rest—out!”
Here d'Artagnan turned to his orderly.
“Friend, throw away all the medicines and herbs from Mr. Denis, except for honey, nuts, prunes and raisins,” he said.
“Captain, there is no honey, no nuts, no prunes, no raisins here, only herbs and powders,” the orderly replied.
“For ten pistoles you could have brought me at least something useful!” d’Artagnan grumbled. “Then everything he brought is gone. Even horses wouldn’t eat that hay. Go to Planchet’s shop and get everything I listed, two pounds each. Don’t even think about paying! I have unlimited credit with Planchet; I’m his partner! So take plenty of this, four pounds of each ingredient. Treatment should be approached with great responsibility. How many glasses of the mead drink did he recommend at night? One or two? Damn it, I can’t remember! Well, I’ll do like Solomon and take something between one and two. Two and a half. To make it even, three. If he recommended wine, it would have been nice to grab a couple of bottles with you instead of all that useless grass! He could have done that for those ten pistoles! Oh, and grab some biscuits too!” If a sick person can't eat cookies, then why the hell bake them at all? And why be sick if you deny yourself these little pleasures?
Fortunately, the captain had a small supply of wine, which should be enough for mulled wine for the coming night, and for the future he ordered his orderly to replenish this supply at the shop of the same Planche.
So, d'Artagnan drank three glasses of wine with honey at night, so he followed the order to sleep like a log and sweat with particular care.

Despite the doctor's instructions and diagnosis, d'Artagnan nevertheless began to recover and was completely healthy within a week. The main reason was likely that he had made significant adjustments to the recipe and dosage.
During d'Artagnan's illness, Louis XIV was very friendly with Fouquet, called him a friend, made it clear that he respected and valued him, and even hinted at his upcoming rise.
Fouquet's friends, however, noticed that in his absence, the King became irritated at the mention of his name, making it clear that he disliked talking about this man. This was a very dangerous symptom.
So well-wishers warned Fouquet, either personally or through his closest friends, whom he would trust more, to be wary and take measures to save himself. The superintendent received warnings from Madame du Plessis-Belli;re and Madame Uxelles, another well-informed woman, as well as from Gourville. But he paid them no heed. To avoid being pestered with these warnings, he admitted in conversations that disgrace was entirely possible, but he saw no way out, so he would do nothing, since he had no means to avert disaster, no plan; he was relying on the will of God and the King.
These were, of course, excuses. If Fouquet had truly realized that he was being prepared not only for dismissal but also for arrest, followed by an investigation into his actions as Superintendent of Finances, he could have prepared: he could have brought his documents into order, that is, destroyed at least those that could in any way compromise him, even if only indirectly. It would have been better for him to lose even a portion of his securities than to allow the possibility of an investigation into their origins, giving investigators a clue to unravel his actions and connections . Moreover, he could have hidden them so that no one but himself could find them, but he kept everything within easy reach, in his offices, of which he had several, as well as in his houses and palaces, which were also noticeably more than a single family man needed.
Personally, I would have recommended Fouquet set fire to his office. All valuables could have been removed and safely hidden beforehand. The King wouldn't have launched an investigation into the fire. But I wasn't there with Fouquet.
On September 4th, d'Artagnan had recovered sufficiently to appear in person in the King's study. Louis instructed his secretary not to allow anyone in and closed the doors tightly.
"Captain d'Artagnan, I am very pleased with your service," Louis said, beginning the conversation. "You were entirely correct in your actions in attempting to arrest the rebels; I admit that I was wrong to limit your powers. I acted on the advice of Monsieur Colbert, as he doubted your loyalty in a matter in which, as it turned out, your situation was complicated by a long-standing friendship with the men you were to arrest. While I found Colbert's doubts well founded, I nevertheless inwardly opposed these methods. However, as you understand, alongside the need to punish the criminals, there was an even more pressing need to do so as quickly and therefore decisively as possible, lest the secret, which was never to be spread beyond the limits established for it by Cardinal Richelieu and his successors, be disclosed." Well, I believe the conflict is resolved, and I ask you not to hold a grudge against Monsieur Colbert, who is assisting me in governing the greatest state in Europe and who performs his duties in financial matters as admirably as you perform your duty in the military. So, I hope peace between you and Colbert has been restored forever?
"I have never been at odds with any of Your Majesty's servants," d'Artagnan replied evasively. "I assure you, if there was ever a rift between us, I simply failed to notice it, and what Monsieur Colbert saw in me, I leave to his conscience. If he has changed his attitude toward me, then the matter is truly closed."
"That's wonderful, if you're not deceiving me," said the King. "I need both of you, and right now, Monsieur d'Artagnan, I need you more than anyone else. You are to carry out my order as precisely as possible, to carry it out in such a way that nothing untoward occurs as a result of it. You are responsible not only for the precise execution of this order, but also for the consequences that may arise if it is not carried out with sufficient care."
"What kind of order is this?" thought d'Artagnan. "I hope I won't be ordered to go to Hell to question Mazarin about where he's buried some other secret treasure?"
“You must arrest Fouquet,” said Louis.
"Perhaps this order is no better!" thought d'Artagnan. "I'll become the enemy of three-quarters of the French nobility! Besides, all the poets and pamphleteers will turn against me, and La Fontaine will write another fable in which he portrays me as a crocodile, a boa constrictor, or something worse!"
However, d'Artagnan's expression didn't change at all. One could tell from his expression that the King had asked him to close the window, wait a minute while he adjusted his hair in the mirror, or perhaps asked his opinion on which dogs were best for hunting boar.
"At what time should this be done?" d'Artagnan asked, as if he were talking about bringing the King a portion of veal.
Even d'Artagnan himself thought of this comparison.
"Would you like it served raw or tender?" d'Artagnan thought with a grin. "Would you prefer it well done, medium, or rare?"
“Tomorrow morning you will arrest him, Monsieur d’Artagnan, but today you must in no way betray your intentions,” said the King.
"Your Majesty, may I request a written order in case Monsieur Fouquet doesn't take my word for it and decides to disobey?" d'Artagnan asked. "After all, a mere captain is arresting a minister."
"You will receive written orders, d'Artagnan," Louis replied. "But for the future, please remember this. A simple captain serves in the guard. And you are the captain of the king's musketeers, who obey me and only me, personally, and no one else. If I order you to arrest a duke and a peer, a prince, or anyone else, be it a general, a marshal, or a constable, you will do it, because my order in my realm is the highest authority over all."
"We have a constable again?" d'Artagnan was surprised. "Everyone he mentioned was small fry compared to the great Fouquet. I can arrest princes, dukes, and peers in batches of three, generals or marshals—well, it would be interesting to gain such experience, but I wouldn't want to become a jailer, the terror of the kingdom! But I'll have to prepare thoroughly for Fouquet's arrest!"
“If Your Majesty says that your verbal word is sufficient, I am ready to arrest Fouquet or anyone else right now and here,” said d’Artagnan with an expression of extreme determination on his face.
“That’s exactly the answer I needed from you, d’Artagnan, but you’ll receive written orders this evening,” said Louis. “Today, wherever Fouquet goes and with whomever, he is not to be hindered. Tomorrow, he is not to go anywhere he decides to go. You will arrest him when you deem the moment favorable. Preferably, as soon as he leaves his house, but if for any reason you decide it’s best to wait, you will arrest him when you deem it best from the point of view of minimizing consequences. If he doesn’t leave the house, then you will enter his house and arrest him there. Fouquet will breakfast at home; he is to dine under guard.”
"I understand everything, Your Majesty," replied d'Artagnan. "Everything will be done."
"D'Artagnan!" said Louis just as the captain was about to open the doors to leave.
The Gascon turned and took two polite steps towards the King to listen to further instructions.
The king also approached the captain.
"You will take as many officers and soldiers as necessary for this task," he said. "If necessary, the entire company of musketeers and the entire guard. Everyone! You have no right to let Fouquet go."
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And remember," Louis added. "This time, there will be no guards with any orders revoking your authority. They won't show up, I give you my word. If, for any reason, anyone tries to stop you from fulfilling your duty, kill them."
“Fouquet will be arrested tomorrow by lunchtime, Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan.
The king nodded and glanced around the room with a seemingly tired and indifferent gaze, as if he didn't care where he was. It was as if he had returned after a long absence. All his excitement had passed. He realized his orders would be carried out, and he could put the matter out of his mind for the time being.
“I know,” he said in the tone of a tired fifty-year-old man. “I know, Captain. You will carry out the order. Go.”

Chapter 289

The court was in Nantes, where Louis XIV and his entire court arrived on August 29, accompanied by the Life Guards and musketeers. D'Artagnan, having recovered, also arrived there. Fouquet had every opportunity to abandon the journey or to escape en route, and a more perceptive man would certainly have noticed the danger and taken appropriate measures to save himself. But Fouquet felt himself on the rise, and this elation at having achieved a high administrative position, fueled by hopes of climbing even higher, blinded him completely.
The Royal Council was in session in Nantes, and this time it was in full attendance, including ministers and secretaries of state Letellier, Colbert, Brienne, Lyonnais, and, of course, Fouquet himself. The Superintendent expected further favors from the King, who had recently provided him with two rather significant sums of money, amounting to tens of millions! Contrary to his friends' advice, he did not cancel his trip, and seeing the goodwill Louis showed him, he was in high spirits and expected the best possible outcome for himself. He naively believed that all the warnings about the impending danger were the figments of the imagination of envious people, who were mistaking wishful thinking for reality.
Selling his position as Attorney General left him completely vulnerable to the Royal Court, which, had he not committed this fatal error, would not have been able to prosecute him. Despite the fact that Fouquet, like d'Artagnan, was completely ravaged by fever, he not only arrived in Nantes but also attended every important event involving the King, appearing at the meeting of the Royal Council to greet His Majesty.
"How is your health, Monsieur Fouquet?" Louis inquired with an air of profound concern and sympathy. "Wouldn't it be better for you to rest and lie down? Your health is of the utmost importance to me and to France! Take care of yourself!"
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" replied Fouquet, flattered. "I feel a little unwell, but your concern for my health is more effective than any medicine! I will certainly recover soon!"
"I very much hope so, Monsieur Fouquet, but I would still advise you to take better care of yourself," said Louis. "I will send you Jean-Baptiste Denis."
"Your Majesty, no Jean-Baptiste could ever improve my well-being as much as you did with your single smile of approval!" Fouquet retorted.
The king pretended not to understand Fouquet's allusion to Colbert, also named Jean-Baptiste. However, remembering Moli;re, he decided to make a joke.
"What do you have against the name Jean-Baptiste?" he asked. "I believe your friend Poquelin, or as he calls himself Moliere, also bears that name?"
"Perhaps Monsieur Moli;re's jokes will be better medicine for me than Monsieur Denis's poultices and powders," Fouquet decided to joke. "In any case, I prefer him to all the other Jean-Baptists."
"Well, be it your way," Louis replied, gently stroking Fouquet's hand. "Treat yourself with whatever remedies you prefer, but get well soon."
Fouquet perceived Louis's persistent concern for his health as proof of his value to the King. Louis, for his part, simply did not want to delay Fouquet's arrest, but he understood that arresting a sick man was highly undesirable, as such a circumstance would generate a wave of sympathy for Fouquet among investigators and judges. Louis planned a thorough and impartial investigation of the superintendent's affairs, with a public trial and a verdict at the end of the case.
I am deeply convinced that d'Artagnan didn't utter a word to anyone about the order he received the following day. But it was prepared by Colbert, signed by the King, and sealed by Chancellor Seguier. The latter, it seems, nevertheless told at least his wife about it. This is an act all husbands in public service should be wary of: if you can't do without your wife, then at least don't tell her anything except what you'd like all of France to know! Apparently, many of the King's close associates were already privy to this matter, although Fouquet himself paid no attention to the air of mystery that reigned at court, or perhaps dismissed it as a matter of some sort, perhaps attributing it to his anticipated upcoming promotion. Louis XIV's entourage was full of whispers, hastily and secretly reading notes, which they promptly hid and destroyed as soon as possible. It seemed as if the court had ceased speaking and was now solely a place for correspondence. Was it possible that people less than three steps apart could send each other written messages? Unthinkable!
Musketeers and guardsmen were pacing here and there in the corridors of the palace, and the doors of the royal office were closed to everyone. Secretary Rose did not allow anyone to see the King except a few rare chosen ones, but Fouquet was still among them, which made him think that all the camarilla going on around him in no way concerned him.
Fouquet's composure is easily explained. He felt himself the de facto master of the country; the King was young and inexperienced, the Queen Mother had retired, and Mazarin was no longer alive. Fouquet believed, not without reason, that the King would find it difficult to manage without him, whereas Fouquet could easily manage without the King if he were allowed to continue to act as he had done so far. The arrest of a man like Fouquet was effectively a coup d';tat, but only an informal one, since Louis XIV was already formally King of France and head of state. He was about to take the step from the formal position of master of the kingdom to its de facto master, and in this matter he placed his complete trust in d'Artagnan. His choice was undoubtedly the only correct one. There were men more powerful than he, or more cunning, but they were not as devoted to their King as the captain of the musketeers. There were perhaps more devoted men—devoted to the point of fanaticism—but they lacked the decisiveness, courage, prudence, caution, and even wisdom required, as well as the requisite authority, knowledge of his soldiers, and the ability to deploy them in the most crucial positions. Combining all these qualities, d'Artagnan was a unique man, one of a kind. Even in these difficult circumstances, Louis feared that some small details would be insufficiently considered and that something would ultimately go wrong. The outcome of the task the King had entrusted to d'Artagnan seemed uncertain even to Louis himself. But d'Artagnan refused to entertain the thought of disobeying the order. He would not have carried it out unless he himself died suddenly, though I'm not even sure of that. This was no longer the young and fiery Gascon who could have been deceived by the cunning and charming Milady, nor the now mature but still insufficiently cautious and ready for any treachery Musketeer whom Mordaunt had managed to deceive. No one in this world could have deceived this man. Not even I, although I rate my chances the highest, since no one knew him as well as I did. I'm not bragging; I'm simply telling the truth. After all, Athos treated him like a father, Porthos like a friend, and only I saw him as a partner, and sometimes as a rival, in the fascinating and exciting game of life—the kind of rival you wish to win in all cases except those where his victory means your defeat. Even then, however, you wouldn't cheat him, both because cheating will eventually be revealed, and because you respect and love your rival too much to resort to such vile tactics. I competed with him to see who could best seize Fortune's due. But d'Artagnan didn't compete with me; he simply went his own way, occasionally waving a friendly hand at me. The King had chosen well, and that choice decided the outcome of the struggle.
And how could Louis choose anyone else after what the captain of his musketeers had done for him?
Possessing the fortified fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer with its garrison, and having virtually an entire fleet at his disposal, Fouquet, who held the title of Viceroy of America, had established close relationships with all ruling circles, dominated them all, and, moreover, held the position of Attorney General, not just Superintendent of Finances, gradually lost almost everything—the fortress, the fleet, the prosecutor's office. But these losses weren't as fatal as he thought, since he was preparing to become Prime Minister. This thought, as well as his firm belief in his usefulness to the King, weakened his caution.
That evening, d'Artagnan received from Letellier a sealed package containing a completely secret signed order for Fouquet's arrest and a thousand livres for expenses.
Upon arriving at his office, he immediately opened the package and read the order. It read as follows:

In the name of the King,
His Majesty, having decided for compelling reasons to protect himself from Monsieur Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances, has decreed and commands Captain d'Artagnan of the mounted company of musketeers to arrest the aforementioned Monsieur Fouquet and convey him under good and reliable guard to the location specified in the memorandum His Majesty has given him as instructions. Along the way, care is to be taken to ensure that the aforementioned Monsieur Fouquet has no communication with anyone, either verbal or written.
Given at Nantes on September 4th of this year 1661 (Signature) Louis."

A memorandum was attached to the order, specifying the actions to be taken and in what order. First, d'Artagnan and his musketeers were to arrest Fouquet upon his exit from the palace. Accompanied by five or six men, he was to escort him to the king's chamberlain's apartment, around which his detachment was to stand guard.
The document then stated:

"Monsieur d'Artagnan must take the precaution of not losing sight of Fouquet from the moment of his arrest and not allowing him to put his hands in his pockets, so that he will not have the opportunity to throw away any papers, and immediately on arriving in the said hall he must tell him that the King requires him to bring him all the papers he has with him, and he must carefully ensure that he does not hide any of them."

A separate document stipulated that if d'Artagnan was "incapable of acting as a result of an attack of fever," he could make use of the services of two gentlemen officers of the Life Guards, Declaveau and Maupertuis, assigned to him to assist him.
Another decree instructed d'Artagnan to send one brigadier and two musketeers to Ancenis to carry out an order that would be conveyed to them there the following day. The order they received instructed them to stop all couriers not sent in the name of the King. This was done to delay the news of Fouquet's arrest in Paris. The packet also contained other dispatches, signed and sealed by Monsieur Letellier, ordering the commanders of the fortresses and castles where the cortege carrying the arrested man was to stop "to render Monsieur d'Artagnan all the assistance he requires." A letter to Monsieur de Camarsac, commander of the castle in Angers, ordered the withdrawal of the small garrison stationed there. Another letter from the King instructed the mayors and ;chevins of that city to receive d'Artagnan and his detachment, provide them with lodging and provisions, with quartering the detachment free of charge, and charging for the provisions permitted. For this purpose, as I have already indicated, d'Artagnan was given a thousand livres. In Angers, where the captain of the musketeers was to await further instructions, d'Artagnan was authorized to take any steps necessary to secure his prisoner's safe residence. He was instructed to furnish Fouquet with necessary furniture and provide him with all the comforts befitting his status, but was also instructed to search him down to his underwear.

Chapter 290

In the evening, the King still communicated graciously with Fouquet and managed to demand and receive from him more money for the needs of the fleet.
"Monsieur Fouquet, our fleet must be strengthened, especially the naval one!" said Louis. "We also need to strengthen the naval command. Some admirals are no good; if we're going to have serious naval battles, we need experienced admirals and captains. You, Monsieur Fouquet, have a great deal of experience in this area, as I've been informed, and it will be of great use to us."
Fouquet was pleased, because he decided that he would also be entrusted with the functions of Minister of the Navy.
"You are absolutely right, Your Majesty, the fleet must be dealt with as quickly and thoroughly as possible," Fouquet said. "The two million livres you are asking for is, of course, only a small part of the necessary investment. I will immediately sign an order for two and a half million, and in a month, no, in three weeks, I will provide you with another two and a half million."
"Wonderful!" the King exclaimed, feigning delight. "We'll return to this matter tomorrow at the end of the day. Come to me at seven o'clock this evening. And come to the Royal Council tomorrow at seven in the morning. I've scheduled the council for seven o'clock because I'd like to go hunting with my musketeers afterward. I hope to bring down a seasoned boar."
"Well, that explains the somewhat lively movement among the musketeers!" thought Fouquet. "They're simply preparing for the hunt, so they're checking their weapons, cleaning their equipment. They want to show off their hunting skills and make a good impression on the King and his ladies, so they polish their swords and pistols while their servants clean their equipment and military uniforms! The King needs my money and my advice to modify his naval forces. I am the King's best friend and supporter, and the alarmists around me are only wasting their breath with their warnings of impending disasters, which they simply imagine!"
"I hope, Your Majesty, that your hunt will be successful," said Fouquet. "I wish you success with all my heart, and I hope your shot is accurate. I'm sure you'll bring down the boar with your first shot!"
"Thank you for your wish, Monsieur Fouquet," the King replied with a smile. "I'm counting on it too. A wounded boar can cause a lot of trouble."
“Then be careful, Your Majesty,” Fouquet said with paternal concern.
"You forget that I'm not going hunting alone, but with my musketeers," Louis replied. "Their captain won't allow anything unforeseen to happen; I trust him and his men completely. So tomorrow at seven in the morning, don't be late, Monsieur Fouquet. Without you, the Royal Council won't be able to begin its work, and we can't postpone the start of a meeting; we've never done that before."
“I have never been late before, and I will not be late this time,” replied Fouquet.
"I'm reminding you only because the start time is much earlier than usual, at seven o'clock in the morning," the King reminded. "See you tomorrow, Monsieur Fouquet."
“See you tomorrow, Your Majesty,” replied Fouquet and left.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan, having returned to his quarters, carefully studied the documents in the envelope he'd received from Letellier. He memorized all the instructions almost verbatim, so as not to have to refer to them as he carried them out. He then dispatched five squads of four men, one of whom was to discreetly watch Rouget's house, where Fouquet was staying, and check for any suspicious activity. The remaining squads were to remain nearby, discreetly, in case reinforcements were needed.
“Note how many people arrive at the house, and also pursue those who leave,” d’Artagnan ordered. “No one in the house must suspect anything. Until midnight, just watch. But if anyone leaves the house after midnight, detain them all, but not in full view of the residents, only after they’ve disappeared from view, perhaps by turning a corner. Even if it’s a hunched-over centenarian or a five-year-old child, detain them all and bring them to me. Even if a dog runs out of the house, stop it and search it. If a pigeon flies out, shoot it and bring it to me. Lieutenant d’Arlencourt, you will command these detachments. Do you understand?”
"Yes, everything is clear, Captain!" replied d'Arlencourt.

The musketeers, who were on leave, were recalled. They were informed that the royal hunt would take place the following day. This rumor spread through Nantes like wildfire, and any doubts Fouquet had left behind vanished without a trace.
Brienne visited Fouquet at Rouget's house and found all was quiet. Fouquet's fever had returned, so he sat by the fireplace, wrapped in a warm dressing gown.
"What news from the palace, Brienne?" Fouquet asked.
“At court, everything is as usual, but in the musketeer barracks everything is lively, the leavers have returned and are preparing for the campaign, or for something else,” answered Brienne.
"I know there's a royal hunt scheduled for tomorrow, right after the Royal Council meeting," Fouquet replied. "The King invited me to it, but I'm still ill, as you can see."
"So you won't be going to the King's Council tomorrow?" Brienne asked.
"Impossible!" Fouquet objected. "His Majesty personally reminded me of it twice and asked me not to be late. He said the meeting wouldn't start without me. How could I let him down?"
"But your illness will excuse you," Brienne said. "I can see you've gotten worse! You looked much better yesterday!"
"The illness comes in waves, but it's already receding," Fouquet replied. "You'll see, tomorrow I'll be perfectly fine! Six hours of sleep will restore my strength and health."
"You'd better get into the carriage and tell them to take you to Belle-Ile," Brienne advised. "I don't like what's happening."
"My friend," Fouquet replied confidentially, "I'll tell you a secret. Tomorrow will bring me a new triumph. Colbert has lost, and I'll at least get the Navy Ministry, and most likely become Prime Minister!"
“Is it possible?” Brienne doubted.
"This position has been vacant since Mazarin's death, and who better than me to fill it?" Fouquet asked. "The conclusion is obvious. I foresaw this six months ago, and this evening, in a conversation with His Majesty, I received confirmation of this suspicion."
"So, are you still going to the Council?" Brienne asked.
“I’ll go if I don’t get worse,” answered Fouquet.
Half an hour later, Rose reported to the King that Brienne had brought him news of Fouquet's health.
“Let him come in,” said Louis.
“Your Majesty, I have conveyed your wishes for good health to Monsieur Fouquet,” Brienne reported.
"And how did you find him?" asked the King.
"He's gotten much worse in the last half hour," Brienne replied. "Monsieur Fouquet has had another bout of fever."
"Go see Monsieur Fouquet again, right now, and ask if he's feeling better," said Louis XIV. "Take Monsieur Denis with you, and let him bring some fever medicine. I want Monsieur Fouquet to keep his promise and be present at the Council tomorrow on time."
Brienne carried out the order. Around eleven o'clock, he arrived at Rougier's house to see Fouquet, and this time he found the superintendent in much better health. Fouquet was dining with several friends, while La Fontaine recited his new fable about the Wolf and the Crane. Fouquet laughed heartily when he heard the ending.
"Now then, help those stronger than you!" he exclaimed. "The careless will be rewarded with wolfish gratitude! Bravo, Lafontaine!"
And all those present rewarded the fabulist with applause.
"Brienne, you're just in time!" Fouquet exclaimed. "Join us for a late supper!"
"I've brought Doctor Dany to you," Brienne said. "His Majesty sent us to you. He told the doctor to take care of your health, and asked me to remind you of tomorrow's Council."
"I am extremely pleased by His Majesty's concern, but it is unnecessary," replied Fouquet. "As you see, I have no need of doctors, and I have not forgotten about tomorrow's Council. I will definitely be there and will not be a minute late."
Brienne and Dany said goodbye and left Fouquet's house.
"Beware, it's a trap," Gourville, Fouquet's quartermaster, told him. "Escape from Nantes as quickly as possible. Order your empty litter sent to the palace tomorrow with the curtains drawn, and leave the city in the simplest carriage, attracting no attention. I suggest you exchange clothes with me or with someone else present."
Fouquet just shrugged.
“For three days now I have been hearing some absurd predictions of the most incredible misfortunes that await me,” he said. “You have too much imagination, my dear Gourville. The King would never dare arrest a man like me. I have always believed in my star and have always succeeded. Today, however, I have received too many proofs of the King’s favor. Moreover, today he received two and a half million livres from me, and three weeks later I promised him exactly the same sum. This money is intended for the most important matters, I will not say what yet, but believe me, for the most urgent needs. And no one will manage it in the King’s interests better than I. In fact, this money will be returned to me, and I will manage it as I see fit. Is it conceivable, under these circumstances, to plot anything against me? Who kills the goose that lays the golden eggs? Our friend, Monsieur Lafontaine, remind our Gourville of this fable!”
"A miser, in his pursuit of gain, sometimes loses everything when he pushes fate," La Fontaine recited. "One farmer had a hen, and she laid him golden eggs, exactly one egg a day. The farmer decided the bird contained a hidden treasure, filled with gold. He thought that laying only one egg a day was a waste of both time and money, since he had to feed the hen. 'I'll take it all at once,' he decided. And so he slaughtered the hen. What did the foolish farmer find in the entrails? Nothing! The same thing anyone would find in any hen: nothing but entrails."
"So excessive greed and haste deprived the hasty man of the income he could have had reliably, but gradually!" Moliere continued.
Those present again gave La Fontaine a standing ovation, which was joined by Moli;re and Fouquet.
After dinner, Fouquet said goodbye to his friends and went to bed.

Chapter 291

At half past five in the morning, d'Artagnan positioned his men in battle formation around Fouquet's house. By six o'clock, everything was ready for the arrest of the Superintendent of Finances: a sizable detachment of fully armed musketeers was stationed at both the main and secondary exits of the palace. Since the Superintendent was expected to emerge from the main entrance, the detachment there was larger. Two squadrons of twenty men each waited at the front courtyard and the central gate.
Suddenly d'Artagnan heard someone calling him. He recognized Colbert's voice and looked around.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan, you will receive an urgent dispatch from His Majesty,” said Colbert.
"Damn it!" thought the Gascon. "The King clearly said there would be no surprise letters revoking my authority, like the one at Belle-Ile! If Colbert brought me a paper revoking Fouquet's arrest, I'll simply impale him on my sword, and I'll be right! After all, the King clearly said: 'If for any reason anyone tries to prevent you from fulfilling your duty, kill them.' Damn it, I'm starting to like the King's commission if I get the pleasure of stabbing Colbert before arresting Fouquet! I wish he had a sword, and knew how to use it properly. However, skill with a sword is a must for every nobleman, so from that perspective, things are quite tolerable. And he seems to have a sword, although for Colbert it's just part of his court attire!"
D'Artagnan made a sign to his men to withdraw to a respectful distance so that they would not hear what was being discussed and would not interfere in the matter if he had to fence with Colbert.
"Have you come with a letter revoking my authority?" asked d'Artagnan, shining like a golden louis d'or. "Could you show me the paper revoking the King's order and appointing you or one of your men as my commander? I'm eager to see it! I'll bet it doesn't bear the king's seal!"
"If matters were as you have described them, you could stab me, in full accordance with His Majesty's orders," replied Colbert. "Don't worry, Monsieur d'Artagnan. I have no intention of preventing you from carrying out the King's orders. I merely bring you a dispatch according to which the arrest of the state criminal and scoundrel Nicolas Fouquet is postponed until the end of the meeting of the Royal Council. His Majesty has decided that arresting Fouquet directly at the house where he lives could cause too much emotional trauma to his family and friends. Therefore, you are ordered to arrest him as he leaves the building where the Council will be held."
"I'll still stab him if the paper isn't sealed!" thought d'Artagnan. "God knows I'm not cruel, but I consider sending this upstart to heaven a godly deed! Even Athos wouldn't object to such a development!"
"Show me your paper," d'Artagnan said dryly. "Give it to me, don't be afraid, I won't tear it. In my entire life, I have never destroyed a single paper signed by His Majesty."
“You can see that on the paper there is not only the King’s own signature, but also the state seal, and even a postscript made by His Majesty after the document was sealed,” said Colbert and handed the document to d’Artagnan.

The document handed over by Colbert was written in his own hand, except for the King's signature, and read:

"Captain Charles d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers is ordered to begin executing the order he has received after the conclusion of the Royal Council meeting, and not before. Monsieur Fouquet must be allowed to proceed to the Council meeting unhindered. The arrest will be made only after the order has been confirmed by Monsieur Letellier."

King Louis

The document bore the state seal, and beneath it, in Louis's handwriting, was a note: "Monsieur d'Artagnan! Please do not kill Colbert, I need him. Fouquet must not receive evidence of the planned action while on his way to the Council meeting. If Fouquet's carriage turns off the road leading to the Council and you have reason to believe Fouquet is attempting to escape, arrest him immediately. Louis."

D'Artagnan put the document in his pocket and ordered the musketeers to move away to a respectful distance and hide behind the corners of the neighboring buildings and not to catch Fouquet's eye.

"Tell His Majesty that everything will be carried out, including the registration," the captain said to Colbert. "I will not kill you."
"I serve the King and do not accept money from others for the service I perform by His Majesty's orders," the captain replied. "But if you wish to treat my musketeers, I have no objection. Give the money to Lieutenant d'Arlencourt. But not now, only when the matter is completed. Right now, it would only hinder matters. If you have no further business with me, I request that you leave as quickly as possible. The superintendent's carriage may leave the gate at any moment."
Colbert nodded and disappeared around the corner of the building.

An hour before, Colbert had visited the King and expressed his concerns to him.
"Your Majesty, if Fouquet is arrested near his home, his household will rush to destroy the papers in his office," Colbert said excitedly. "This will significantly complicate the investigation into Fouquet's abuses."
"But the arrest order has already been given," the King replied. "I told d'Artagnan that anyone who tries to stop him is a traitor."
“Give me an order that the arrest be postponed until after the end of the Council meeting,” Colbert said.
"And who will deliver this order to Captain d'Artagnan?" asked Louis.
"I'll deliver it to him myself, personally!" Colbert replied enthusiastically.
"If I wanted to get rid of you, I would fulfill your request," the King objected. "But I need you, Colbert. The moment you show such a paper to d'Artagnan, he will kill you, and he will be absolutely right."
"I'll try to convince d'Artagnan not to kill me," Colbert replied. "Will he really not believe an order with your own signature?"
"We'll have to put a seal on this document, but even then I'm not convinced d'Artagnan will trust you," Louis said. "Your tricks with the numbered envelopes, stripping him of the powers I delegated to him, have greatly angered him. I'm afraid he'll not only kill you, but will do so with great pleasure. Instead of a marshal's baton, you've played him such a dirty trick! Anyone in his place would have been furious."
“I will try to make amends and become friends with Captain d’Artagnan,” Colbert replied.
"As you wish, but don't try to bribe him," the King replied. "Give me your paper, which I believe you've already composed, along with ink and pen. And invite Seguier with his seal. But remember, Colbert, if d'Artagnan doesn't believe the paper and impales you on his sword, I won't punish him, for in that case he'll be following my own orders."

Chapter 292

At precisely seven o'clock in the morning the King opened the meeting of the Council, which was attended by Fouquet, as well as Lyonne, Letellier, Colbert, Brienne, and Bouchra.
The superintendent headed to the palace for the Council meeting in a litter. As soon as his litter left his house and was out of sight of his household, half of d'Artagnan's musketeers took up positions in groups outside the doors, controlling all entrances and exits.
The other half followed Fouquet stealthily.
The palace meeting proceeded as usual, discussing the most routine matters. Fouquet kept expecting the King to announce his appointment as Minister of the Navy or even Prime Minister, but this did not happen.
"Apparently, something isn't ready yet," thought Fouquet. "Perhaps some papers, patents, orders should be prepared. Well, I'll wait."
When the meeting ended, Colbert and Lyonne were the first to leave the room. Michel Letellier approached Bouchrat, who was in charge of petitions at the Council of State and the King's commissioner in the States of Brittany. He quickly thrust a folded piece of paper into his hand.
“Read it quickly and execute it,” he whispered.
Bushra quietly unfolded a piece of paper on which were written the following words: "The King commands you to immediately seal the house of Mr. Superintendent Fouquet. Not a single paper is to disappear from his house, you are responsible with your head."
Bushra hurried out of the building and headed towards Fouquet's house.
Louis suddenly doubted that d'Artagnan had correctly understood his order postponing Fouquet's arrest. So he detained Fouquet and began to chat with him quite politely on a variety of abstract topics. While conversing with the superintendent, Louis casually moved toward the window. Then he remembered that there was a map of France on the table, an excellent excuse to approach the table and glance out the window on the way.
"What do you think of the strength of our northern borders?" he asked. "Let's look at the map."
He headed toward the table and, passing by the window, saw d'Artagnan in the courtyard, sword at his side. This finally calmed him down.
"Don't you think these borders should be strengthened soon?" asked the King, no longer interested in Fouquet's answer.
“I find, Your Majesty, that we should strengthen those borders that we wish to leave unchanged, and where we plan to attack, we should strengthen the troops, increase their supply of provisions, forage and, of course, weapons, gunpowder and bullets, as well as cannons and cannonballs.
"Are we planning to attack Holland?" Louis asked in surprise.
“You only have to look at the map to understand the inevitability of this,” Fouquet replied.
“I wonder,” said Louis. “When do you think our campaign in Holland will begin?”
“In about ten or eleven years,” answered Fouquet.
"Well, then, we'll have time to discuss this matter a little later, Monsieur Fouquet, thank you," the King replied, glad to be able to end the conversation in the most natural way. "I won't keep you any longer."
The Superintendent bowed and left the Council Chamber in the best of spirits, aware that the young King was consulting him on a wide variety of issues, even those whose resolution would not be forthcoming for a long time.
Fouquet walked up the grand central staircase, where a crowd of admirers and petitioners awaited him. He made promises to some, refused others, invited others to return later, but most of the petitioners went unheeded. Fouquet was still ill and was in a hurry to get home to lie down and rest. He calmly walked out of the palace and headed for his carriage.
D'Artagnan was to arrest Fouquet as soon as he left the Palace gates, but first he needed to obtain confirmation of the order from Letellier. Therefore, d'Artagnan was torn between following Fouquet and heading to Letellier for confirmation.
Letellier, apparently oblivious to the importance and urgency of conveying the order to the captain, leisurely descended the stairs, chatting with Monsieur de Lafeuille. D'Artagnan tried in vain to attract his attention from a distance. Letellier was completely absorbed in idle conversation.
Most likely, Lafeuille, Fouquet's secret supporter, had suspected something and was deliberately delaying Letellier in an attempt to give Fouquet time to leave. D'Artagnan was surprised and wondered if the King had perhaps changed his mind about arresting the superintendent. As awkward as it had been to interrupt the minister's conversation, he realized that he, d'Artagnan, and no one else, would have to answer for disobeying the order. So he ran up to Letellier, who had just freed himself from his intrusive interlocutor, and asked him if anything had changed.
"Nothing has changed!" Letellier replied, as if waking from a dream and looking around. "Why are you hesitating?" he asked.
"Am I the one who's slow?" d'Artagnan thought angrily. "Damn him, was it really that hard to even nod?! Now that idiot will tell the King I wasn't quick enough!"
D'Artagnan, horrified, ran quickly into the palace square and saw the King's secretary and his friend Rose there.
"Where is Fouquet?" he asked quietly, not betraying his agitation.
"He left the Council chamber five minutes ago," Rose replied. "They're carrying his stretcher toward his home."
"If I could tell my musketeers the purpose of our maneuvers, I would make them keep an eye on Fouquet's litter and never let it out of their sight!" d'Artagnan thought angrily. Was it really worth maintaining such secrecy that none of the musketeers knew the purpose of our patrol, when I suspect all the members of the Council and some others are perfectly well aware of everything!
At this time, Fouquet's litter had already passed the castle walls, they were carried past the second squadron of musketeers, where no one even thought of detaining them, after which they, continuing on their way, quietly disappeared into the streets of the city.
D'Artagnan, along with fifteen musketeers, leaped into the saddle and rushed through the streets of Nantes in search of the litter. He overtook the litter in the cathedral square and ordered it surrounded.
“Sir, I need to talk to you,” he said to Fouquet.
"Another petitioner!" Fouquet grumbled discontentedly. "And everyone, of course, has urgent matters to attend to! Couldn't your matter wait until I return to my quarters?"
“No, sir, what I have to tell you brooks no delay,” objected d’Artagnan.
"So that's how it is!" the superintendent exclaims, puzzled.
Even the sight of the captain of the musketeers with fifteen horsemen did not alarm him, as he continued to dream about his future career.
He stepped out of the litter and greeted d'Artagnan with a wave of his hat.
"So, what else do you have?" he asked. "Some urgent funds for urgent trips? Give me your order, I'll sign it, and you'll get your money."
“Monsignor, I have been ordered to detain you,” said the captain.
"But, Monsieur d'Artagnan, are you sure it's me you need?" Fouquet asked in surprise.
- Absolutely right, sir.
"Just detain him?" Fouquet asked, surprised. "Am I supposed to wait for someone here on the street, or are we going back to the King? He apparently wants to tell me something urgent? What does the word 'detain' mean?"
"Here is His Majesty's written order," replied d'Artagnan. "If Your Highness wishes a more precise term, please, I am ordered to arrest you and escort you to your final destination."
"Where exactly?" Fouquet asked, still not believing what was happening.
“I promise that you will soon hear about it,” replied d’Artagnan.
Fouquet snatched the paper from the captain's hands and reread it several times. The first two times, he couldn't grasp the meaning of what was written, as his eyes scanned the lines of the document, his thoughts racing through his head like a squirrel in a cage—the very squirrel depicted on his coat of arms.
Finally, the meaning of the document he was studying dawned on Fouquet, and his face changed.
“It can’t be!” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect anything like this. And certainly not now and not here. After all, I was talking to him ten minutes ago, discussing future plans. I believed that the King was more favorably disposed toward me than toward anyone else in all of France. After all, he needs me! What’s happening, my God! Well. Nothing can be done about it. Captain, I am at your disposal. If possible, I ask that everything be done without unnecessary noise. Have pity on the members of my family. After all, they are not guilty of anything. And now they will have to live with this. My God, my God!”

Chapter 293

Speaking of his family members, Fouquet emphasized these words, looking into the eyes of Codur, whom he spotted among the petitioners accompanying his litter. Realizing that the man they had just seen as a potential benefactor was being arrested, the petitioners scattered, fearing both that they might be arrested as well and that they would simply be remembered and considered accomplices to some crime of which Fouquet was undoubtedly guilty, since everyone knows that in no country in the world does a head of state order the arrest of innocent people.
Codur, however, accustomed to taking risks for the sake of those in power even without any benefit for himself since the time of his devoted service to Anne of Austria, and therefore little afraid for himself, answered Fouquet with a look that he understood everything, and that he would warn Fouquet's relatives, as well as his valet, butler, quartermaster and other main servants, about the arrest.
Codur immediately went to Fouquet's most trusted valet, Lafor;t, and warned him of his master's arrest. Lafor;t immediately left Nantes, hurried to the nearest stable of horses, which Fouquet maintained for all sorts of urgent matters two leagues outside the city, chose the best horse, and raced to Paris. There, he broke the fateful news to the superintendent's faithful companion, Madame Duplessis-Belli;re, who immediately assembled a small council of war in her home, led by Abb; Fouquet, consisting of her lover's supporters currently in Paris.
"We must go to Saint-Mand; and set fire to the house," advised Abb; Fouquet. "It's the only way to save my brother."
"You're mad, Basile!" Madame Duplessis-Belli;re objected. "That would be tantamount to admitting that Nicolas Fouquet has something to hide from the King! And that, in turn, would be tantamount to signing his death warrant. The King has nothing to reproach Fouquet for, and he'll be forced to release our friend."
"Everyone has something to hide, Madame," retorted Abb; Fouquet. "Even I have something I wouldn't agree to show to anyone in the world. And what can we say about the Superintendent of Finances? He had to carry out various risky operations, and the documents relating to them can always be interpreted one way or another. A cunning prosecutor will give any piece of paper such a meaning that they will make anyone involved look like a state criminal. And believe me, Madame, Nicolas has important documents that must not fall into the hands of his enemies under any circumstances."
"And you're willing to burn down such a wonderful house for a few pieces of paper?!" Madame Duplessis-Belliere objected.
She remembered the magnificent furnishings of Fouquet's house, the happy moments spent there, and her admiration for the many works of art—paintings, figurines, rare Chinese porcelain, gold dinnerware, and everything else. She could never have allowed such atrocity—the destruction of all these masterpieces.
"Understand, madam, a house and wealth are things that can be acquired; we will all help Nicolas recoup his losses with new income!" Abb; Fouquet persisted. "But if even one document is found, even one single piece of paper that can be interpreted against Nicolas, it will be interpreted in such a way that it threatens him with the most dire consequences. I dread to imagine and do not wish to discuss the worst-case scenario, but we must fear the worst and anticipate the greatest troubles, and do everything possible, everything in our power, to avoid them or at least mitigate them as much as possible."
The dispute dragged on, and the committee for Fouquet's rescue turned into a committee of demagogy, as always happens when an important issue is decided by more than two people.
The few hours Lafor;t had beaten the official couriers to the punch were wasted in the most ineffective manner. As a result, Civil Judge d'Aubray managed to seal all of Fouquet's papers in their original condition at his home in Saint-Mand; without any interference, and Chancellor S;guier did the same at the superintendent's office.
"Fouquet wanted the seals," Seguier said sarcastically afterward, hinting at Fouquet's desire to become prime minister or chancellor. "Well, he has nothing to complain about! So he got them!"
D'Artagnan sent the guard officer Declaveau to inform the King that the order to arrest Fouquet had been carried out.
Louis XIV left his office and went to the guardroom, where at that time many nobles were located, including Turenne, Conze, Lyonne, Villeroi.
"Gentlemen," the King said loudly, "I have ordered the arrest of the superintendent. This man abused Cardinal Mazarin's trust, and subsequently deceived and robbed me. A commission of inquiry will examine all his crimes. Perhaps some of you will be surprised that I spoke so kindly with him just today. Know that I decided to arrest him four months ago, as I had sufficient evidence of his guilt. But since he acted through bribery, creating coalitions and committees loyal to himself, announcing the arrest of a man of such stature was no easy task; it could have led to a repeat of the Fronde. We do not want civil war. But I will not tolerate crimes like Fouquet's in my kingdom. And I will not allow new conspiracies like those in which Fouquet participated, for which, I am convinced, we will yet find irrefutable evidence. The details of some of these conspiracies are so monstrous that I cannot reveal them to you, as they involve state secrets. From now on, the time has come for me to manage my own affairs. I don't need people who, under the guise of helping me, carry out their vile deeds behind my back. I will have no superintendent of finance, I will have no prime minister. I will handle all matters of state myself.
Many of Fouquet's former supporters hastened to reveal themselves as his fierce opponents and implacable enemies, though not all. Some owed the Fouquet family substantial sums, and while they assumed the receipts for these sums were perhaps kept in a safe place, they were reluctant to openly denounce Fouquet. There were still those who were selflessly loyal to Fouquet, but these were mostly members of his family or close friends, including Madame Duplessis-Belli;re, who was perhaps Fouquet's wife to a much greater degree than Madame Fouquet.
Many courtiers were overwhelmed by the young sovereign's energy, fearing for their own fates, for few were completely without sin—and who, indeed, was? But outwardly, many rushed to condemn Fouquet decisively.
Behind the scenes, the Duke de Guevre was indignant with obvious envy towards d'Artagnan:
"Why did His Majesty entrust such an important mission to some captain of musketeers?" he demanded. "Why should I suffer such humiliation? This matter is only fitting for my rank! Couldn't I have arrested Fouquet just as well as d'Artagnan? For all you know, I could have arrested my own father, much less my best friend."
I can't say these statements made him any more friends. Quite the opposite. After all, de Gevre was considered a friend of Fouquet.
As soon as the arrest took place, the King's officials seized all of Fouquet's papers and arrested several of his men, including Paul P;lisson. To completely eliminate the risk of civil war, troops were sent from Nantes to capture Belle-;le.
Since Fouquet's relatives, paralyzed by indecision, had taken no action, the arriving officials sealed and inventoried all the superintendent's papers in Saint-Mand;, Vaux-le-Vicomte, Fontainebleau, and the Paris residence. Other agents seized the papers of P;lisson, Brienne, and Gourville. All these measures were taken with the sanction of Chancellor S;gur after the king's courier arrived in Fontainebleau two days after Fouquet's arrest.
A stunned Madame Fouquet was ordered to leave and settle in Limoges. Gourville, using his many connections, helped her arrange the move and later obtained permission from the King to lend her some money for living expenses. The Fouquet brothers also suffered. Fran;ois Fouquet, Archbishop of Narbonne, was ordered to move to Alen;on; Louis Fouquet, Bishop of Agde, was ordered to return to his remote diocese. The youngest, Gilles Fouquet, lost his position as Grand Master of the Horse. Basil Fouquet was exiled to Guienne.
The Queen Mother interceded for Fouquet's mother, with whom she had known for a long time and maintained friendly relations. Thanks to her intercession, the elderly Marie de Maupeux was able to remain in Paris and care for Fouquet's two young children. Madame du Plessis-Belli;re was exiled to Montbrison, and her papers were also confiscated. Her son-in-law, the Marquis de Cruy, recently promoted to general of the navy, was demoted. Gourville, having "lent" the treasury half a million livres at Colbert's "suggestion," slipped away and subsequently lived quietly near Angoul;me with the Duc de La Rochefoucauld. The rest of Fouquet's men also dispersed, fearing arrest.
The Duchess de Chevreuse congratulated Colbert on his victory.

Chapter 294

Philippe sat by the barred window, gazing at the sky. He didn't deny himself the pleasure of talking aloud to himself. Why conceal absolutely all his thoughts? If he remained silent all the time, he'd forget how to speak, lose control of his voice. Captain d'Artagnan's words sank deep into his heart, for they gave him hope, even if the captain himself hadn't meant it. So Philippe decided to speak aloud, to train his voice, sometimes even to imagine he was speaking to his courtiers. Indeed, who knows, perhaps Fate would yet grant him the opportunity to return, at least for another day, to the position he'd occupied all day! And yet he'd wasted that day so ineptly! However, he spoke only the most mundane phrases aloud, reserving his innermost thoughts for himself alone. It was entirely possible that someone was eavesdropping on his speeches and reporting everything they'd heard to his cruel brother! Then let them hear how he yearns, what despair he gives himself over to, and let him express all his hopes and aspirations only in his thoughts!
“Even the most insignificant bird has been given freedom by God!” said Philip, watching the birds fly. “But this right has been taken from me. Even the most insignificant insects can crawl wherever they please, but I must spend my entire life within four walls. Talk about justice after this! Has anyone ever been more unfortunate than me? If injustice were measured by the ratio between what I have a right to and what has actually befallen me, it would be hard to find anyone in the entire world who has been treated as cruelly by Fate as I have. All that remains is to sit, stare out the window, and call for death. If God had not forbidden suicide, perhaps it would have been the best option for me…”
Philip glanced furtively at the door.
“I wonder if they’re listening to me?” he thought. “No, I won’t give them such joy! Louis probably wouldn’t be too upset by the news that I died, no matter what or how, whether from illness, an accident, or suicide! It’s just easier for him! It’s as if I’m not to blame for anything, and there won’t be any more problems with me! I’ll still hope for a change in fate. After all, hope for a better life is all that’s left to me! I’ll study Spanish, I’ll read books on the history of France and Europe. I’ve been allowed to do so. I have several such books. I have plenty of time. So I’ll prepare myself in case fate gives me such an opportunity again. Indeed, if I had been more decisive and cautious, I could have simply prevented Louis’s return! The entire country was in my hands for the entire day!” "I could have protected myself from such accidents; I could have taken care to hide Louis more securely, somewhere from which he could never return! Why didn't d'Herblay leave him in the Bastille? After all, no one could have gotten him out of there! At least not in less than a day. Ah, I should have placed him here, in this very cell, from which I cannot leave, and therefore from which he could not leave either!"
Philippe didn't know that I had done just that – placed Louis not just in the Bastille, but in the very cell where Philippe had been held before, and where he was now held. In that case, the King's appearance would have been of no help! Only a man like d' Artagnan could have found a way to free Louis, return him to his place, and place Philippe back where I had extracted him with such difficulty, using such expense, such power, and methods d'Artagnan never possessed! D'Artagnan had overcome all my methods and resources with extraordinary determination, cunning, and persistence. But Philippe didn't know this, so he believed we had made a mistake in not leaving Louis in the Bastille.
“If only I had known that this day was my first and last day of freedom, would I have lived it like this?” thought Philippe. “If I did nothing to strengthen my position and exclude Louis’s opportunities, if I did not get down to business, then I should at least have taken up pleasures, those which I had never seen before and now will never see in the future! I had to find this girl! It seems I have learned that she is the sister of the Count de Guiche and the daughter of the Marshal de Gramont. After all, if I had given the order to find her, she would have been found! I could have met with her, talked alone, opened up to her! It seems to me that she sympathized with my misfortunes, even if she did not fall in love with me, then in any case she would not have pushed me away! I would have given ten years of my life for one day with her, just for a heart-to-heart talk. What’s more! I would have given the rest of my life for one hour with her. I had the opportunity to spend the entire day with her, but instead I was busy with all sorts of nonsense, essentially doing nothing. My only concern was that no one would recognize me as an impostor. But as it turned out, either I resembled him so much that I was in no danger, or even if someone had suspected something was wrong, the truth would never have occurred to them. And even if they had, would they have dared to voice their doubts? And who would have believed him? Only the Bishop of Vannes and my mother knew my secret. I didn't even meet her! Shameful cowardice! I was afraid she would guess that I was Philippe, not Louis! But now I'm tormented by the thought of what she would have done in that case? Would she have dared to tell me to my face that my place was in the Bastille? Or perhaps she would have accepted this change as divine will? Now I will never know, I will never know, whether she loves me, whether she pities me, whether she even remembers my existence, or whether she has tried to forget me, as we forget our worst dreams within a minute of waking, or even before we have fully awakened. If I had known that she had shed even a single tear for me, my despair would not have been so great. And if I had known that Catherine Charlotte de Gramont remembered me, or – what a wonderful thought! – perhaps she loved me!? I had not really learned anything that could have easily been found out. I became timid. It was my greatest mistake. How could a man who has been told from birth that he is the heir to the throne, a man who has only waited until his majority to begin his reign, feel timid? Before whom? Before his subjects? Everyone else should feel shy in front of him, but he should feel shy in front of no one! Even The Pope should speak to the King, if not as an equal, then with great respect. There were times when the King of France dictated terms to the Pope! I had already learned about this from books. So before whom, except God, can the King of France be intimidated? Before no one! This is the secret of kingship that I have not mastered! I prepared for this, the Bishop of Vannes prepared me, but he forgot to tell me this secret. If the King does something strange, no one dares to criticize him, no one dares to laugh, and no one even dares to notice! If the King spills broth on himself at the table, it is anyone’s fault but the King’s. If the King dresses unusually, the next day it will become fashionable and everyone will dress to resemble him. If the King shaves off his moustache, the next day all the nobles will appear at court without moustaches. If the King decides to grow a full beard, it will immediately become fashionable. Why didn't the Bishop of Vannes explain this to me, didn't tell me that the King is the lawgiver of all things and that he shouldn't show timidity? Probably because he didn't want me to gain independence too quickly. Well, that's understandable. But then Monsieur d'Herblay should have stayed by my side, advising me on the right course of action, and under no circumstances allowing Louis to be released and me to be arrested. And yet he told me that d'Artagnan was his friend! Well, this friend ruined his entire plan, and in the process, my life. Besides, the Bishop of Vannes warned me that I should fear d'Artagnan most of all. After all, I think I sent him away somewhere! Why didn't he leave for Belle-Ile, but instead, somehow, freed Louis and restored him to his place in the palace? I need to think this through carefully, because now no one will tell me the truth!”
At this time, I was pursuing my career at the Spanish court. I was becoming the Duke of Alameda, the future ambassador of the Spanish court to the French court.

Chapter 295

The memorandum ordered d'Artagnan to escort Fouquet to the Ch;teau de Angers. But the captain decided that strict adherence to the memorandum's instructions was less important than the King's orders that everything be done as discreetly as possible, without attracting unnecessary attention or causing a riot. The captain of the musketeers remembered well the consequences of the careless arrest of Brussels's councilor, when the wicked boy Friquet raised a shout throughout the street that Mazarin had ordered the arrest of the defender of the people. Everything in that cry was pure truth, except that it was not Mazarin, but the Queen, who was to be detained, not arrested, and Brussels in no way deserved the epithet "Defender of the People." In all other respects, Friquet had not sinned against the truth.
Fouquet was a far more significant figure than some Brussels councilor. And more influential. He had numerous supporters who could have decisively opposed his arrest. They could have attacked the convoy in an attempt to rescue Fouquet. D'Artagnan had no doubt that he and his musketeers could successfully fight off any spontaneous group of attackers, but the order to remain unnoticed had to be strictly observed. Therefore, the captain decided to take the prisoner to the nearest house, belonging to the Grand Archdeacon Fourche, the Syndic of the States and uncle of Fouquet's first wife.
"Are you arresting me right here on the street, like I'm a thief caught red-handed?" Fouquet protested.
"I simply urgently invite you to visit your relative, His Holiness Monsieur Fourche," replied d'Artagnan. "You have no objection to dropping in on him?"
“Fouquet never went to visit anyone without an invitation, even his own relatives,” the superintendent retorted haughtily.
"I invite you to come in on behalf of His Majesty," d'Artagnan replied in the same tone as the superintendent, accompanying his words with a refined tilt of his head to the side. "Let's go."
"So are you inviting me to the King or to Fourche?" asked Fouquet. "If His Majesty wishes to see me, I will be most pleased to accompany him, with or without you!"
“His Majesty is at home everywhere in France, so by inviting you to Fourche, I am at the same time inviting you to the King and in the name of the King,” replied the captain.
"So you're not arresting me?" Fouquet asked.
“At the present moment, no,” d’Artagnan answered with a smile.
"But can I go on my way to my home?" asked Fouquet.
“At the present moment, no,” d’Artagnan answered again with the same smile.
"But you're still not arresting me?" Fouquet asked.
"I already answered that question," the captain reminded him.
Fouquet sighed and walked into the house of his former distant relative.
Archdeacon Fourche was surprised by the intrusion of Fouquet and d'Artagnan, whose arrival was reported to him by his servants.
"Monsieur Fourche, I request your hospitality on behalf of His Majesty for just two simple matters," said the captain after the appropriate greetings. "I hope you will not refuse to render His Majesty a couple of simple services?"
"If you come in the name of His Majesty, I am happy to serve you and His Majesty," Fourche replied. "How can I be of service to you?"
“First, allow us to enter the house and tell the servants to close the doors behind us,” said the captain, and motioned with his hand to three of his musketeers to follow him.
“Come in, gentlemen,” said Fourche.
"What now?" Fouquet asked haughtily as he, accompanied by d'Artagnan and three musketeers, followed Fourche into the Archdeacon's reception room.
"And now, Monsieur Fouquet, in accordance with the order you have already read, I arrest you," said d'Artagnan. "And the first thing I am forced to do is conduct a personal search."
"You dare search me?" Fouquet exclaimed.
"And you dare to disobey the orders of the King of France?" asked the captain.
D'Artagnan personally searched Fouquet's clothes, and he put all the papers and things he found on him in a bag and sealed it.
He ordered one of the musketeers, who also served as quartermaster, Saint-Mar, to deliver this package personally to the King, along with a message he had written on the spot, stating that Fouquet had been arrested safely, without attracting unnecessary attention, and would soon depart under escort to Angers.
“Saint-Mars, order that that very carriage be driven up to the back door of Monsieur Fourche’s house,” said the captain.
"It's there," said Fourche, waving his hand toward the back entrance. "Yes, there, to the left and straight ahead."
"In the name of the King, Monsieur Archdeacon, I thank you for the first of two favors," the captain said. "I thank you for making your home available to complete the arrest of Monsieur Superintendent. You must admit, it would have been awkward to search him on the street, to ask him to remove his coat, trousers, and shoes. I think Monsieur Fouquet will agree that it would be much more convenient to do all this in the house."
“Yes, thank you, Monsieur Fourche,” said Fouquet.
"Monsieur Superintendent, you seem rather pale," said d'Artagnan. "I sincerely hope that this is not because some papers have been confiscated from you. Surely you cannot have any papers that His Majesty should not read? And would you, on your way to the Royal Council, take papers that could be harmful to you? If these papers are intended for the Council, His Majesty already knows them; and if they are not intended for that purpose, why did you take them with you?"
Fouquet sighed deeply, from which the captain, with some regret and sympathy, guessed that he had hit the mark.
"What a naive man!" thought the captain. "To carry papers he wanted to hide from the King with him to a meeting with the King! What a madman!"
Fouquet thought approximately the same thing about himself.
“My pallor is due to the fact that I am a little hungry,” replied Fouquet.
"Indeed!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "We have a long journey ahead of us in the carriage. Your Holiness! Do you have anything for Monsieur Fouquet's late breakfast or early dinner? This will be the second request on behalf of the King."
“Of course, gentlemen, I will arrange for dinner to be served,” Fourche said absentmindedly.
"Dinner is too long and too complicated," replied d'Artagnan. "And besides, I would refrain from using knives and forks at the table."
“I prefer to make do with a cup of broth,” said Fouquet.
"And you, Captain? Gentlemen?" the Archdeacon asked d'Artagnan and the musketeers.
"Oh, no need to worry, Your Holiness," the captain replied. "My men and I are not hungry. We managed to get some food while we waited for the Council to end. Besides, my carriage contains some provisions for the journey."
A few minutes later, servants brought Fouquet a rich, hot chicken broth and three Austrian buns made from puff pastry rolled into a crescent-shaped roll.
“Thank you,” said Fouquet, and began to eat the broth and buns.
"What funny buns!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "They look very appetizing!"
"My majordomo discovered the recipe for these buns quite by chance in Austria," said the Archdeacon. "Would you like to try them?"
“Perhaps,” said the captain.
Rolls were immediately brought for d'Artagnan and his musketeers.
"Very delicious!" said the captain. "So tender and crispy! And the shape is very original, crescent-shaped. I bet they're perfect for dipping in coffee or wine. Thank you and your esteemed butler. You wouldn't be ashamed to treat the King himself to these buns!"
"You think so?" asked Fourche, completely forgetting the unfortunate fate of Fouquet, his former relative.
"Yes, I think His Majesty will like them," said the captain. "Just don't tell him the recipe came from Austria; that would be a bad recommendation. Just say it's your invention. Give them a name. Like, say, crescent. How about croissant?"
"A croissant! Yes, that's probably it!" exclaimed Fourche.
"Just have the ends of the horns bent more steeply, so it looks more like a crescent!" the captain advised. "Thank you for your hospitality, and good luck to you, Mister Archdeacon. It seems the Mister Superintendent has had his fill?"
"Yes, thank you, Monsieur Fourche," replied Fouquet. "If we must go, I am ready, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
To all that has been said, I'll just add that the King really liked the croissants. I think this was because he was in an excellent mood after hearing that Fouquet had been arrested.
Fouquet was placed in a carriage with iron bars, which were located not on the outside but on the inside of the carriage, over all the windows. From the outside, the carriage looked quite ordinary, as most noblemen who traveled in carriages usually rode with the curtains drawn. De Maupertuis sat on Fouquet's left, de Clavaud on his right, and opposite him were d'Artagnan and the Governor of Brian;on, Monsieur de Bertrand. The other musketeers rode on horseback, accompanying the carriage to Angers.
At Mauvais, a hundred musketeers joined the carriage and acted as an escort. The light carriage was harnessed to two pairs of excellent horses, so together they galloped at a brisk gait for another six leagues.

Chapter 296

Arriving at Udon, d'Artagnan accommodated Fouquet as comfortably as possible, without leaving him unattended for a minute.
"Monsieur Fouquet, I will ask you to write one letter, and I will give you pen and paper for it, but only for this," he said. "Contact the commandant of Belle-Ile, Monsieur Lahaille de Noailles, and order him to surrender the fortress to His Majesty's troops without any resistance."
"But, as I understand it, the King's troops have already visited the island and encountered no resistance from the local garrison?" Fouquet feigned surprise.
"You know perfectly well, Monsieur Superintendent, that the Commandant of Lahaille de Noailles was prepared to give an order that went beyond his authority," d'Artagnan retorted. "The Commandant, without any justification, completely submitted to the Bishop of Vannes and was prepared to offer armed resistance. I do not understand how His Holiness managed to convince the Commandant to do so, but I believe he had arguments against which the Commandant was powerless. Perhaps they are connected with the Commandant's personal loyalty to you, Monsieur Fouquet, and his knowledge that the Bishop of Vannes is your friend, if not your most trusted confidant. The officers testified that the Commandant was determined to give the order not to submit, not to surrender the island, and, if necessary, to stand to the last man." Only after the Bishop of Vannes, I believe out of compassion for the garrison's soldiers and officers, withdrew his order for disobedience was an armed clash avoided. I know that His Holiness asked the commandant to confine the royal troops to detaining them, allowing them to disembark from their ships, but to detain them by every possible peaceful means, such as delays and the appearance of misunderstanding or confusion, and at least long enough for him and Baron du Valon to escape amidst the chaos. It seems this wasn't entirely successful; Baron du Valon perished in the rubble of the Locmaria cave.
Fouquet sighed.
"But this is not the fault of the commandant, who obeyed the Bishop of Vannes completely and showed only the semblance of loyalty to the royal troops," d'Artagnan continued. "After His Majesty's troops were convinced that there were no rebels on Belle-;le, they withdrew, and the island is currently governed by men loyal to you, Monsieur Fouquet. Correct me if I'm wrong."
"D'Herblay called you his friend, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Fouquet. "Could he have been mistaken? It seems you and he are on opposite sides of the barricades?"
“I am in His Majesty’s service, Monsieur Fouquet, and you also assured me yesterday that you also serve the King,” d’Artagnan replied dryly. “If you and I are currently on opposite sides of anything, it is not my fault. I did not erect barricades on French territory, which is subject to the King. If you did erect them, you will have to answer for it, not to me, but to the courts. As for my affairs with Monsieur d’Herblay, I do not consider it possible to discuss this matter with anyone except those who have the right to ask me about it, and with you, Monsieur le Prisoner, I can only conduct such conversations as are related to my duties in the service of the King. Within the framework of these duties, I wish to alleviate your fate as much as possible, and even more, a thousandfold more, I wish to alleviate the fate of those who, under the current circumstances, may find themselves drawn into an affair that will cost them their lives.” I am also not indifferent to the fate of those loyal servants of the King who will then fight them, and many of them will likely pay for it with their lives. Julius Caesar said there was nothing worse than civil war, yet he himself started it. Will you be so hypocritical? I fervently hope you do not desire needless bloodshed—senseless, cruel, and protracted. Consider also that soldiers on both sides may have families—children, wives. If you were with them now on Belle-Ile, armed resistance might have a chance to influence your fate in the direction you desire, but since you are arrested and under my most reliable guard, this bloodshed makes no sense to you, just as it would have made no sense to the Bishop of Vannes or the sadly deceased Baron du Valon.
"You're speaking too calmly about the Baron's death for the second time," Fouquet said with some malice. "You'd probably speak with the same indifference about the death of the Bishop of Vannes."
“I have my reasons for that, and you are right; if the circumstances with regard to Monsieur d’Herblay were exactly the same, I would speak about it with all the necessary restraint,” replied the captain.
"Damn it, this Fouquet seems more concerned about Porthos and Aramis than he is about his own fate!" thought d'Artagnan. "I wish I could shake his hand now, or even embrace him, but that would only harm both him and me. I can't tell him that Porthos is alive and Aramis is beyond the King's reach!"
"Are you going to dictate, or will you let me compose the text of the letter myself?" Fouquet asked.
"He wants to convey something else using coded phrases," d'Artagnan guessed. "He'll probably ask for his papers to be destroyed. The hell with him, let him write. It's not my problem if the commandant of Belle-Ile destroys some papers. I personally wasn't given any instructions on the matter. Helping Colbert pursue this man is not my job."
“You can write what I suggested to you in your own words, but before sending your message, I will read it, I warn you about this,” the captain replied.
Fouquet took a piece of paper and wrote the following.

"To the Commandant of Belle-Ile, Mr. de Lahaie de Noyer, from the Governor of Belle-Ile, Nicolas Fouquet.

You are required to surrender the fortress of Belle-;le to the troops of His Majesty King Louis XIV of France , in accordance with his right of possession and management of this Belle-;le, by virtue of the deed of gift I have voluntarily executed. No instructions from my officers or agents, whoever they may be, shall compel you to resist the rightful owner of Belle-;le, King Louis XIV of France . You are obliged to obey in this regard the order of any official representing His Majesty, which will be evidenced by a written order from His Majesty bearing the state seal.

Nicolas Fouquet,
Former Governor of Belle-Ile, former Superintendent of the Royal Finances.
Written on the sixth day of September in Udon."

D'Artagnan glanced at the paper drawn up by the superintendent and returned it to Fouquet.
"Monsignor, you are rushing things, or perhaps even anticipating events that will never happen," he said. "As far as I know, you have not yet been charged, you have not been tried, you have not been dismissed, and your position as Governor of Belle-;le is still intact."
"Are you laughing at me?" Fouquet asked with a sad smile.
"I don't even think so!" the captain retorted. "But think about it! If you call yourself the former governor of the island, then on what basis are you giving orders to the commandant? Besides, at the beginning of the letter you described yourself as the acting governor, and at the end, as the former. So, does that mean you were stripped of that position while you were writing it? Who could have done that? There's no one here except me, and I don't have the authority to make such official changes. Please rewrite this, signing with the titles and ranks you've retained, at least to this day."
"Damn it!" thought d'Artagnan. "If I'm willing to overlook a few stylistic peculiarities, then such a clear message about my arrest, sent to Belle-Ile, and by my courier, will be something not only Colbert but the King himself will never forgive!"
"You are too picky about my writing style, Captain," Fouquet replied with a tired smile. "One would think that you, not I, had studied law."
"It's a bit difficult to fool him," Fouquet thought regretfully. "I'll have to act more subtly."
"I've learned a few rudiments of jurisprudence in the field and in the trenches," d'Artagnan replied. "Let me use this letter as a draft and make some corrections, and you can rewrite it in fair copy."
“Do as you see fit,” Fouquet replied in an indifferent tone.

D'Artagnan made his own edits, as a result of which the text now looks like this:

"To the Commandant of Belle-Ile, Mr. de Lahaie de Noyer, from the Governor of Belle-Ile, Nicolas Fouquet.

In accordance with my will, I have handed over the island fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer to His Majesty King Louis XIV of France. For this reason, you are to place Belle-;le-en-Mer entirely under His Majesty's control. The garrison under your command is to salute His Majesty's troops by raising the national flag of France and the personal standard bearing the coat of arms of the Bourbon dynasty over the fortress. I forbid salutes; not a single shot, even blanks, is to be fired from the island fortress. Anyone who disobeys will be severely punished. The island and fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer are hereby transferred to His Majesty and must be handed over to any person officially representing His Majesty King Louis XIV of France or to him personally, whether arriving with or without an escort. No instructions from my officers or trusted persons, whoever they may be, shall compel you to resist the rightful lord of Belle-;le. You are bound to obey in this respect the order of any official representing the person of His Majesty, as evidenced by a written order of His Majesty or any other legitimate document in the name of the King of France.

Nicolas Fouquet, governor of the island fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer,
Superintendent of the Royal Finances."

D'Artagnan also considered crossing out the phrase, "Written on the sixth day of September in Udon ," but after a few seconds' thought, he decided to leave it in. A sly smile appeared at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't allow it to reach his lips, which remained perfectly straight.
Fouquet, with a sigh, copied the captain's text verbatim, along with the phrase about when and where the letter was written.
D'Artagnan thanked Fouquet with a bow of his head and, making a gesture to Saint-Mars indicating that he was leaving Fouquet under his supervision, left the room.
Once in another room, the captain turned back the end of the letter indicating the date and place of writing, then, taking a sharp dagger from his boot, cut off this part of the letter, which he then put in his pocket.
"He thinks that, having learned of Fouquet's whereabouts, the commandant will guess that the superintendent has been arrested," D'Artagnan said to himself. "But I'm not as stupid as I appear in profile! We won't leave this subtle hint in the letter to Monsieur Lahaie de Noailles!"
Then d'Artagnan took a sheet of clean paper and wrote the following:

"Your Majesty! I am sending you a paper which I hope will help avoid any misunderstandings between Your Majesty's troops and the garrison on Belle-;le-en-Mer. The paper will be more useful if no one on the island knows of Monsieur Fouquet's current situation.
"Captain of your musketeers d' Artagnan."

"Lieutenant Maupertuis!" said the captain. "You are to deliver this package to the King as quickly as possible."
D'Artagnan feared that the King would send troops to Belle-;le without receiving such a document, which would lead to a military confrontation. Fortunately, the King temporarily overlooked the need to resolve the Belle-;le issue, and Colbert didn't have time to remind him, so d'Artagnan's letter couldn't have come at a better time. Louis pretended that he hadn't sent troops to the island out of forgetfulness, but precisely because he was waiting for such a document. In any case, fifteen days later, as a result of d'Artagnan's initiative, one of the Guard officers, the Comte de Tende, received the keys to the fortress of Belle-;le-en-Mer and, with his one hundred and fifty Guardsmen, disarmed the garrison. Thus, the danger of mutiny was eliminated, saving scores of lives.

Chapter 297

D'Artagnan's carriage with bars on the windows, accompanied by an escort of musketeers, brought Fouquet to Angers, where the captain was supposed to place the arrested man in the castle of the famous former King of Naples and Sicily, Ren; I the Good, born Duke of Anjou, who built this castle.
Rumors of Fouquet's arrest had already reached the residents of Angers, and they unmistakably recognized the man arrested in the escorted carriage as the former Superintendent of Finance. But d'Artagnan had no reason to fear that the Angers onlookers would try to rescue Fouquet. On the contrary, they seemed delighted by the arrest of the all-powerful minister.
This happens quite often. The rabble, unimagining the wealth they see in those in power, is ready to grovel before them in order to snatch even a fraction of their wealth, no matter how tiny and insignificant, from their generosity. But as soon as the giant is defeated, the rabble rejoices at the fact that he now ranks below them. Their decades-old envy is finally satisfied in revenge, even if it's not carried out by them, and even if they themselves gain nothing from it. Seeing a nobleman defeated has always been a joy for the rabble. But this time, the relatively wealthy townspeople behaved in exactly the same way, and even, as painful as it is for me to write, many nobles.
"You've got yourself a bloodsucker! That's your destiny, tax collector, tax farmer, strangler!" they whispered at first, then in hushed tones, and finally, at the top of their voices. These and similar phrases expressed the people's centuries-old hatred for those who collect taxes from them for the state treasury.
"Look how rich he's become with our hard-earned money!" others said. "Just look at his fingers in rings, his caftan in diamonds! Gold buckles, diamond buttons!"
D'Artagnan only shrugged his shoulders, since the townspeople did not have the opportunity to see Fouquet, but they gave free rein to their imagination, describing what they did not see, but about which they had their own indisputable opinion.
"Don't be afraid of him escaping!" they shouted to d'Artagnan. "Let him try to escape! We'll strangle him with our own hands right away."
"What makes these idiots think I'm afraid?" d'Artagnan thought contemptuously. "Perhaps I shouldn't be afraid of Fouquet escaping, but rather that this herd will attack him and cause him some harm."
“Saint-Mars, don’t let them get closer than ten steps to the carriage,” he ordered.
Arriving at King Ren;'s castle, which the governor of Angers had just ordered emptied of all residents, including servants, d'Artagnan placed Fouquet in the best rooms and stationed guards so that the prisoner could not communicate with anyone or pass messages. Fouquet's personal servant, Lavallee, and his personal physician, Pecquet, who had arrived with him, were given the choice of either not meeting with Fouquet or sharing his confinement until further notice from His Majesty. Both chose imprisonment and refused to leave their master.
D'Artagnan had to work hard to transform the dilapidated castle, which had already lost its residential qualities, into a place where he could comfortably house a prisoner, station the necessary escort, and provide even the musketeers with at least the bare minimum. The louis d'or the captain received greatly helped solve this problem, as the King's order allowed him to rent free, but he had to pay for provisions. True, the castle had a small garrison, but fearing treason, d'Artagnan chose to evict the soldiers and officers entirely, entrusting them with guarding the castle from the outside. He allowed only his musketeers to live inside.
It must be said that this measure prevented the conspiracy that the Fouquet brothers were preparing, who had managed to bribe the small garrison of Angers through their lively messenger, the Count of Rochefort, who had aged considerably, but had not lost his taste for political conspiracies and intrigues.
It must be said that d'Artagnan was an excellent soldier, but not a particularly good steward, and had absolutely no talent for a quartermaster, who is known for enriching himself through any supply or purchase for the army. He never haggled, merely recording expenses on sheets resembling an expense book, meticulously noting the amounts spent, as well as to whom and for what they were paid. The captain of the king's musketeers quickly spent the sums given to him, since he never haggled and did not consider himself entitled to deny Fouquet the amenities the prisoner considered essential and demanded one after another. He economized wherever he could, and instead of buying cutlery for the superintendent, he limited himself to renting the necessary equipment. The castle didn't even have a bed, which had to be rented. D'Artagnan was even forced to resort to his own purse, which was extremely limited. So our friend, who hated to ask anyone for help, was forced to write a letter to Colbert, enclosing a list of his expenses and asking for additional funds to complete the mission entrusted to him. Furthermore, the captain requested craftsmen for the necessary repairs to the castle, as well as funds to pay for these repairs and the necessary materials, as stones were falling from the walls in places, most of the windows were broken, and the roof was leaking in places. Thankfully, the first ten days of September in Angers had been mild, but wintering in such a castle without repairs would have been completely unthinkable. The garrison that had previously occupied the castle occupied only those rooms where the glass was still intact and water wasn't pouring from the ceiling, but such rooms were becoming fewer and fewer each year. D'Artagnan also requested an additional thirty musketeers to reinforce the guard, knowing that the frugal Colbert would only send twenty-five.
D'Artagnan knew perfectly well that he shouldn't place too much trust in the crowd's mood. It was entirely possible that the loudest voices were Fouquet's supporters, posing as his enemies only to learn how he was guarded and choose the opportune moment to attack the guards and free Fouquet.
D'Artagnan requested an additional thirty musketeers not to increase the guard's numbers, but so that they could rotate more frequently and get at least occasional rest. This was absolutely necessary, given the lack of even the slightest amenities in their accommodations.
“I assure you, Mr. Colbert, that my comrades are terribly tired,” he wrote. “I am asking for reinforcements not because I do not have enough musketeers to guard the fortress and securely hold the prisoners, but because for the reason that there are not enough of them to carry out a rotating watch, especially considering all the inconveniences they are forced to endure.
Fouquet did everything he could to appear unjustly and cruelly oppressed in order to gain the sympathy of the musketeers. He was counting on their rebellion. But he knew the King's musketeers very little and knew d'Artagnan completely. There wasn't a single soldier or officer in his company who could be tempted to neglect their duty; they were all devoted to d'Artagnan, perhaps even more than to the King. D'Artagnan himself always showed constant and active concern for his men. His efforts to ensure the greatest possible comfort for the prisoner and his men were visible to all, so Fouquet's complaints found no sympathy. On the contrary, the musketeers despised the sissy Fouquet, who complained that his bed was not as snow-white as he was used to, and the food was not refined enough, while the musketeers themselves were happy if they managed to sleep four or five hours, considered a couple of armfuls of straw covered with a cloak the most refined bed, and were satisfied with any, even the coarsest food.
Fouquet tried his best to shame d'Artagnan, expressing completely unfounded contempt for him and his musketeers, and behaving arrogantly and defiantly, since he still believed the King would soon free him. He hoped to clear himself of all accusations in a personal meeting with His Majesty, believing that he would not only regain his position but also hoped for new privileges and positions bestowed upon him by the King as atonement for the misfortunes that Fouquet believed had befallen him completely unfairly. But at times, apathy overtook him, and then he displayed submissiveness and utter disdain for physical comforts. He seemed to understand that he should not quarrel with his chief jailer, who was d'Artagnan, so he complained about the hardships of detention most often in public, in front of the musketeers present, and when left alone with the captain, he preferred to remain calm and demonstrate restraint, self-control and self-confidence, as well as even some respect for d'Artagnan, the man to whom he was forced to obey in almost everything.
The captain's order to install grates on the chimney of the fireplace in Fouquet's room infuriated him.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," he exclaimed, "you apparently think that a chimney is the best path for you to the rank of Marshal of France!?"
“Monsieur Fouquet, I hardly need your advice regarding my career,” replied the captain.
"Is that because you consider me finally defeated?" Fouquet asked, his gaze fixed on d'Artagnan's.
"Not at all," the captain replied with a calm smile that held no trace of superiority. "You've built your career through judicial, financial, and, as far as I know, matrimonial matters. All three of these spheres are the most unacceptable to me; I've had absolutely no luck in finance, judicial matters, or marriage. The way my ex-wife robbed me in the divorce proves this once and for all. My element is soldiering, and my family is my comrades in arms. I don't surround myself with cooks, writers, tailors, and artists; I prefer the company of friends, and when my friends are not around, a sword, a horse, and a good pair of pistols take their place."
"Are you saying that we have nothing in common and that we have absolutely nothing to talk about?" Fouquet asked haughtily.
"Oh, why not!" d'Artagnan objected. "I find you a great connoisseur of horses! I didn't expect to see such horses in France in such numbers as those that adorn your stables. They are absolutely magnificent! They are almost as good as the four horses I once had the privilege of owning, albeit for a short time."
"You're speaking with envy," Fouquet perked up. "You could never have even had the horses I have, let alone ever having had better horses than mine. I still won't believe you."
“Perhaps, Monseigneur, you would believe it if you asked me where I got these four horses from,” said d’Artagnan, twirling his mustache, while a mischievous light lit up his eyes.
“I’d be curious to know where you got those four horses from,” said Fouquet, hoping to ridicule the boaster by telling him the price and where he had acquired some of his horses.
“It was a gift,” the captain replied.
"Fie! A gift!" Fouquet replied contemptuously, curling his lower lip. "No one would ever give you horses better than mine!"
“You would be quite right, Monseigneur, but in this case the donor was George Villiers, first Duke of Buckingham,” said d’Artagnan in as calm a tone as possible.
Fouquet bit his tongue and jumped in his chair.
"The Duke of Buckingham?!" he exclaimed. "He gave you four horses?"
"Along with saddles that were quite in keeping with the duke's taste," the captain replied. "And in each saddlebag was a magnificent pistol, eight in all."
"What have you done to deserve such gratitude?" asked Fouquet.
"That is no secret of mine, Monseigneur," replied d'Artagnan. "I can only say that some noble Englishmen know how to appreciate the service rendered them by noble people. General Monk, in particular, gave me a mere small estate of five thousand acres on the banks of a picturesque, crystal-clear mountain river, with a beautiful house, which I find magnificent, but which, of course, cannot be compared with any of your houses, Monsieur Fouquet."
"General Monk gave you an estate?" Fouquet asked with even greater surprise.
“That’s nothing, they call it a villa,” replied d’Artagnan. “But we wanted to talk about horses, I believe?”
"I'm not much of an expert on the matter," Fouquet replied. "Every single horse I bought was chosen by Monsieur d'Herblay."
"In that case, I would prefer to discuss them with him rather than with you," d'Artagnan replied with a sad smile. "I'm afraid a conversation with you on this subject would not give me the same pleasure as a conversation with him."

Chapter 298

A few days later, the King also decided to arrest Fouquet's secretary, Paul P;lisson, a man of letters and academician of the French Academy of Sciences, occupying seat number thirty-four. It must be said that P;lisson's pen was sharp, his tongue peppery, his words precise and vivid. His pamphlets were spot-on. But out of caution, he published most of his works under fictitious names or didn't publish them at all. This saved him. After serving about four years in custody, he awaited an acquittal, after which he was released, completely losing his pen's edge. He began writing historical panegyrics, the main one of which he dedicated to Queen Anne of Austria, in which he sang her praises in every possible way. Naturally, this allowed him to finally reconcile with His Majesty Louis XIV , and after he also renounced the Protestant faith, his life flowed smoothly and peacefully. But at that time, he remained under great suspicion, so the King personally ordered not only his arrest but also a careful escort to prevent his escape or his release by rebels who might decide to forcibly liberate him.
The King therefore ordered d'Artagnan to send a detachment of musketeers to Nantes to arrest and escort P;lisson to Angers. In his letter, His Majesty added that he was completely satisfied with d'Artagnan's actions in arresting and guarding Fouquet and intended to relieve him of this task as soon as possible. According to this letter, d'Artagnan's mission would culminate in the execution of his final order in this matter, which consisted of escorting Fouquet and P;lisson to Amboise, where Fouquet was to be handed over to the custody of Monsieur de Taloue, the standard-bearer of the Life Guards, and P;lisson was then to be transported to Paris and placed in the Bastille.
In compliance with the King's orders, d'Artagnan dispatched his quartermaster, Monsieur de Saint-Mars, with a detachment of twenty musketeers to escort P;lisson to Angers. It seems that de Saint-Mars developed a taste for the job of head of the jailers and performed admirably in the position, as it was he who was eventually given the post of commandant of the fortress of Pignerol, where France's most important and dangerous figures were held. But I won't get ahead of myself; during the period I'm describing, Saint-Mars was merely d'Artagnan's messenger, his quartermaster, and his assistant.
Only on December 1st was d'Artagnan able to leave Angers with his prisoners and his entire detachment. To prevent Fouquet from communicating with P;lisson during the journey, d'Artagnan ordered the superintendent to be placed in a carriage with barred windows, and suggested that his secretary ride on horseback. The cortege rode at high speed to avoid attracting the attention of the locals, but residents of neighboring villages flocked to see the unseen detachment accompanying the mysterious carriage.
D'Artagnan and his officers demanded that the onlookers step aside and make way. Sometimes their cries of demand had to be accompanied by threatening gestures, and once, d'Artagnan barely managed to push a bystander aside to avoid being run over by the carriage. I'm not inclined to attribute this act to the captain's humaneness, but rather to his concern for avoiding delays and obstacles for the prisoner's carriage, though who knows?
Fouquet's arrest was no longer a secret, so onlookers knew who was being carried in the carriage. Many former "friends," clients, or simply sympathizers of Fouquet had now become his fierce enemies, or were playing the part with all their might. The most vile insults flew from their lips directed at the former master of France.
By evening, the escort arrived in the suburbs of Saumur from the bridge over the Loire. The next day, December 2, they spent the night at La Chapelle-Blanche.
And then in Tours the situation worsened so much that about a hundred townspeople tried to surround the carriage, each shouting something at Fouquet.
"How these idiots love to play the guard dogs of justice!" grumbled d'Artagnan, who had decided to go for a ride for a change, turning to his companion, de Maupertuis. "Fouquet's case hasn't even begun, and they're already raring to be his executioners!"
“It seems that a simple shout won’t disperse them,” replied de Maupertuis.
"We must fear they'll smash the carriage," said d'Artagnan. "Whether they free Fouquet, kill him, or simply injure him, any outcome is unacceptable. I've already seen that the conspirators, intending to free the prisoner, pretended to be a frenzied mob intent on killing him. True, there were half as many of them as here."
"Who stopped them?" asked de Mupertuis.
"Just two brave men: one experienced musketeer and the young son of his friend," d'Artagnan replied. "I'll show you how it's done. And you, along with de Clavaud, repeat my actions, but from the other side of the carriage."
De Mupertuis nodded and rode on, directing his horse to the other side of the carriage, keeping an eye on his captain.
— Make way! — cried d'Artagnan. — Make way, who did I say! Now get out of the way! Out of the way! Get out of the way, quickly!
He reared his horse and forced it to ram into several onlookers who had gotten too close to the carriage.
De Mupertuis was simply amazed at how fearlessly his captain rode straight into a crowd of a hundred townspeople, without even drawing his sword. At this moment, d'Artagnan's main weapons were his loud voice, his ferocious face, and a small whip. The captain was reluctant to draw his sword against defenseless townspeople whose only crime was overzealous support for their young King against the recently all-powerful Fouquet. The crowd wavered and began to retreat.
"Make way! Get away from the carriage!" shouted de Mupertuis, running into the townspeople who had surrounded the carriage from the right side.
The townspeople retreated, and the carriage continued on without any problems.
The cortege spent the night at the Ch;teau de Gramont, since d'Artagnan's papers allowed him to request shelter wherever he chose. At first, d'Artagnan even considered staying at the Duchess de Chevreuse's ch;teau, but decided against it.
"Wherever the Duchess de Chevreuse is, there are always surprises," thought d'Artagnan. "And I don't need any surprises. The Duchess seems to be supporting Colbert, but this lady is so unpredictable that it's best not to take any risks. Especially since she herself is currently in Paris, as far as I know. However, if she arrived in Tours secretly, I wouldn't be at all surprised!"
D'Artagnan had complete confidence in the Gramonts. The Comte de Guiche, it seemed, had already demonstrated his intention to serve His Majesty faithfully and truly, and his father, the Marshal de Gramont, unlike many of the old-school grandees, had proven his unwavering loyalty to the King and Queen even during the Fronde, so these men were quite reliable.
However, d'Artagnan ordered the musketeers to redouble their vigilance, as the townspeople surrounded the castle and shouted curses at Fouquet, which could equally well have been a manifestation of true feelings, or a disguise for an intention to free him.
D'Artagnan made sure that his men, like the arrested Fouquet and Pelisson, were well fed, and ordered the musketeers to rest in turn, warning them that the escort would leave Tours at night.
"Whatever these townspeople are up to, I don't like it," he said to his officers, de Mupertuis and de Clavaud. "Let's leave them high and dry. Let's leave before they can do anything."
D'Artagnan explained to Fouquet and Pelisson the reason for their night departure, and both prisoners found these reasons convincing, so that they took their places without objection, Fouquet in the carriage, Pelisson on horseback, Fouquet's footman next to the coachman, and the superintendent's personal physician also on horseback, as was his secretary.
The cortege raced at a furious pace through the sleeping Tours and headed towards Amboise, which the carriage and riders reached with the first rays of dawn.
At Amboise, d'Artagnan, in accordance with the order, handed Fouquet over to Monsieur de Taloue.
Michel Letellier wrote at that time to Monsieur de Taloue, the superintendent's new jailer, urging him to continue to act exactly as his predecessor had: "The precision with which Monsieur d'Artagnan acted during the guard was so great that Monsieur Fouquet had no way of knowing what was being prepared for him here. His Majesty hopes that your actions will be equally impeccable . "
Fouquet, who was unspeakably glad to part with d'Artagnan, soon came to deeply regret his departure. Unlike the captain of the Musketeers, who had saved Fouquet from the attack of a vengeful mob in Tours, de Taloue was not as zealous in protecting his prisoner's peace, nor did he possess a shred of d'Artagnan's delicacy. He placed the still seriously ill Fouquet in a dungeon with the windows firmly locked, believing it was improper to stand on ceremony with His Majesty's enemy.
D'Artagnan headed for Paris, where on December 12th he entrusted his last prisoner, P;lisson, to the care of his old friend, the Marquis de Beaumont, the commandant of the Bastille. He was happy to relinquish his duties as an impromptu jailer. Arresting the all-powerful minister was a task worthy of d'Artagnan. It was a risky, dangerous undertaking that required courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness. Transporting a prisoner from city to city was tedious and humiliating. And although these duties elevated him above all the officers of the Guard, his high position as Minister-Superintendent, and one of his most important services to His Majesty, distinguished d'Artagnan from other officers and made him an extraordinary man, giving him importance in the eyes of many courtiers, the captain himself saw this mission only for what it truly was—a mission to rid one man of another by imprisoning him. A jailer remains a jailer even if he is escorting the Lord himself, which, as the Gospel states, has already happened on our sinful Earth.

Chapter 299

Having resigned from his duties as jailer, d'Artagnan congratulated himself on this remarkable event and wished himself never to return to such activities again.
During the few days that Fouquet was under the care of Mr. Taloue, he had already come to regret the change in his already not very happy life, since the regime established by Taloue was unbearable for him.
Lying on the couch, he stared at the unsightly ceiling, not because there was anything interesting on it, but simply because everywhere he looked, everything was just too unsightly. He was contemplating the vicissitudes of life when the key clanked in the cell lock, the doors opened, and a guard entered with a tray containing dinner.
“I refuse to eat,” said Fouquet, without looking at the guard.
D'Artagnan fed him much better, and this was his first reason for refusing food, but after some thought, Fouquet decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to go on a hunger strike. All he hoped to achieve was a conversation with his superiors, higher up than Talouye, and then he hoped to secure a meeting with the King, or at least permission to write him a letter.
“His Majesty has simply been misled,” he convinced himself. “Our last meeting convinces me that the King loves and values me. Perhaps he doesn’t even know I’m under arrest and has ordered his soldiers to find me, and the arrest is the work of Colbert, who has taken advantage of the power vested in him? But no, even if I’m mistaken, it’s hardly possible to do such a thing without His Majesty’s knowledge! Captain d’Artagnan answers only to the King personally. And I saw the order with the King’s signature on it! It’s unlikely anyone would dare forge it. He’ll have his head for that! So the King has simply been deceived, misled about my imaginary guilt, my non-existent intentions and ambitions! I only need to speak with the King, and everything will be fine! But how can I get a meeting with him?” "Of course, the King won't allow me to die in prison without a trial and long before it's due. If I refuse food, I'll succeed, I'll get a meeting with the King, and I'll emerge from prison in triumph!"
Thus Fouquet deceived himself, knowing deep down that things were quite different from what he imagined, that he was far from innocent before the King, that his plans were far from innocent, and that the King had even more reasons for his arrest than would likely be stated in the indictment. And yet, the soul of every man is so constructed that his own faults appear insignificant, while the faults of others against him are viewed in a terribly exaggerated light.
“I beg you, Monseigneur, to save your strength and dine,” said the guard in such a heartfelt tone that Fouquet involuntarily looked into his face.
The guard's face, it seemed to him, had a cunning look, and with his whole expression the guard pointed at something lying on the tray.
Fouquet rose up on the couch and accepted the tray.
There was a letter on it! The guard stood in such a way that if anyone had been watching him from the doorway, they would have seen neither the tray, nor the letter, nor Fouquet.
Instantly assessing the situation, Fouquet grabbed the letter and hid it in the inside pocket of his coat.
Having thanked the guard with a glance, Fouquet tried to remember his face forever.
“I was fed much better under Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he said, glancing at the door, hinting that he did not want to offend the guardsman in any way.
"I can't judge that; I don't serve Monsieur d'Artagnan," the guardsman replied dryly, slowly closing both eyes for a moment, as if to indicate he'd seen through Fouquet's ruse. "I merely deliver to you what I'm ordered, and it's entirely other people who manage it."
Fouquet understood the double meaning of the last phrase. So, the guardsman was merely a messenger; someone more influential was sending him a message from the outside.
"I'll try to get used to these changes," he said indifferently. "I simply have no choice."
“I’ll come back for the tray later,” the guard said.
At that moment, his palm opened, and Fouquet saw in it a piece of graphite rod, one-fifth of an inch in diameter, mounted in a lead tube. The guard placed the rod on a tray and handed the tray to Fouquet.
Fouquet thanked the guard again with a glance, after which he left.
Having begun his meal, which, although much worse served than before, was still not as bad in taste as it seemed unsightly in appearance, Fouquet felt almost no sense of taste, hunger, or satiety. His thoughts were focused solely on the letter.
Finally, he realized he wouldn't dare read the letter until he was sure no one was spying on him. The keyhole bothered him.
Then he took out a handkerchief and coughed into it several times, deliberately. Then, pretending it needed drying, he turned his head, looking for somewhere to hang it, then resolutely walked to the door and hung the handkerchief on the doorknob, keeping the keyhole closed.
"Let them think what they want, at least I've got some time to read the letter!" he decided. "After all, if they open the door right away, they'll be admitting they've been spying on me!"
But Fouquet's worries were needless. No one was spying on him, as Mr. Taloue was utterly indifferent to what the prisoner was doing, as he had received no specific orders on the matter, and he wasn't accustomed to thinking for himself.
So Fouquet unfolded the letter and read the following.

“Monseigneur! Do not despair! You are remembered, you will be saved. I have at least two reliable ways to save you. But either of them takes time. If my plan succeeds, you will not only regain your freedom, but also your position, and even rise higher than before. However incredible it may seem, I still have a means, after the application of which all your friends will be exalted, and your enemies humiliated and eliminated, or else they will fall into insignificance. The other means consists of a banal escape and subsequent residence in one of the neighboring states in prosperity and luxury befitting your rank and dignity. This seems to me a less simple and less desirable option, but to you it will probably seem more realistic, which is why I speak of this second option. In any case, I will ensure your freedom and safety. To begin with: fear nothing and do not admit to any accusations. Even if a trial takes place, the judges will be on your side. All we need is time to implement my first plan, which seems to me the most realistic, but which I cannot share with you. I beg you not to go on a hunger strike, to take care of your health and strength, and not to lose heart. This is all that is required of you at the moment; I will take care of the rest. I will not sign my name, for you already know who wrote this letter, and if you don't, it is the author of many satirical couplets who wishes to remain anonymous. If you agree, write the letter S on the back of the letter . If you have any objections, draw an N. Return the letter to whoever delivered it to you.

"It's d'Herblay!" Fouquet immediately realized. "This letter means he's free and active! That means I'm saved!"

Fouquet immediately drew the letter S on the back of the letter, then folded it and tucked it into his sleeve. Then he thought about removing the handkerchief, which didn't need drying, from the doorknob.
"I may have to resort to this method again, so I won't irritate my jailers for now," he thought. "And yet, there are my friends among them! At least one of them! I wish I knew his name and why he's helping me. Although, perhaps it's better for me not to know his name while I'm here in prison. And he's helping me simply because he's one of d'Herblay's mysterious friends, of whom, as I see, he has a great many."

My messenger was Lieutenant du Chant;, whom I had recruited on Captain G;raldine d'Argenson's ship during the escape from Belle-;le. I tasked him with planning and executing Fouquet's escape from the Ch;teau d'Aunay, with the help of Lieutenant d'Aunay, whom I had also recruited. I knew the structure of the castle perfectly well, having detailed plans obtained through the Jesuit Order. I also knew something the current owners of the castle and their servants, including their butler, Ren; de La Truchot, did not know. They were completely unaware of a secret passage built in case of a siege. This passage led from one of the castle's rooms, which could have been used to hold Fouquet under arrest, and exited onto the banks of the Loire. The Ch;teau d'Aboise, as everyone knows, had been abandoned since the beginning of the century; during the Fronde, it was converted into a prison for conspirators. It belonged to Gaston d'Orl;ans, and after his death, it returned to the ownership of the King of France. Louis XIV decided to continue using it as an impenetrable prison, placing first Fouquet and then Lauzun there. The castle, as everyone knows, has two floors and a large attic, which is actually a third floor and can be used as such. Round towers line the sides of the castle. A secret passage led from a room in the basement. It was essential to ensure that Fouquet was transferred to this room. I did not want to stage an attack on the castle, as I had recently been trying to avoid unnecessary bloodshed whenever possible. This was probably due to my remorse for blaming myself for Porthos's death. Moreover, I believed that Monsieur Fouquet was still guarded by d'Artagnan, and I could not allow his death, especially through my own fault. So, I planned a purely peaceful escape. Fouquet would simply vanish from the castle, as if he had vanished into thin air. This had to be done quickly, because I had no idea how to revive and implement my previous plan to replace Louis with Philippe. This daring undertaking was now greatly complicated by the fact that Louis was already in on the secret and could take the most effective measures to prevent it. Moreover, I didn't know where Philippe had been placed, although I had good reason to believe he had been returned to his former position in the Bastille. Finally, I couldn't be sure that Philippe would remain loyal to me after I had fled, leaving him without support and leaving him to extricate himself from the situation, which, unfortunately, he failed to do. It was precisely in the hope that he would somehow extricate himself that I had risked abandoning him, hoping, in the worst case, to save at least Porthos and hoping to save myself. You understand, my readers, whom I hope I will never have, that my situation was very difficult. I had planned to repeat the task I had almost succeeded in accomplishing personally, but I could not possibly carry it out from afar, while in Spain, for that would mean entrusting my secret to someone else, and I did not trust it even to Athos and Porthos! I had to carry it out personally, and to do so I would have to return to France, and that was still too dangerous.
Consequently, my revenge was postponed, but Fouquet's rescue could not be postponed, since in the event of the worst outcome I risked losing him altogether.
Now, as I write these lines, I ask myself: "Why did I attempt to save Fouquet?" Indeed, I already understood that Fouquet was not the decisive man I would need as France's Prime Minister. Moreover, I had every reason to assume that his friendship with me was based on mutual benefit, just as my own was. And therefore, although he could be my ally, he was unsuitable for the position of someone subject to my decisions. As a further participant in my affairs, he would have been more of a hindrance to the realization of my plans than an accomplice and assistant. But I seemed to sense that I was partly to blame for his arrest, since the King was infuriated by my audacious actions. In my mind, I understood perfectly well that Fouquet had not been arrested for this at all, and that his arrest had been predetermined long before my audacious act. However, in my heart, I felt that, at the very least, I was to blame for the King's harsher treatment of him than would have been the case had I not attempted the coup. Because I was connected to Fouquet, the King was bound to suspect Fouquet of complicity. Well, there was nothing I could do about it; I could only try to save Fouquet, that was all. Having lost Porthos, I had become overly sentimental. I probably shouldn't have gotten involved in this matter at all, leaving Fouquet's fate to carry out its predetermined course. But my nature is such that I must act, and what displeases me most at the moment always comes first in my plans and receives the highest priority in my efforts.
I instructed du Chant; to arrange for Fouquet to be transferred to the appropriate room in the basement. But keeping the former minister in the basement seemed excessively cruel, and that was how everyone perceived it. His jailers, de Taloue and de Marsac, would not have willingly decided to move him there. It remained to devise and implement events that would force them to move him there, at least temporarily. One option was to convince Taloue that the upper floors were too dangerous, since the castle was indeed in considerable disrepair. Then transferring Fouquet to the basement would be in his own interests. I couldn't bring in a construction expert to convince Taloue of this. I also considered the possibility of someone launching a random firefight at all the castle's windows. This would demonstrate the danger. But I rejected this idea, since it would have been truly dangerous, if only because there could have been casualties, even Fouquet himself could have suffered, and besides, this plan was dangerous for those who would have carried it out.
The idea crossed my mind that the basement could be used as a punishment cell, a place to hold a prisoner for punishment, but only the King himself could order the disgraced minister's detention to be tightened, and he would never agree to such a thing. It seemed nothing could further my plans.
A rather good idea occurred to me: a doctor's room would be set up in this basement, where the superintendent's personal physician, Mr. Pecke, would reside. Fouquet would then complain of ill health, after which Pecke would demand that Mr. Fouquet be placed closer to his office for treatment. I rejected this plan as well. A personal physician is obliged to remain at his ailing master's bedside; he had nothing that couldn't be transferred from his room to Fouquet's. But my train of thought suggested an alternative. Fouquet would complain of itching in his eyes, and Dr. Pecke would then determine that sunlight was harmful to the minister's eyes, so his transfer to the basement would be justified by the need to temporarily provide him with complete darkness.
I tried to implement this plan, but it failed. Du Chante passed on the instructions to Fouquet, who began complaining of a stinging sensation in his eyes. Pecquet, who had also received instructions, attributed it to the excessive sunlight. But the cunning Taloue claimed to have excellent shutters for the windows, as well as curtains made of very thick and opaque fabric. The windows were curtained, and Fouquet, thanks to me, had to spend two whole days in complete darkness. Afterward, he declared himself completely cured, that the slightest stinging had disappeared, and the doctor rescinded his prescription.
"If your eyes start to itch again, Monsignor, please contact me!" Taluyo said cheerfully. "The shutters and thick curtains are always at your disposal whenever you tire of the sunlight."
"You are very kind, Monsieur de Taloue," replied Fouquet. "Thank you, I will certainly take advantage of your kindness as soon as I need darkness again."
I decided to try again. As a new reason, I chose the noise in the park, which Fouquet would complain about, after which he would ask to be transferred to the basement, where it would be quiet and cool.
Du Chante brought fifty Hungarian gypsies, who had stopped in the park and set up camp there with tents, horses, fires, and small children. I don't know how he managed it, but the noise they made was unbearable, and for a long time Taluyo was powerless to stop them, as their fearless men, armed and desperate, insisted on their right to be there, showing papers and brandishing huge knives in the very faces of the negotiators sent to them. Taluyo himself preferred to travel in a discreet carriage, fearing that the warlike tribe was burning with a thirst for revenge against him personally.
D'Aunay had somehow procured a whole arsenal of fireworks, which were lit in the middle of the night by these very same gypsies, who screamed with delight when the fireworks went off, especially their women and extremely vocal children. Towards the end, they staged some wild dances with loud songs, and to top it all off, equestrian competitions.
Fouquet immediately complained of a headache and the unbearable noise it was causing. He asked to be transferred to the basement.
Taluyo was inclined to agree, since the troubles with Fouquet already seemed to him the least and most simple matter among the abyss of affairs that had unexpectedly fallen upon him in connection with the arrival of the gypsies.
But de Marsac categorically opposed this decision.
"Monsieur de Taloue, I find it extremely suspicious that Fouquet is insisting for the second time on being transferred to the basement," he said. "A man of sound mind and memory would never want to remain in a basement for any length of time!"
"This only proves that Fouquet has gone slightly mad, which is not surprising, after the shock he experienced, starting from the position of de facto master of the country, and ending up as its most disadvantaged citizen!" Taloue replied.
"Or it proves that he has very good reasons for wanting to move to the basement," de Marsac countered. "I wish to personally inspect the cell in the basement where Dr. Pekke has been housed, as well as the adjacent cells."
"Well, do as you please, but I have enough to do with getting rid of these annoying gypsies!" Taluyo replied. "Where did they even come from?"
Fouquet was left in his former cell, but de Marsac, fortunately, didn't discover the carefully concealed secret door leading to the underground passage. And although that door remained hidden, so that only I and two of my men knew about it, this plan, too, failed.

Chapter 300

Du Chant; and d'Aunay's attempts to disrupt Fouquet's detention at the castle, as well as their attempts to have him moved to the cellar, led to an unexpected result, one that was highly undesirable for my plans. The troubles that befell de Marsac and de Taloue, interfering with their mission, led them to accuse each other of insufficient diligence. At first, they tried to hide their mutual dislike from outsiders and from each other, but gradually, signs of this mutual dislike began to surface, and after they realized the feeling was mutual, they both stopped hiding it and allowed it to grow to incredible proportions. Each of them even sympathized more with their shared prisoner than with each other. This would have been quite useful to me, but it ended with each of them writing a lengthy complaint to the King about their partner in the common cause. The ch;teau's steward, Monsieur de Marsac, wrote that Monsieur de Taloue, the standard-bearer of the Life Guards, was incapable of anything other than carrying the standard. De Marsac offered His Majesty, without any equivocation, to restore him to this state. For his part, the former standard-bearer, promoted to lieutenant in connection with his new assignment, wrote that the ch;teau's commander was only fit to oversee the flower garden in the park and order the clearing of fallen leaves from the park paths and the surface of the ponds. Each of them informed His Majesty that their opponent was incapable of even expelling the gypsies who had set up camp in the park without the slightest right to do so.
At first the King ordered Colbert to sort out these disputes, but soon he became convinced that it was useless to look for those who were right and those who were guilty in a matter where there was no right in principle.
"Monsieur Colbert!" said Louis. "The matter of Fouquet's safe custody is too important to be entrusted to two nobles who are incapable of agreeing. I am inclined to agree with every accusation these two fellows make against each other and, on that basis, punish them both. But first, I need a replacement. Whom could you recommend for the post of castle commander, someone who could ensure Fouquet's reliable protection and at the same time raise no objections regarding the fairness of the measures taken against him?"
“I can offer my nephew,” Colbert immediately replied.
"And this one too!" the King thought with displeasure. "The very Colbert who accused Fouquet of placing his relatives and friends in positions of responsibility is himself suffering from the same affliction!"
Louis smiled kindly at Colbert, without showing any sign of displeasure.
"We'll find your nephew a more worthy position," he lied without batting an eye. "You don't have any other candidates?"
“I’ll think about it and give an answer by the evening,” Colbert replied.
“Don’t bother, I’ve already thought about it,” the King replied. “The task of reliably guarding Fouquet will be handled by the one who brilliantly carried out the order to arrest him. I will entrust this mission to d’Artagnan, and that will allow me to forget about this matter until I choose to recall it. Monsieur d’Artagnan always carries out all my orders brilliantly, and his letters have never contained a single complaint about anyone with whom he has worked. He writes to me only when necessary; three-quarters of his letters contain reports of tasks superbly carried out, and the remaining quarter are requests for only the most necessary and urgent things. That is why I always personally open his letters without the slightest delay, and have never been disappointed by reading his missives. As for the letters from de Taloue and de Marsac, throw them in the fireplace.” This time I will leave them unanswered, but if either of them dares to complain about the other again, I will exile both to the northern provinces. Prepare an order appointing d'Artagnan responsible for Fouquet's detention. I am transferring him to the Ch;teau de Vincennes. Also prepare a document authorizing Monsieur d'Artagnan to dispose of the Ch;teau de Vincennes without restriction. Do this immediately. Within an hour, d'Artagnan must leave for Amboise.
“Your Majesty is quite rightly very pleased with the service of Monsieur d’ Artagnan,” said Colbert, trying to feign delight, but the King detected shades of envy in this statement.
"You are right, Colbert," Louis replied dryly, pretending not to notice the annoyance. "If I need to conquer the world, I will appoint d'Artagnan as supreme commander, and I am confident I will not be disappointed. If I declare war on one of the neighboring states—England, Spain, or Holland—I will make d'Artagnan a Marshal of France. But for now, I require d'Artagnan as an officer for highly confidential and important missions. A position too high would make him too conspicuous, and therefore unsuitable for this mission. However, please ensure that d'Artagnan does not lack for money during this mission."
Colbert bowed in submission.
It would have been better for Louis to state the specific amount of his allowance, since Colbert had put his own spin on the definition of "not needing money." Specifically, he had made a detailed calculation based on the lowest prices for all needs—prices unimaginably unrealistic, likely taken from the price lists of the poorest province during the most productive year in the last ten years. Thus, the funds Colbert allocated barely justified four-fifths of the expenses d'Artagnan actually had to bear.
I don't know how d'Artagnan took his new responsibilities. It seemed to Colbert that he expressed neither surprise, nor joy, nor disappointment, but rather took it as something quite ordinary and unimportant.
On the fourth of January, at four o'clock in the morning, d'Artagnan, accompanied by fifty musketeers, announced that Messrs. de Marsac and de Taloue could no longer worry about the protection of the prisoner entrusted to them.
Fouquet was confined to the Ch;teau de Vincennes just as Philippe had been in the Bastille—housed according to the ducal rank, treated with respect, and with absolutely no chance of escape. Fouquet was housed on the second floor of the castle. Two guards were stationed in his room at all times, and a small detachment of ten musketeers was stationed in the adjoining room, which could not be bypassed in case of escape. All musketeers were forbidden to communicate with the prisoner, answer his questions, or even make any signs. Fouquet's only means of communication with the outside world was d'Artagnan himself. When Fouquet wished to sell two precious stones to finance his own needs, d'Artagnan personally accepted the stones, handing him the entire proceeds without deducting a penny for commission. With this personal money, Fouquet was allowed to order food and other necessities as needed, as long as they were not on the list of prohibited items.
Since d'Artagnan had completely replaced Fouquet's entire guard, my men, d'Aunay and du Chante, were left out of work.
Two months later, on March 4, Fouquet was visited by commissioners Pons and Renard, as well as the court secretary, Joseph Foucault. They interrogated Fouquet at length, and a report was drawn up. After their departure, Fouquet asked for d'Artagnan.
"Monsieur d' Artagnan!" he said. "I have just been subjected to a humiliating interrogation! The commissioners and the court secretary who arrived selected from all the papers confiscated from me, of which there were no less than six thousand, including letters, reports, calculations, memos, projects, and plans. I can conclude that not a single document confirming my complete innocence was examined. It is even possible that they were all destroyed. But at the same time, every single scrap of paper from which anything could be extracted to incriminate me, even in the most trivial matter, was carefully selected, filed, and numbered as if it were the most precious of documents. I consider such an approach biased and unobjective; I protest."
"Monsieur Fouquet, I ask that you discuss with me only matters related to your maintenance, food, and travel," d'Artagnan replied. "I do not conduct legal proceedings and do not have the authority to refer your claims to a commission of inquiry. The next time they question you, make this statement in writing or orally to your former colleagues. To my great regret, my only assistance in this matter is this advice. I ask you not to discuss these matters with me again. I am a soldier in the service of the King, not a judicial official."
I believe the judicial investigation, conducted at the King's behest, was grossly unfair, since the judges and commissioners aimed to indict Fouquet. However, I made every effort to ensure that all mitigating circumstances were considered in the Superintendent's favor. I spent money on bribes and arranged for the replacement of judges and commissioners, but Colbert obstructed this and reinstated his own men in key positions in this investigation and the upcoming trial. We both operated with varying degrees of success, and this can be seen in the fluctuations in the assessment of the case and in the draft indictments, which are recorded in various documents. Chancellor S;guier acted on the direct orders of the King and Colbert; he instructed the secretaries he appointed to simply ignore anything that could serve as an excuse for Fouquet. They didn't even include in the interrogation reports the explanations that justified Fouquet's actions; all of this was in vain, as it left no trace in the investigative documents. But any phrase, even a slip of the tongue, that could be interpreted against him was carefully recorded in these reports.
I cannot deny the unfairness of the accusations that Fouquet made virtually no distinction between the state treasury and his own, cleverly recording insignificant assets as if their value corresponded to the nominal value indicated, and drawing up reports on the depreciation of securities that had not depreciated at all, and the upward revision of those that could hardly be valued even at their nominal value. What can one say here other than that all financiers, including Mazarin, did this? Without this deft manipulation of documents, there is no financial business! This is precisely the art of the financier—to give value to the worthless and conceal the value of the priceless. Otherwise, where would financiers draw their income, which, with the right approach, can prove practically inexhaustible at all times? If Fouquet is to be condemned, then all financiers of all times and nations should be declared criminals once and for all! However, perhaps this would be correct, it is not for me to judge, I am not a financier, but a servant of God.

Chapter 301

I will spare my memoirs a detailed description of the Fouquet investigation. This information is easily found in the royal archives. Any impartial person will be convinced that the case was fabricated, although it had some basis. I insist that if the cases of any financier were tried with the same rigor as those of Fouquet, then any—I emphasize, any—financier of our time could be convicted, and I believe, not without reason, that the situation will be the same in the future. That is precisely why I tried to save Fouquet, but as soon as I learned that d'Artagnan was once again guarding him, I ordered that all preparations to recapture Fouquet by force be abandoned. The reasons, I think, are clear. Likewise, I would never have attempted to bribe the captain or any of his musketeers. Abb; Fouquet made a mistake when he attempted that. His men attempted to bribe one of the musketeers and nearly paid for it, as the musketeer immediately attempted to apprehend the scoundrel who had dared to offer him money for betraying the King. The man managed to escape and escape only because the musketeer could not leave his post in pursuit, and he considered firing a pistol at an unarmed, fleeing Frenchman for such a trivial reason beneath his dignity. D'Artagnan, upon learning of In the incident, he fully approved of his musketeer's actions, but suggested that he write a report describing the scoundrel who dared to offer a bribe to a musketeer. I believe that Abb; Fouquet's envoy got off lightly, with little more than a fright. True, he was then forced to hide for about two weeks, grew a beard, changed his gait, and cautiously avoided the city's central streets.
In June, Fouquet was transferred to the Bastille, as the court had moved to the Arsenal, making it much more convenient to transport him there for interrogation. Besmo, who had previously been noted for his friendly relations with Fouquet, now swore to perform his duties as jailer to the best of his ability, but the King decided not to take any chances and retained responsibility for Fouquet's custody and protection with d'Artagnan.
In prison, Fouquet became ostentatiously religious, a fact that became known to his aged mother, who thanked God for it. All her life, she had feared that the price of her dear son's lavish lifestyle would inevitably be hellfire. Now, however, she was completely at peace, convinced that her son would reconcile with God during his lifetime, thereby earning him eternal bliss in Paradise. She had no doubt that eternal bliss was destined for her, so much so that she expected to soon depart there and await the reunion with her child for the ages. Religion dictates that I agree with her hopes, but something within me doubts the veracity of these images. After all, no one has ever returned from there to confirm or refute these notions of the afterlife. Although, in case anyone reads this diary, I will emphasize that I am a true and convinced Catholic, and here is why: if all this is just a myth, then the lack of faith will not worsen our lot in any way, but if the Church is right, then it would be too stupid to shy away from such small, almost formal sacrifices that we allow ourselves to please the Lord, considering how much they can influence the afterlife with the Lord.
During the time d'Artagnan guarded Fouquet, they developed a mutual liking. The captain became increasingly meticulous in ensuring his prisoner received the best food, personally administering the kitchen and meticulously studying the menu. But this soon ended. Fouquet began receiving visits not only from investigators but also from sympathetic rapporteurs on the case. D'Artagnan was instructed to prevent collusion, and to do so, he had to hear every word spoken by either party to these meetings, pay attention to every gesture, and prevent the passing of any notes or objects. Naturally, he made it a condition of these meetings that he remain in the room at all times.
Fouquet, who seemed resigned to his fate, was encouraged by the appearance of sympathizers, but he was deeply indignant at not being able to speak with them privately. He began to see him as an obvious enemy.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried Fouquet, indignant at the terms of the meeting which the captain had put forward. "Don't you think that you are thrusting your Gascon Your nose in other people's business? Your job is to be my jailer, and yet you seem to have taken on the role of my tormentor, and lately, my enemy? It would be far more honest of you to say directly that my enemies want to prevent me from defending myself.
"You are perfectly aware, Monsieur Fouquet, of who entrusted me with the work I perform," d'Artagnan replied calmly. "And that person is not you, Monseigneur. Therefore, it is not for you to dictate what is and is not my responsibility. I will satisfy your curiosity by informing you that I do not voluntarily undertake any action that has not been entrusted to me. Everything I do, I do solely at the behest of the one who has ordered me to manage everything related to the mission I carry out. If I had not been instructed to prevent private conversations, I would not hinder such conversations. Likewise, rest assured, if and as soon as I am ordered to let you go your way, I will do so the very next second and without the slightest regret." But if I am ordered to take you to the North Pole, to the summit of Mont Blanc, or anywhere else, I will take you there, without the slightest interest in your desire to accompany me to the destination that will be determined for you. It is neither you nor I who determine your location, nor any measures you may deem excessive, but I accept them as they are communicated to me. Any complaints about how you are being treated, what you are not allowed, and any requests for privileges and concessions you would like to receive, please convey to your interlocutors, who may be able to secure some concessions for you. I am prepared to hear your complaints if I fail to fulfill my official duties properly. This complaint will not be considered by me, since you are dissatisfied not with how I fulfill my duties, but with what they consist of. I cannot help you in any way. I can only assure you that I will listen to your conversations not to relay them to anyone, but to prevent discussions on topics you are forbidden to discuss. Anything else I hear, I will try to immediately forget, as there is no point in storing all these speeches in my memory.
Fouquet remained silent. D'Artagnan's calm and confident tone made him acknowledge the truth of this objection and feel ashamed of his own lack of restraint. But Fouquet was not accustomed to giving in and was unwilling to admit he was wrong.
“I will file a complaint with the King,” he said.
"That's as you wish," the captain replied. "But I would recommend drafting a petition or request. This will have a better chance of being considered favorably. If you're concerned that the secrets of your negotiations will be disclosed to your detriment, I can assure you that I promise to keep everything concerning your case confidential, but if you mention anything else, I will be obliged to inform His Majesty."
"Do you promise this absolutely?" asked Fouquet.
D'Artagnan pierced Fouquet with his gaze, as if with two sharp needles.
"I said what I said, and d'Artagnan's word is firm even when given to an enemy," he replied. "It requires no oaths or swearing to strengthen its truthfulness."
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to doubt your promise, I asked this, I don’t know why,” he said.
“Your apology is accepted, Monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan.
Not daring to doubt that d'Artagnan would break his word, Fouquet from then on began to trust d'Artagnan completely and spoke freely in his presence. Mutual respect, almost friendship, was rekindled between guard and prisoner. Even the lawyers, dissatisfied with the king's decision, were forced to admit that Monsieur d'Artagnan was fulfilling it with the utmost integrity.

Chapter 302

After the visiting sessions, where d'Artagnan personally accompanied Fouquet with an escort of five hundred musketeers to the Ch;teau de Moret, the King intended to return to Paris, where Fouquet was also to be returned.
On the fourteenth of August, d'Artagnan approached Fouquet.
“Monsignor, today we will go back to Paris,” he said.
“As the King pleases,” Fouquet replied with apparent calm.
“ We will pass through Charenton, but I have orders not to stop there,” continued d’Artagnan.
“Well, that means I won’t be able to see my wife and children, whom I haven’t seen for so long,” Fouquet replied sadly and sighed.
“You understand that the King’s order cannot be violated in any way,” continued d’Artagnan.
“Of course, Captain,” Fouquet replied with a barely perceptible nod.
“But I received no order that the carriage in which you will travel could not slow down,” the captain continued.
“Thank you, this will allow me to take a better look at my native places,” replied Fouquet.
"I received no orders to prevent your family from accessing the carriage," d'Artagnan continued. "If they approach the carriage and even climb onto the step, such an action in no way violates the instructions I have received."
"Then I'll have a few seconds to see them!" Fouquet rejoiced.
“My horses can go very slowly, Monsieur Fouquet,” said d’Artagnan. "They can move so slowly that a four-year-old child could outrun them. So your visit with your family may last more than a few seconds. In any case, if your family would like to see you a little longer, you can count on ten minutes, or even fifteen. And if any of them suddenly wish to hug or kiss you while the carriage continues to move, I will not interfere. But you must promise me that you will not discuss with them anything that you know is forbidden to discuss, because I will hear everything. You can inquire about their health, tell them that you love them, hug and even kiss them, but without leaving the carriage. I can inform them of this possibility through an old friend of mine, a former servant. They will be told that if they decide to climb onto the step of the carriage one by one to hug you, I will not consider it a violation of the escort rules.
"Thank you, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" exclaimed Fouquet, tears welling up in his eyes.
"You know, Monsieur Fouquet, since your arrest, your wife has become very close to Madame Duplessis-Belli;re," said d'Artagnan. "A shared grief has brought them together. They are both worried about you. Perhaps you would like to see Madame Duplessis-Belli;re as well? I think your wife will understand your desire to see her as well. She will not be angry; she will understand, as far as I can trust Madame Savigne, our good friend.
“No, no, that’s unnecessary,” Fouquet answered dryly.
“Okay, as you say,” replied d’Artagnan.
"That's how life sometimes turns out," d'Artagnan thought. "We sometimes long to have someone behind us, besides our wife and children, with whom we can share our joy and even our wealth. But we only want to share our grief with our family. But are only men like that? It's probably the same trait in women, too."
I'll tell you about one more episode.
Upon returning to Paris, the Chamber of Justice took up residence in the home of Chancellor S;guier. Fouquet's final interrogations took place at the Petit Arsenal, a stone's throw from the Bastille, to which he was forced to return.
On November 20th, the convoy left for the Small Arsenal too early.
"Will you allow me to walk the remaining thirty or forty fathoms, perhaps to stroll the streets of Paris for the last time?" Fouquet asked d'Artagnan. "I won't run away, don't worry."
"Of course you won't escape, Monseigneur," replied d'Artagnan, glancing at the impressive escort and patting his sword. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with such a stroll."
“Thank you, Captain,” said Fouquet, and with the permission of his escort, he left the carriage and then headed towards the Petit Arsenal, where the next meeting was to take place.
Nearby, work was underway to construct a pool for the future fountain.
"I believe they're building a fountain here?" Fouquet asked animatedly. "Well, it would be a great addition to this small park."
Passing by the fountain under construction, Fouquet took a close look at the pipes through which the water would flow.
"The pipes in the center should be two inches higher than the side pipes, and the side pipes should be two inches above the water surface!" he said, turning to the workers.
"Sir, you seem to know quite a bit about fountains?" asked the foreman supervising the work.
"I know a thing or two about this," Fouquet replied with a smile. "Before lining the pipes with stones, I recommend coating them with resin twice. After that, you can safely lay the stones on them. I recommend adding two dozen eggs per bucket of mortar to the mortar that holds the stones together. Then the fountain will last quite a long time."
"We seem to have become too distracted, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan interjected. "Your time for a stroll is rapidly running out."
"Forgive me, I forgot myself," Fouquet replied, quickening his pace. "Doesn't it seem strange to you that I intervened? The thing is, I used to be quite knowledgeable about such things."
“I know, Monseigneur, I saw the fountains at Vaux-le-Vicomte,” replied d’Artagnan, after which they both proceeded to the Petit Arsenal, surrounded by a convoy of musketeers.
As soon as Fouquet and his jailer disappeared through the doors of the Petit Arsenal, one of the masons dropped his tools, took off his mason's apron, and left the construction site. No one called out to him or detained him, as such was the agreement with the foreman supervising the work.
Turning the corner, the man wrote down on a piece of paper everything he'd heard from Fouquet, word for word. He then folded the note and walked down one of the streets, where he tossed it into a beggar's hat. The beggar took the note and hid it up his sleeve.
A few hours later, I read this note written to me by Lieutenant du Chant;. Here's what Fouquet's comments on the fountain's construction meant:

"In the Bastille, I'm guarded twice as tightly as I was at the Ch;teau de Moret, and at the Ch;teau de Moret, I was guarded twice as tightly as I was at Angers. Every time I'm taken away, there are fifty musketeers on guard, not counting the captain. The trial has been long, but it's coming to an end. I suspect I'll be sentenced to exile from France."

I was amused, delighted that I had managed to fool d'Artagnan, since Fouquet had delivered his secret message practically before the captain's eyes. But my jubilation was premature.
In the evening, some tramp sent me a message through Bazin, which had no return address.
I was about to throw the envelope away without reading it, but that was just me flirting with myself. Curiosity is one of my mortal sins, so I simply couldn't resist opening the letter. Inside, I found the following piece of paper.

"Dear Aramis! Abandon all attempts to free Fouquet! I know your methods well; you won't fool me. And the code words you agreed to use to communicate news, even Porthos could have deciphered! I have, indeed, doubled the security at Moret compared to Amboise, and at the Bastille, it's twice as strong as at Moret. This information will not help you in any way. And despite the fact that lawyers and bribed judges promise Fouquet that he will be sentenced to exile from France, you forget that the King will never agree to this. He will not release Fouquet, who knows too many secrets, and who will be even more dangerous abroad than if he were living peacefully in Vaux-le-Vicomte. Abandon your plan to free Fouquet; you will not succeed. Yours, C.A."

Of course, "C.A." stood for Charles d'Artagnan. That's how he shortened his name, because even in official documents he sometimes signed his name simply: " Artagnan ."

Chapter 303

I abandoned all my attempts to free Fouquet when I learned that he was once again being guarded by d'Artagnan—I believe I've already written about this. But my people kept me informed of everything that was happening in Paris and throughout France at that time.
Fouquet had lost hope and resigned himself to his fate. The reason was that, although he countered each accusation with counterarguments, answers, explanations, and his own interpretation, the accusations were so numerous, the case had grown, and even those who had initially sympathized with Fouquet realized there was no smoke without fire, and that he wasn't such a remarkable man to be facing so many charges. The judges I had bribed, of course, tried to cast most of the doubt in Fouquet's favor, but what is bribery when the judges are also influenced by the fear of being punished for handling the case differently from the King's wishes?
I'm focusing so much on this episode because I'm surprised Fouquet was ever put on trial. Until quite recently, the law of the strongest ruled in the land. It belonged not only to the King, but also to peers, dukes, marquises, counts, and barons within their own lands. If a powerful grandee committed lawlessness on his own soil, no one had the right to judge him, nor did anyone even attempt to do so. Even our noble Athos, speaking of his marriage to Milady, explained that, of course, he could have taken her by force; she would have belonged to him, and not a soul in the county would have condemned him. And so it was. Neither of his actions toward Milady was considered strange by any of us. He apparently took the fancy to marry her because he suddenly decided to become a romantic, and not at all because he couldn't see any other way out of the matter. He decided to marry a girl far from his class, most likely out of mischief, out of a spirit of defiance against his father, but he convinced himself that he loved her. His decision was also influenced by his assumption that some secret was connected with her, and that, as I have already written, she was of noble blood, related to the royal house. Having discovered that she was not even a noblewoman, and had been branded a noblewoman, to boot, he considered himself cruelly deceived and did not for a moment doubt his right to personally punish her without trial or investigation. Such was France in the first quarter of our seventeenth century! Seigneurs were absolute masters of their lands, even over those who were not their subjects!
Cardinal Richelieu began to change everything radically, and he succeeded brilliantly. The King ceased to be a figurehead; he became the real monarch. Or so Richelieu became. But not for long. The deaths of Richelieu, and then Louis XIII, as we all remember, led to the grandees deciding to wrest the inherited power from Queen Anne and divide it among themselves. If one of them had found someone who would take it entirely for himself, he would have become King. And if this audacious man had also married Anne of Austria, a new dynasty would have been born. And there would have been nothing surprising, nothing out of the ordinary. In that case, young Louis and his brother Philip probably wouldn't have lived to see the usurper's death; some accident would have befallen them while they were still young, and he would have left the throne to his heirs, had he managed to acquire any. Mazarin saved Anne. He became her support and protector; he was her confessor, her first minister, and her husband. To her young heirs, he became, if not a father, then an excellent stepfather, simultaneously a tutor, a friend, and a subject.
The Fronde, which rebelled against Mazarin's taxes, arose solely out of envy, as each of the nobles finally realized that they, too, could have taken the same place, had they been quicker. But none of them could truly have become for France what Mazarin became. These men thought only of their own gain and were not prepared to sacrifice anything for France. I hadn't yet fully grasped this at the time, so I joined them, but only briefly. Each of the Fronde grandees would have been willing to accept the loss of half the Kingdom's territory, if only to enrich their own province by at least a fifth. "Let the treasury spend millions, if we get at least a twentieth of those millions!"—that's what almost every nobleman thought then, and not just the nobles, but probably nine out of ten nobles. There were very few men as devoted to the Queen and the young King as Marshal de Gramont. Almost everyone else, including the Viscount de Turenne, could easily switch sides and then back again. Most were like the Coadjutor of Paris, Paul de Gondi—venal, greedy, avaricious, narcissistic, ambitious, and perfidious. Compared to this, Mazarin is practically a saint in his reverent attitude toward the Queen. Yes, he was greedy, but most of the money he embezzled benefited the Queen and her family. Should we be concerned that he probably appropriated a quarter of the state's revenues when, before his reign, the state had only expenses and debts? Yes, he forced the treasury to spend funds not yet received, and five years' worth of future revenues were spent, meaning money that didn't yet exist was spent! To achieve this, speculators contributed their funds against future taxes. Of course, they had to have a stake in this, so for every million livres they loaned to the treasury, they expected to pocket two million. How could it be otherwise? Otherwise, no one would agree to spend their fortune in the illusory hope of merely recouping it without the slightest profit! The greater the risk, the higher the interest on such loans.
Fouquet was a shadow, a copy, a counterfeit of Mazarin, a diminished parody of him. When the all-powerful first minister died, Fouquet took his place and hoped to occupy all his posts with the same effect. But Mazarin adored the Queen, and the Queen held in her hands only the remnants of power left to her by Mazarin and her son, the young King, since even during Mazarin's lifetime, Louis had already declared himself of age and been crowned. Previously, the Queen had been the symbol of royal power, Mazarin its embodiment, and Louis its future, its guarantee for the future.
Now everything had changed. Only if the Queen were still young and Louis a minor, and if Fouquet had charmed the Queen as Mazarin had, if he could be for her what Mazarin had been… Too many “ifs.” Fouquet only imagined that he had a chance at further advancement. But even the slightest chance was more in his imagination than in reality. My enterprise had its chances, but I missed them, alas! And Fouquet’s main problem was that he was not Mazarin. He was a completely different man, and he had already reached his limit. Further heights of power were not for him, since he was not the one who could master them. Yet it was necessary not only to rise to that pinnacle but also to remain there, which was far more difficult, as Mazarin had personally learned.
Since Mazarin was devoted to the Queen with both soul and body, he dedicated himself to her and therefore devoted all his energy to her primary goal—to pass the throne to her eldest son. Fouquet, however, was merely a darling of fortune, a lucky and successful scoundrel, skillful in making friends and even more skillful in using them, a fickle libertine, a seducer, bedding every mildly attractive female he could reach and seducing with his riches. He used women to increase his wealth, to enter influential circles, to gain information, to enhance his own prestige, and for pleasure. I am certain that if Mademoiselle de la Valli;re had not had the opportunity to see the King, she might have ended up in Fouquet's bed, and if she had not, it would only have been because Fouquet himself would not have condescended to her!
Such a man could not become a friend and mentor to the royal family. He couldn't have everything Mazarin had, but he desperately wanted it. And he proved inappropriate. His excessive ambitions began to irritate the King. He became that old and overgrown tree that hinders the growth of a young tree destined to grow taller and more powerful. Fouquet began to hinder the King, he dared to eclipse him. Such behavior is unforgivable! He had to be felled, cut down, destroyed, to make room in the sun for a new, growing and gaining strength future colossus, Louis XIV, who soon thereafter declared himself the Sun.
But I am convinced that the trial was a mistake. The King should have simply overthrown Fouquet, quickly, effectively, and finally, just as Louis XIII had overthrown Marshal d'Ancre—by proxy. This was the best method precisely because it would have been swift and final. Even if there had been those outraged, they would have quickly cooled off, and in any case, no one would have discussed the matter for three years. Any news becomes stale, any injustice is forgotten. The King decided to play court, thereby acknowledging his submission to the court's decision. For a monarch, this is a risky move, and for the monarchy as a whole, fatal.
Consider the history of previous centuries, not counting our modern and unexpected century, the seventeenth century A.D. Throughout all these centuries, no one has ever been executed by order of any monarch whose execution cost that monarch dearly. If the King ordered someone eliminated, then so be it, period. It was in our enlightened seventeenth century that monarchs decided to play at courtrooms. Charles of England was the first to set an example. And it ended with the courts, realizing they were allowed to judge even the highest-ranking officials of the kingdom, deciding it was time to take a closer look at the King himself, tried him, and sentenced him to beheading. This is what happens when a monarch plays games with the judiciary. A monarch should decide the most important matters personally. Cardinal Richelieu would have thrown Fouquet in the Bastille in half an hour, and no one would have uttered a word. He would have executed him on Grevskaya Square, and the people would have applauded this execution.
Louis XIV needed to judge his enemy in a court he himself had no personal control over. Well, sooner or later, some other court will decide to try the King of France himself, and God willing, it won't be a grandson or great-grandson of Louis XIV, although I can't be so sure in the coming generations. Someday, in about a hundred years, perhaps in 1790 or a little later, it will happen, and only because Louis XIV allowed the trial of a man he had personally condemned in his own soul long before his arrest.
So, the common people already sympathized with the prosecutors, the judges secretly sympathized with the accused, but each of them was exhausted by the protracted trial. Three years of deliberating over one man's crimes, real and imagined, to determine his fate—that was too much even for the most advanced European state, which we considered France to be, without the slightest basis for it!
Fouquet had heard enough of the accusations and seemed to have privately agreed that he deserved a hefty punishment. True, he still hoped that it would end with nothing more than the loss of all his positions and a fine, which he no longer had the money to pay. But he could have hoped to collect money from his friends. Naive man! Most of his friends weren't there to spend their money on him, but quite the opposite—solely in the hope that he would spend his money on them or allow them to use it without restraint. An impoverished Fouquet was of no use to anyone. His fate was that of an empty purse, snatched at the market by a clever thief: after its emptiness, it was thrown into a puddle and trampled by the hooves, feet, and wheels of everything that passed or drove over it. Just as a purse snatched from a bystander can expose a thief, so too, Fouquet, remaining at large, could expose the sources of wealth of many whose fortunes he had helped enrich. Now that he was no longer the source of enrichment, he became an unnecessary witness to the illegality of many transactions, a living reproach and a potential danger. No one wanted to see their own case brought to light after the Fouquet affair. Therefore, many, especially Fouquet's fellow professionals, financiers and judges, would like Fouquet to simply disappear without a trace.
If Fouquet hadn't been guarded by d'Artagnan and his fifty musketeers, I fear they would have gotten to him. He wouldn't have lived to see the verdict read. But history defies the subjunctive mood. Fouquet was arrested by d'Artagnan, who repeatedly saved him from reprisals, and who prevented his escape. Our captain was both Fouquet's guardian angel and his doom, jailer and friend, companion and silent companion, messenger from the outside and the man who prevented communication with those with whom communication was forbidden, combining the incompatible and uniting the incompatible.
Chapter 304

When all the interrogations were finally concluded in early December, the verdict was scheduled for the following day. Fouquet awaited this event with extraordinary calm.
"I am pleasantly surprised by your calm and your fortitude, Monseigneur," said d'Artagnan. "To be honest, I expected to see you in a state of agitation or despondency."
"Despondency is a sin forbidden to us by God and Scripture," Fouquet replied. "Why worry about such trifles as a sentence? Does it really matter what punishment they'll hand me down? I spent three years in custody before they even told me what my crime actually was."
"Aren't you afraid you might be sentenced to death?" the captain asked.
"We are all condemned to death the moment we are born," Fouquet replied. "And none of us can know the day or hour of our departure. It is all decided by chance or the will of God. Both are impossible to predict, incomprehensible. We have no influence on either. Each of us drew the winning ticket by the very fact of being born. And each of us has lost this game by the very fact of dying. You can't cheat fate. No one has ever managed to leave this life alive."
"You're forgetting Elijah the Prophet, Monseigneur. But look, you've become a fatalist, it seems to me?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "You would have made a fine musketeer! I thought only soldiers were so dismissive of mortal danger!"
“I wonder why?” Fouquet asked.
"Because it's simply impossible otherwise," d'Artagnan replied. "If you spend every day among those who risk their lives every second, then after a while you begin to think it's simply unfair that you're still alive when so many of your comrades have already fallen. The pursuit of justice overcomes the fear of death. The spirit of camaraderie destroys selfishness."
"The fate of a financier handling millions of livres is in this sense similar to that of a soldier, except that the price of a mistake is not life, but ruin, and for many, it's the same thing," Fouquet replied. "You've probably heard of cases where a ruined financier committed suicide?"
"I've heard something of the sort," d'Artagnan agreed. "And the poor fellow's remaining money would sometimes be enough for ten lifetimes, the same as most ordinary French people live."
"A man is sometimes overcome by despair not because he has lost everything, but only because he has lost a tenth, a twentieth, or a hundredth part of what he had," Fouquet replied. "He blames himself for having acted foolishly, for not having foreseen the consequences."
"And has this never happened to you?" asked d'Artagnan. "Have you ever blamed yourself for your mistakes?"
“Only in my early youth,” replied Fouquet. “A certain intelligent priest told me that a man shouldn’t worry about not having done his best . Blaming oneself for this is tantamount to reproaching oneself for not being a prophet. But not everyone is destined to become a prophet! There have been only a few of them throughout human history , and, what’s more, none of them were happy, because if a bad prophecy is believed, then measures are taken to prevent it from coming true, and it doesn’t come true. If a good prophecy is believed, then nothing is done to ensure it comes true, and it too may not come true. Therefore, if a prophet is believed, then he ceases to be a prophet. Only someone who is not believed can be a prophet, like Cassandra.”
"It's decided! I won't be a prophet!" d'Artagnan exclaimed with a smile.
"Don't be!" Fouquet chimed in. "And don't regret that Elijah's fate doesn't await you. Each of us understands that we are not prophets, but we all try to predict the future, to act in the best possible way in uncertain circumstances, and then congratulate ourselves if we do well, or scold ourselves for not doing the best we can. But all of that is foolish. We must live, act, and fear nothing. And forgive ourselves for our mistakes. And, incidentally, forgive our loved ones."
"You've definitely lost the ability of a fine musketeer, Monseigneur!" Fouquet exclaimed admiringly again.
“I will tell you a fable that La Fontaine told me,” said Fouquet.
“He probably read it in Aesop,” replied d’Artagnan.
“It’s possible,” Fouquet agreed. “Aesop or someone else. So, one rich ancient Greek asked a soothsayer what awaited him. And the soothsayer answered: ‘Death is already coming for you, to the house where you will spend the night!’ And then this rich man got scared, and immediately left his house in Delphi and rushed headlong to Athens. And then in the market square he met Death. ‘Well, well!’ Death exclaimed. ‘I was ordered to kill you tonight, but for some reason "I'm ordered to follow you to Athens! And I was wondering: why to Athens, if you live in Delphi?"
"This is a good example of why one should not try to cheat one's destiny!" said d'Artagnan.
"Have you ever tried to cheat your fate?" Fouquet asked.
"Why deceive her?" d'Artagnan replied. "Fate is not a wife. You can negotiate with her! And if that doesn't work, you can force her to submit!"
"Really?" asked Fouquet. "Not your wife, then? And you can't come to an agreement with your wife?"
"Not me! But unlike Fate, a wife can file for divorce," d'Artagnan replied. "While I've been busy with you, protecting either you from the crowd or the crowd from you, I've become a bachelor. My wife divorced me and even robbed me blind, leaving me nothing, but I've gained freedom, and I intend to take advantage of it as soon as my duties as a jailer are over. I can't wait for that to happen!"
"In that case, my execution will be a blessing for you, but if I am sentenced to life imprisonment, then, I fear, you will never receive the freedom you long for, because you will be my jailer until my death, or yours!" said Fouquet.
"Do you know what consoles me in your words?" asked d'Artagnan.
"What then?" asked Fouquet.
"That you yourself just admitted that you are not a prophet!" d'Artagnan replied, after which they both laughed most freely, forgetting all those social addresses like "Monseigneur" or "Monsieur Captain."
"I think I know that priest who advised you not to blame yourself for the mistakes you've made," said d'Artagnan. "He was once a musketeer. And even now, there's something of the musketeer left in him!"
“Now he is already the Bishop of Vannes,” Fouquet clarified.
“Not anymore,” d’Artagnan clarified in turn.

Chapter 305

On December 13th, in the middle of the night, d'Artagnan entered Fouquet's cell, knocking first.
"Monseigneur, since you are a fatalist, you must believe in omens?" he asked. "Look at the sky!"
Fouquet ran to the window and saw that the entire sky was illuminated by the tail of a huge comet.
"Do you think the comet is a good omen for me?" Fouquet asked doubtfully.
"Of course!" exclaimed d'Artagnan, who sincerely wanted to cheer Fouquet up, realizing that his apparent indifference to his fate was just a mask, while deep down Fouquet was terribly worried and anxious.
"But listen, Captain!" Fouquet objected. "The last time the comet appeared was shortly before the death of Cardinal Mazarin!"
"But Mazarin himself declared that the comet had nothing to do with him," d'Artagnan clarified. "When he was told that the comet foreshadowed his recovery, he retorted: 'It is too much of an honor to have a comet grace the sky in connection with my humble person!'"
"However, I am a person of even less importance than Cardinal Mazarin," Fouquet objected again. "If the cardinal, the first minister, and the de facto head of state is an insignificant person, what can one say about me?"
"The death of a man, quite ill, who had prepared everything for how the state would be governed after his passing, is not an event of great significance, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan replied. "It was bound to happen a day earlier or a day later, so the only uncertainty surrounding it was the exact date. In that sense, the fact was of no great significance. Mazarin understood that a miracle was needed for his recovery, and God does not perform miracles, even for such distinguished men as himself. In your case, the situation is different, because the verdict the judges render could have a significant impact on the life of the kingdom."
"Why do you think my fate can still have any influence on France?" Fouquet asked. "I've had no influence on anything for three years now."
"The royal tribunal has been dealing exclusively with your case for three years," d'Artagnan replied. "And it doesn't seem like they intend to punish you in any way. The tribunal is trying to sort things out; they want to create the appearance of objectivity."
“Exactly, the appearance of objectivity,” Fouquet replied.
"What do you want?" asked d'Artagnan. "The civilization of modern Europe lies not in the fact that it has abandoned cannibalism, but in the fact that, unlike the aborigines of, say, Tierra del Fuego, it at least tries to justify cannibalism not with the banal assertion that it seems tasty, but by the fact that the person being eaten is to blame for his own fate."
"Guilty because he was caught!" added Fouquet.
"Guilty of being weaker than the nets that caught him," d'Artagnan clarified. "But the comet, in my opinion, should give you hope. If I weren't convinced of this, I wouldn't wake you in the middle of the night to contemplate it."
"He says comets don't appear in the sky very often," Fouquet replied. "Some generations never have the chance to see a comet even once. You and I, however, have seen a comet in the sky before."
"That's exactly what I'm saying!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "The Lord spoils us with this spectacle, so the comet is a harbinger of good fortune."
"But why do you think a comet foretells good fortune rather than failure?" Fouquet asked.
"I can answer that for you in detail and with reason!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "First, let's turn to the ancients. When the consul Aemilius Paulus was leading his army along a narrow road in Lucania, he was in danger of being bombarded and killed by the Saracens with their mortars firing long spears. But he remembered seeing a comet and told his soldiers that it augured good fortune. Thus, they marched along the coast, and the enemy did not dare open fire.
"Is this true?" Fouquet asked in surprise.
"It's the absolute truth!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, his expression completely sincere. "But that's not all! Spartacus, seeing a comet in the sky, decided to attack Clodius's army. He wove ropes from forest branches for this purpose, descended from Vesuvius, and attacked the enemy troops from a direction from which they least expected an attack."
"How do you know that?" Fouquet asked, surprised again.
"The comet also predicted the victory of the Athenian Iphicrates at Chersonesos!" continued the inspired d'Artagnan.
"My God, how do you know all this?" asked Fouquet.
“I learned about it from a book by Sextus Julius Frontinus,” d’Artagnan replied without batting an eye.
"You've amazed me with your erudition and memory!" exclaimed Fouquet. "And you've convinced me! The comet really does seem to foretell victory!"
"Of course, it couldn't be otherwise!" d'Artagnan enthusiastically chimed in.
"May Sextus Frontinus forgive me for attributing to him something he never wrote!" thought d'Artagnan. "How useful it is to study the art of strategy! And I thought all these Greek and Latin names would never be of use to me, but they have! Any nonsense can be made to seem like truth if you cite the testimony of the ancient Greeks!"
Oddly enough, the comet brought Fouquet good fortune: on December 20th, thanks to the clever intervention of d'Ormesson, who used the theses I had drafted for his speech, the Court of Justice pronounced a sentence far less harsh than everyone expected. Fouquet was condemned to exile from France. Fouquet's friends were in high spirits and joy, holding torchlight processions in their celebration and almost setting Paris ablaze with their torches through carelessness. La Fontaine produced a pathetic verse in six stanzas, each containing twelve lines, the first four of which rhymed in pairs (A-A-B-B), the second four crosswise (A-B-A-B), and the last four with a frame (A-B-B-A). This demonstrated La Fontaine's extraordinary diligence and his excessive triumph; never before or since had La Fontaine written such verse. Unfortunately, he read them only to a limited circle of people, as they contained excessive boldness that could have backfired on the author. That's why the poems didn't gain widespread recognition, although they are in my lists. I can only say one thing: I would have written better.
Fouquet's opponents were disheartened, but Colbert did not give in. He reported the verdict to the King in flowery and refined language while he was relaxing in the company of Louise de La Valli;re.
Louis was furious, but out of respect for La Valli;re he spoke as moderately as he could.
“Everyone expects the King to commute the condemned man’s sentence,” he said. “Clemency is indeed the King’s prerogative. But justice is not an empty phrase either. If they had sentenced him to death, the ultimate measure of mercy would have been to commute the death penalty to life imprisonment. But this case is special! If Fouquet had been sentenced to death, I would have let him die. I would simply have failed to show the mercy I could have shown, but am not obliged to. But with their extremely lenient sentence, they have encroached on my right to mercy. How can I commute a sentence that is already extremely lenient, unjustly lenient! What have they been receiving their salaries for these past three years? I see it wasn’t to determine Fouquet’s guilt. Instead of an objective investigation and an objective trial, I see they have tried to shield him! Instead of punishing a criminal, they seem to be encouraging embezzlement?!”
De La Valli;re said nothing, only looked tenderly at the King. Perhaps she was calling on him to show mercy as well, but it's quite possible she simply wanted to say, "My idol and my God! Everything you say is perfectly true!"
Personally, I am convinced that this is exactly what she would like to say.
However, Louis saw sympathy for Fouquet in de La Valli;re's eyes. He immediately remembered the letter the superintendent had written to her. Jealousy once again seared his heart.
"Colbert, come to me in half an hour with Michel Letellier," he said coldly. "Louise, what do you say about this court verdict?"
"Your Majesty, I have no opinion on this matter," Louise replied, looking down. "My only duty is to love you and follow your every desire."
"Hypocrite!" the King thought with annoyance. "It would have been better if she had said directly that the Lord calls us to mercy! Then I would have answered her!"
Indeed, Louis needed an outlet for his emotions. If Louise had objected, he would have given vent to his anger and perhaps calmed down a bit. But the lack of resistance he had encountered from all his subjects over the past three years had accustomed him to the idea that he was always right about everything. So he saved all his indignation for his meeting with Colbert and Letellier.
"Letellier, in any case, the Chamber's sentence cannot be carried out," the King said coldly. "Why did we guard Fouquet so carefully? So that he could freely travel abroad and weave his intrigues from there? So that he could take all the secrets he knew to Spain, Portugal, Holland, or England? So that our enemies would gain a powerful ally in him?"
"Your Majesty, the House has made a mistake," Colbert said.
"What is this Chamber of yours?" the King asked angrily. "It's merely a gathering of my subjects! Each one of them is obligated to obey my will! If so, then all of them together are obligated to obey my will! Why do they think that, although each one of them is my subject, they collectively cease to be so? Before pronouncing a sentence, they should have agreed upon it with me! They have taken away my ability to be merciful!"
"Nero made exactly this same speech more than one and a half millennia ago," Letellier thought. "How curious it is that history sometimes repeats itself!"
"You have not done a good job with the people who make up the House, gentlemen!" the King exclaimed. "You have not fulfilled your duties!"
“Your Majesty, we will fix everything,” Colbert said.
“Fouquet knows secrets of the state that the enemies of France must not know!” the King continued. “Life imprisonment is the least I can agree to! And it will cost the treasury incredible sums! Very well, if the Chamber wishes to preserve this insignificant life, I am ready to agree to these expenses, I am ready to ratify the sentence of life imprisonment. But exile! That’s too much! Perhaps I should also reward him for embezzlement, for all his machinations with securities, with pledges, with the revaluation of mortgages? Perhaps I should also reinstate him in his position? Is that what you want? What did they leave me? What more mercy can I show to a state criminal who is destined for a happy and carefree life surrounded by my enemies outside France? France is not so weak as to be unable to punish her enemies. And not so stupid!” If there are blockheads in the House, they should be thrown out of the House and someone smarter should be appointed in their place!
“Your Majesty, the mistake can still be corrected, and it should be done,” Letellier said.
"Make them sit for another three years?" the King asked irritably.
"Your Majesty is the master of your kingdom," Letellier said. "You are expected to mitigate the sentence only because your predecessors acted in similar situations. But this does not oblige you to do the same. You can not only mitigate the sentence, but also leave it unchanged, but also make it harsher."
"Tighten it up?" the King perked up. "Has this ever happened before?"
"Let me remind Your Majesty of the reasons why the King usually mitigates a court's sentence," Colbert interjected. "When it comes to noble persons related to the august Royal Family, clemency is understandable. But Monsieur Fouquet is not related to Your Majesty."
"And that means mercy would be out of place here!" Louis chimed in. "So, I commute exile to life imprisonment! Case closed."
He grabbed the document with the Chamber's verdict and wrote at the very top: "Commuted to life imprisonment. Louis."
"Affix your seal here, Letellier, and make a copy of this document for the Chamber. Show them the original and leave a copy as a reminder that no one is allowed to be more merciful than the King," Louis said. "Their job is to protect the interests of the kingdom and render just judgments. Just, Letellier!"
There was no question of exiling a man who knew too much. Therefore, the King commuted the court-ordered exile to life imprisonment. Nothing like this had ever happened in France. But there was a precedent: Emperor Nero had acted in this way.

Chapter 306

"Listen, Maximilian," I said. "Go to Paris immediately. The documents for your trip are ready."
“Yes, Monsignor,” replied Maximilian, my quick-witted assistant in the affairs of the Order.
"I will give you letters to influential people in Paris who are members of the Order," I continued. "Convey my order to them. I don't know how they will carry it out, and I don't want to know. They simply must carry it out. By decree of the King, the prisoner Fouquet, sentenced to life imprisonment, is to be placed in Pignerol, and in no other fortress."
“I understand you, Monsignor,” Maximilian replied.
He received the required documents, letters and money from me.
Preoccupied with other matters, I even forgot to inquire how exactly he resolved this problem, or which specific members of the Order helped him complete this task. However, that's no longer important. But ultimately, the King was subtly influenced, leading him to make the decision I desired. It may, not without reason, seem completely unreasonable, strange, and inconsistent, but one can find motives for it. I described all this and attached it to the documents handed to Maximilian.
I have weakened the arguments against this decision in my comments, and tried to strengthen the arguments for this choice.
But here, in my memoirs, I have nothing to influence those who read these lines, so here I will lay everything out as it is.
Having sentenced Fouquet to life imprisonment in lieu of exile, the King ordered Fouquet placed in the fortress of Pignerol, a town that had recently become French. This was a mistake, which was precisely what I had intended. But, to my regret, it didn't help me. To understand why I needed this decision, and why without my discreet influence the King himself would never have made it, one must simply recall the geographical location of this town.
The town of Pignerol, or Pinerolo in Italian, is located in Piedmont, in the province of Turin, on the Chisone River, southwest of Turin. Around the town The town is home to numerous pine trees, which is where its name comes from. Pinus means pine in Latin, which is also the source of the Italian "Pino" and our " Pin ." The town has a population of barely ten thousand. However, the fortress was expertly built, so with minor modifications it could easily be used as a prison for particularly dangerous criminals, as escape is quite difficult.
Pignerol came under the control of the French Crown only in 1631, according to the Treaty of Kerak, and now, as I write these lines, since 1696, this city has again become Italian.
Even then, I foresaw that Pignerol had not become definitively French, and that its loss would not be long in coming. Placing a prisoner there whose freedom the King did not desire was unwise, for even excluding the possibility that the city might revert to Italy, its border location made it possible for a raid, covert or overt, to be launched from adjacent Italian territory to seize the prisoner, free him, and transport him to Italy. And then the King would no longer be able to influence the prisoner's fate. This was precisely what I needed. Its proximity to the Italian border made this prison, in my eyes, merely a temporary residence for Fouquet. After some thought, I decided it would be a good idea for Philippe to be there, too, in Pignerol. This, too, was a relief to me. Both prisoners of interest to me were theoretically within reach from Italian territory, even if by military means, but that possibility remained. In any case, it was much easier to extract Pignerol from the fortress than from the Bastille.
The King was won over by the fortress's relative impregnability, as it was built not simply to enhance the prestige of some nobleman, but out of the pressing need to protect this territory from a neighbor who could become an enemy at any moment. And since the fortress, along with the entire city, changed hands frequently, its defensive fortifications were aimed in both directions, just in case, so a better casemate would have been impossible to find, were it not for its border location. After my men, part of the King's entourage, managed to persuade Louis, without pressure, gently and imperceptibly, that Pignerol was the best place to hide Fouquet forever, convincing him that it would be best for Philippe to remain there as well was no longer so difficult.
The town is located on the slope of the Alps facing Italy. So if Fouquet could admire the views from his window, they were views of Italy. Fouquet's cell and Philippe's were located at opposite ends of the fortress; they could not meet or even exchange glances. Louis did not consider that if Fouquet saw Philippe without his mask, and such an accident cannot be ruled out even with the strictest measures against it, both Fouquet and Philippe would become even more dangerous to him, especially if they managed to free themselves. After all, Fouquet, already knowing many secrets of the kingdom, would learn the most important and most terrible of them! And Philippe could find a new supporter in Fouquet. And although I do not think Fouquet would be capable of such a daring An escape with the simultaneous release of Philippe, if a man of a different disposition, such as d'Artagnan, had been in his place, the situation would have been extremely dangerous. Fortunately for the King and greatly to my regret, for Philippe, and for Fouquet, d'Artagnan was loyal to the King, so it wasn't Louis who should have feared him, but his enemies and adversaries.
Reluctant to continue his career as a jailer, d'Artagnan attempted to relinquish his duties and reported to the King that he recommended his former quartermaster, de Cinq-Mars, for Fouquet's guard. He praised him highly as a brave, loyal, and intelligent officer. The King heeded d'Artagnan's recommendation but nevertheless insisted that d'Artagnan personally, with his company of one hundred musketeers, deliver Fouquet to the fortress of Pignerol, personally select his cell, organize fortifications for the fortress to serve as a casemate, and make all other necessary arrangements. Only then would he hand over the jailer's duties to Cinq-Mars.
This royal decision was wise, and it once again threw my plans into disarray. Besides the undeniable fact that d'Artagnan was a highly knowledgeable man in the field of fortress fortification, he was also very attentive to the King's orders. So, upon arriving, he issued a number of important orders for the partial reconstruction of certain elements of the fortress so that it would better serve its intended purpose. He primarily ordered work to strengthen the doors and bars, clear the moat, and repair and reinforce the old walls where necessary. Furthermore, the window bars were reinforced, and an annex was built to house off-duty guards, so that only those currently guarding the prisoner were allowed inside the fortress. Anyone not on duty was excluded. The meticulous d'Artagnan even tapped on every wall and examined every door, suspicious niche, cabinet, and fireplace. If there had been a secret passage out of the fortress, he would have found it. D'Artagnan had once experienced the bitter disappointment of having seen his enemy, using a secret passage, escape just vengeance. The captain remembered this lesson for the rest of his life. He didn't explore the cellars of the castle in Amboise only because he didn't expect to remain there with his prisoner for long, and, moreover, he had no plans to transfer the prisoner to the cellars.
Meanwhile, I traveled to Spain and even observed the castle from the border area. I stared intently at the windows, which I already knew were Fouquet's. One day, I thought I saw a man standing there. I skewered a handkerchief on my sword and waved this improvised flag at the man in the window. A little while later, a hand appeared from the window holding a napkin. The man probably pretended to shake out any crumbs that might have fallen onto the napkin. Immediately, another hand appeared in the window and snatched the napkin from the man's hands, after which both hands disappeared.
I realized that d'Artagnan was still there, and that he was spending quite a bit of time with his prisoner. I hope d'Artagnan didn't recognize me, though he has eagle-eye vision.

Chapter 307

Maximilien told me what happened when Fouquet's sentence was read, as well as how he was transported to Pignerol. I think it's interesting and instructive, so, while I'm breaking chronology, I'll return to what I learned from Maximilien.
D'Artagnan conversed at length with Letellier, who instructed him and tried to ascertain Fouquet's mood. I know very well how d'Artagnan can answer questions, demonstrating complete willingness to cooperate without revealing any unnecessary information. Even after an hour of such "revelations," Letellier would not have gained even the slightest information that could be used against the prisoner. As a warrior, d'Artagnan was prepared to serve as jailer at the King's command, but he never had anything in common with informers, even if the subject he guarded evoked nothing but antipathy. But in Fouquet's case, a certain form of, if not friendship, then at least a silent affection had been established between prisoner and jailer. Fouquet had had the opportunity on more than one occasion to see that d'Artagnan was mitigating, as best he could, all the strictures of his confinement, and if anything in the protocol of his treatment might seem tyrannical to Fouquet, it was only a small fraction of what an unbiased, or even more so, hostilely disposed commander of the guard detachment would have done to him.
Having learned nothing, but having no cause for indignation, Letellier concluded the conversation by informing d'Artagnan that the King had highly praised the service of his captain of the Musketeers and had asked him to inform him of this. D'Artagnan merely bowed, with the air of a man who appreciated the King's flattering opinion but who refused to entertain the idea of doing his job poorly, thus demonstrating that he accepted the praise as his due.
After this, d'Artagnan talked about neutral topics with d'Ormesson, but when asked what awaited Fouquet, he only answered: "Nothing good," making it clear that he had nothing more to say.
“Every decent person sympathizes with Fouquet,” d’Ormesson said quietly.
“You are certainly a decent man, d’Ormesson,” replied d’Artagnan, after which he embraced him and, as if by chance, brought his face closer to his interlocutor’s ear.
"Be careful with such phrases," he whispered only in his ear after that. "After all, you're calling the king's judges, and even some higher up, dishonest. Don't let anyone misunderstand you."
D'Ormesson winced, realizing his mistake.
"You are right!" d'Artagnan said loudly. "Mercy is the quality of every decent person, and, of course, all decent people, out of mercy, would wish to mitigate the fate of a poor prisoner. But mercy must be subordinated to law and justice, as well as to the interests of the state. In this situation, it is extremely difficult to be both just and merciful. But, fortunately, such people are the ones who administer justice, so the sentence, whatever it may be, will be both just and merciful. On this I completely agree with you!"
Having thus given a softer and more harmless meaning to d'Ormesson's words, d'Artagnan repeated again, louder this time, that d'Ormesson was a very good man.
That same day, at ten o'clock, the court secretary, Foucault, accompanied by numerous bailiffs, appeared at the gates of the Bastille.
“Captain, I must inform the prisoner of the king’s sentence,” he said to d’Artagnan.
"Come in, gentlemen," the captain replied, leading the delegation to the prisoner. "There are too many of you; you won't fit in the prisoner's cell. Proceed to the prison chapel; Monsieur Fouquet will be brought there shortly."
The captain gave Fouquet the opportunity to straighten his clothes so he could gather his courage. Despite his apparent indifference to his fate, Fouquet was naturally nervous before the verdict was announced.
But he entered the ancient prison church, accompanied by de Besmo, de Cinq-Mars, d'Artagnan and two musketeers, with the air of one who had simply come to hear the latest news, which did not particularly concern him personally.
The court secretary, Foucault, stood behind a small table specially installed for this purpose – a lectern, on which documents were laid out.
In the dim candlelight, the prisoner looked older than his years. He stepped forward with his hat in his right hand, clutching it to his chest, as if to protect himself from a shot or blow to the chest.
"Sir," said the secretary in a cold, ceremonial tone, "state your name."
“You know that, sir,” Fouquet replied in Foucault’s tone.
“According to protocol, you should state your name so that I know who I’m talking to,” the court clerk insisted.
" You already know him," Fouquet objected. "For three years now, my honest name has been vilified on every corner."
"I'm not saying I don't know you or your name," Foucault insisted. "That's not the point. We are all obliged to follow the rules and regulations of justice. You know that perfectly well; after all, you were the prosecutor general."
"Exactly, and that's why you were my subordinate," Fouquet reminded him. "Is it worthwhile for us to play strangers now, after so many years of close acquaintance?"
“Please, sir, your name,” the secretary insisted.
"What d;j; vu!" thought d'Artagnan. "This is exactly the same thing I witnessed when the House of Commons passed sentence on Charles of England! He, too, said he didn't recognize their authority and therefore wouldn't converse with them as they expected and demanded! It ended very sadly!"
“I will not give my name here, just as I did not give it in the House,” the former Superintendent of Finance and former Attorney General continued to insist stubbornly. “I refused to take the oath of office before the House because I do not consider this process legal, and I do not believe that the minor offenses committed by every financier deserve such close attention, such a lengthy investigation, or any kind of punishment. I have declared my disagreement with the process, and therefore I will stand my ground. Just as I did not give my name before the investigation and trial began, and this did not hinder either, so I will not give it to you now; you yourself have just admitted that you know me perfectly well. Read your verdict, and do not delay. I still do not agree with it in advance, whatever it may be, but on your side is the power to compel me to obey. On my side is the right to protest against it.”
"You're rushing me, but you're also wasting our time, since all your objections will have to be recorded in the minutes," retorted Court Clerk Foucault, ordering his secretaries to transcribe Fouquet's words as accurately as possible. Afterward, he read what he had written down, nodded, handed the minutes back to the secretaries, and, covering his head, began to read the verdict.
D'Artagnan already knew that, according to the court's verdict, Fouquet was being exiled from France. He shouldn't have known this, but he did. Therefore, he expected that after the King had read the verdict, he would soften it, since traditionally the harshest sentences required royal approval for this purpose. And many kings upheld this tradition.
“What could the King possibly do in lieu of exile from France?” thought d’Artagnan. “Exile to some French province? That’s unlikely! To Vaux-le-Vicomte? To Belle-;le-Sainte-Mer? That would be a gift for our Fouquet! That’s also doubtful! But the Kings of France are always so kind! To replace quartering with hanging, or hanging with beheading—what a mercy! It deserves the eternal gratitude of the condemned man’s friends, relatives, and descendants! Although, perhaps it doesn’t. Now, replacing an execution with confiscation of property with one without confiscation of property would certainly evoke the gratitude of the executed man’s family. But I don’t recall such a case, not a single one, because if property is confiscated, it goes to the treasury! I can’t say for sure whether for this reason or some other, but no monarch has ever abolished the confiscation of property. Perhaps I’m missing something.”
At this point, the physician Pecquet and the valet Lavallee entered the church. Both of them initially expressed their indignation in whispers, then began to complain aloud that Judge Foucauld was being unreasonably cruel. Finally, Lavallee declared that those whose hearts were not made of iron would soon have theirs broken. Their cries of indignation began to drown out the judge's monotonous voice. Then General de Besmo, the commandant of the Bastille, was forced to personally escort them to the next room. For this reason, Pecquet and Lavallee believed that their master was being murdered, and their indignation grew even louder. Then d'Artagnan ordered them to be calmed, informing them that it was merely a question of exile. He himself did not know then that the King had not only not commuted the sentence, but had actually made it far harsher.
Meanwhile, the court clerk finally read out the verdict.
"According to the protocol, the sentence is read aloud to the condemned man in person," Foucault recited. "But since Nicolas Fouquet, present here, refused to give his name when asked three times, we, the Secretary of the Royal Court, Foucault, and Messrs. d'Artagnan, de Besmo, and de Cinq-Mars, certify the identity of Nicolas Fouquet, present at this hearing, accused in the case of September 5, 1661, A.D., of embezzlement and abuse. The accused, Nicolas Fouquet, is found guilty on all counts of the charge and is sentenced to life imprisonment."
"Well, well!" thought d'Artagnan. "The court sentenced me to exile from France, but the King increased the sentence! Such a thing has never happened in my lifetime!"
Outwardly, d'Artagnan remained completely impassive. He merely looked into Fouquet's eyes, though not a muscle moved on his face. Fouquet discerned that the captain was expressing his sympathy and pity.
"Thank you!" Fouquet said to d'Artagnan, but then he glanced sharply at Foucauld's secretary and continued. "Thank you, gentlemen, any fame is better than obscurity."
Thus, no one except d'Artagnan realized that Fouquet thanked him for his sympathy.
Within an hour, a carriage arrived in the Bastille courtyard. Fouquet, d'Artagnan, and two officers boarded. The carriage immediately set off, surrounded by a hundred musketeers, across a suspension bridge and through the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, filled with people shouting "Vivat!" either at Fouquet or at the King. Fouquet believed the greeting was addressed to him and rejoiced like a child at his continued popularity, oblivious to the price he had paid to hear these cries. D'Artagnan realized the crowd was cheering the King's musketeers, who rode in orderly columns, as if on parade, some in front of the carriage, some behind, with two mounted men on either side.
Doctor Pecquet and the valet Lavallee were not allowed to go to Pignerol with their master. Their feelings were mixed. They were sad to part with Fouquet, but they had finally found freedom, since being with a prisoner is also a kind of confinement. But the joy of freedom had not yet reached d'Artagnan; he remained attached to his captive.
The journey took twenty days. There was only one incident worthy of mention. In Grenoble, the city's second consul refused to open the gates to the vanguard of musketeers, thinking it might be a provocation.
He also likely thought the escort had arrived, if not to stage a coup, then to arrest him. It's clear he feared arrest precisely because he was apparently dishonest, and thus had a "snout in the cannon."
Under the far-fetched pretext that the convoy did not have the necessary passes, he refused to open the gates.
"What the hell of a pass?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "I'm carrying out the King's orders! It clearly states that all citizens are obligated to provide me with lodgings free of charge and to sell me provisions at my request! Isn't an order with His Majesty's signature and the seal of Chancellor Seguier enough for you?"
“But this is not a pass into the city,” the second consul protested fearfully.
"Why have you declared a curfew here?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "And for what reason? Without the King's permission? Is there a war going on here, or have a dozen murderous convicts escaped from the city prison? Listen, my dear fellow! If you open the gates for me at once, I will merely throw you into a cold cell in the most ill-equipped prison your city has to offer for twenty-four hours. But if you resist, then I will use the strength of my men to break down these gates and hang you from them!"
“You know how to persuade,” muttered the second consul and ordered the guards to unlock the gates.
"You know how to compromise," d'Artagnan replied with a smile. "Okay, agreed. For your understanding, I'll allow you to choose a cell to your liking. But if you leave it within twenty-four hours of entering, I'll find out about it and, on my way back, I'll deal with you as you deserve."
After this, d'Artagnan showed the stubborn man the King's order, after which the Second Consul made a mournful but submissive face.
“I’m already going to the cell,” he said, and he actually placed himself under arrest.
The First Consul nevertheless considered d'Artagnan's actions excessive, so he wrote a complaint to the King outlining the full circumstances of the matter. In those days, officials weren't so brazen in their lies when complaining to their superiors about those with whom they clashed. They all learned to distort the truth when retelling events a little later, so although the letter was overly emotional, it was entirely accurate, and it was subsequently returned to its addressee. In this letter, the author's words "twenty-four hours" were underlined in the King's handwriting, and next to them was written only the single word, "Not enough!"
D'Artagnan, having arrived at his destination in Pignerol, received another letter, written in Letellier's hand. It contained the following text:

“Dear Count d'Artagnan!
When His Majesty was informed of your conduct in Grenoble, he wholeheartedly approved of your actions under the circumstances. The information arrived in the form of a complaint from the First Consul of Grenoble. The King laughed heartily and asked that the letter be read aloud to him twice, after which he declared that the consul had suffered a just but sufficient punishment for his actions and would surely correct himself in the future and not repeat such mistakes. He also reiterated his complete satisfaction with your service. Monsieur Colbert also echoed this assessment of your efforts.
Sincerely yours, Letellier."

"I desperately need Colbert's approval!" grumbled d'Artagnan. "I wish he'd disapproved of the way I feed my musketeers and their horses, and ordered them to double their allowance! That miser imagines I can feed a hundred musketeers and a hundred horses with his approval, not to mention myself, Fouquet, and two officers! Is he a king? Only a king can think his words and approval are more important than money!"

On January 16th, the cortege arrived in Pignerol. The fortress with its five towers was destined to free d'Artagnan from his role as jailer forever, a feat for which he sincerely congratulated himself. After carefully inspecting the walls, d'Artagnan dictated to Cinq-Mars a list of the work that needed to be done to restore the fortress to its intended function. In five days, the main work was completed, allowing Fouquet to be moved from his temporary home to the permanent one in which he was destined to live for the rest of his days. All that remained was to complete the external fortifications, which would not interfere with Fouquet's stay in his cell. Until then, the guards were to remain vigilant.
According to the royal regulations drawn up by Letellier, which d'Artagnan conveyed to Cinq-Mars, the state prisoner Nicolas Fouquet was to have no communication with the outside world. He was forbidden to send or receive letters, was prohibited from receiving visitors, and his cell was to be empty of paper and ink. He was not to keep more than one book at a time. A book he requested was to be exchanged for the one he returned. The guards were obliged to burn the returned book without opening, reading, or inspecting it, as were old clothing that had become unusable, bedding, and all other items, which were to be replaced with new ones as they wore out. In other words, nothing from Fouquet's cell was to be sent outside the fortress walls, nor was it to be viewed by anyone, but was to be destroyed within the fortress, and a report was to be drawn up immediately. This was to be carried out by three guards, each of whom was to ensure that the other two did not violate the regulations. In all doubtful matters, Monsieur de Saint-Mars was ordered to consult with Monsieur d'Artagnan and to strictly observe the rules established by him and the instructions drawn up by him.
Next to the prisoner's cell, d' Artagnan ordered a room to be set up for Fouquet's servant.
"But Fouquet's valet remained in Paris!" Saint-Mars was surprised.
"Whoever serves Fouquet must never leave the fortress," d'Artagnan replied. "You can't sentence an innocent man to life imprisonment." "But Monsieur Fouquet will need a valet, in keeping with his status. Consider how this problem can be resolved. You have a certain Eustache Dauger held in your fortress, sentenced to life imprisonment. He is not a nobleman; he could serve Fouquet if he agreed. Offer him some leniency in exchange for this service—better food, more walks within the fortress courtyard, but without witnesses. He must agree to renounce contact with other prisoners in exchange for these privileges. If he refuses, perhaps others will be found."
"I think he'll agree," Saint-Mars replied. "I'll try to offer him something that will interest him."
"That's excellent!" replied d'Artagnan. "We can't leave Monsieur Fouquet without a servant."
"But surely prisons in other times held persons more distinguished than Nicolas Fouquet?" asked Saint-Mars. "How did they handle this case?"
"Is this a matter of official business, or friendly curiosity?" d'Artagnan asked sternly.
“Forgive me, Captain, it was just curiosity, I don’t need the answer to this question to fulfill my duties,” replied Saint-Mar.
"Well, if it's a matter of friendship, then I'll answer you, Cinq-Mars," d'Artagnan replied. "Gentlemen like the Duke de Beaufort were a danger to the kingdom by their behavior, not by their knowledge of secrets. So a man serving the Duke would be free to go free. Besides, Beaufort is a person of royal blood; his servant can and should be a nobleman. Beaufort was served by men of corresponding rank. Even the commandant of the fortress was sometimes honored by dining with him, though this ultimately led to a disastrous outcome: Beaufort fled!"
"Thank you for your clarification, Captain," Saint-Mars said warmly. "I will take that into account. Neither I nor any of my men will ever dine with the prisoner. His only companion will be Eustache Dauger."
"Perhaps someday, in five or ten years, who knows, the King will allow Fouquet to meet with someone from his family," said d'Artagnan. "I would have made arrangements for this if I had thought it possible. But there's no point in even thinking about it now. Nor should we encourage Fouquet with such prospects. I will simply wish him courage and fortitude. As you know, I am permitted to communicate with Fouquet without any restrictions."
“Yes, I know that, Captain,” said Saint-Mars.
"This privilege does not extend to you, and I believe that is a good thing for you," d'Artagnan continued. "Believe me, communicating with a man condemned to eternal imprisonment is not the best way to spend your time."
Three weeks later, when all the work was completed, the fortress was so impregnable that d'Artagnan could, with a clear conscience, take his hundred musketeers and return to Paris. Subsequently, the guard could be carried out by a much smaller detachment, composed of the guardsmen of the Pignerol garrison. D'Artagnan spoke personally with each of them and decisively refused the services of three of them, without explaining his decision to Cinq-Mars. I still don't understand how he guessed that these three were my men.

As a sign of special favor to the King's envoy, the city authorities presented d'Artagnan with a large quantity of provisions - roasted and smoked chickens, partridges, snipes, rabbits and pheasants, purchased in Turin.
"Thank you, gentlemen!" replied the captain. "Our journey back to Paris will take twenty days, and my hundred musketeers will remember you with gratitude for those twenty days for providing us with provisions for the journey. I will convey to His Majesty that the inhabitants of the glorious city of Pignerol know their duty and serve France faithfully."
These were not empty words, since Pignerol was still populated by a large number of Italians, so the loyalty of the Pignerolians to the French crown was very important.
"Since you've taken care of our provisions, I'd very much like to use the savings to pay for the wine at our farewell dinner!" the captain continued. "However, I can't do that. Let me pay for the provisions you gave me, and you, if you like, can use the money to pay for your wine."
And so they did. In reality, he treated the townspeople to wine in return, but technically he merely bought provisions. It was an excellent move. If Colbert's spies were present among the townspeople, they would no longer be able to report to their master that the captain was accepting bribes. In reality, d'Artagnan combined the incompatible—he didn't offend the townspeople by refusing to accept the gift, and he paid in full, thereby deflecting suspicion of bribery.
Yes, my glorious Gascon friend remained incorruptible!
As soon as the company of a hundred musketeers, led by d'Artagnan, finally left Pignerol, d'Artagnan took a deep breath of the suburban air, smelling of pine resin and melted snow, with pleasure.
"Do you smell it, d'Arlencourt?" he asked his lieutenant.
"Are you talking about the smell of a pine forest or the smell of melting snow that heralds spring, even though it's only mid-January?" d'Arlencourt asked.
"Both, but neither," d'Artagnan retorted cheerfully. "I'm talking about the smell of freedom! For three years I was a jailer, and therefore also a prisoner. After all, what difference does it make who guards whom if both must remain in prison? Now, at last, I am free, and with me, you, my friends and faithful musketeers! I prefer breakfast under enemy bullets to such a jailer's fate!"
After these words, d' Artagnan took off his magnificent gray hat with a white feather with his right hand and raised it on his outstretched arm, waving it to the musketeers following him.
"My friends, gentlemen musketeers! At last we return to the true duties of the royal guard!" he exclaimed. "We return to Paris, freed from our prisoner and the duty of guarding him! Vivat Paris, friends!"
"Vivat!" replied the chorus of musketeers. "Vivat, Paris! Vivat, Captain d'Artagnan!"
"Why the hell are we walking when we could break into a trot?" he exclaimed. "Our horses are completely at a standstill, seeing off that clumsy carriage! Trot after me! Forward! Don't fall behind!"
And he spurred his horse. Of course, he hadn't intended to trot the entire way, but it would have been a shame not to take advantage of the smooth road when the horses were long in need of a little exercise.
Since the provisions issued for the journey had been prudently distributed among the musketeers' saddlebags, nothing impeded the more rapid advance of d'Artagnan's company, and they covered the remaining distance in ten days. The empty carriage, on the captain's orders, was returned to Paris by three guardsmen whom d'Artagnan had culled from among those entrusted with guarding Fouquet. He ordered them to carry out this task, so all three of my men were forced to leave Pignerol, at least temporarily. They tethered two of their horses to the saddle of a third, which they rode alternately, while the other two rode in the carriage. This journey to Paris and back took them over a month. Thus, d'Artagnan deprived me of the opportunity to organize Fouquet's escape for another month.

Chapter 308

Perhaps I've gotten too carried away with the story of Fouquet and how d'Artagnan guarded him. My friendship with him completely wore off as I followed his fate. Fouquet was no longer the same. He was a completely broken man, wanting only to demonstrate his loyalty to the King and his agreement to gratefully accept whatever the King's will regarding his future might be. After learning he was sentenced to life imprisonment, he realized that the King had always either hated him, feared him, or, most likely, both. He also realized that the trial had been a farce. Was it worth spending three years poring over this case to arrive at a verdict the King discarded like a used dinner napkin? He lost all interest, convinced he'd hid the unfortunate prisoner quite securely in a fortress tested by d'Artagnan himself. I wouldn't object, of course, to freeing Fouquet, but more for the reason that it wouldn't hurt to at least see this matter through to the end and thus vex the King and Colbert.
Louis asked d'Artagnan with great interest about the security of the fortress of Pignerol, to which the captain gave His Majesty exhaustive information proving that, in his opinion, the fortress was secure and that there was no doubt about the loyalty of de Saint-Mars.
"So you are convinced that Pignerol is more reliable than the Bastille, and de Saint-Mars more reliable than de Besmo?" asked the King.
“Your Majesty, both fortresses are good, and both commandants perform their duties with dignity,” replied d’Artagnan.
"I appreciate your desire to stand up for your former colleague and friend, the Marquis de Besmo, Monsieur d'Artagnan, but you seem to have forgotten one of his offenses?" the King clarified. "He allowed the release of a prisoner who should never have been released under any circumstances!"
“The man who came for him had in his hands the order for his release, so the general simply obeyed the order,” replied d’Artagnan.
"But I signed no such order," Louis objected. "Those who freed him used an extremely skillfully forged document, either forcing General de Besmo to ignore the obvious signs of forgery, or, even worse, influencing him without any documents."
"I've been investigating the matter," d'Artagnan replied. "It turns out he's firmly convinced he never let anyone out of the Bastille. His prisoner was visited only twice by a certain nobleman. The second time, he came with his companion, who was wearing a mask. And although de Besmo insists he was much taller than his prisoner, so he completely rules out a substitution, I think the poor Marquis was tricked. The man probably wore boots with extremely large heels, which the Marquis didn't notice."
"Besmo had no right to allow anyone to see the prisoner, thereby violating the order of First Minister Richelieu, confirmed by First Minister Mazarin!" Louis exclaimed. "I did not revoke this rule, since I knew nothing about it. Therefore, Besmo is far from blameless!"
“But in order to punish him, we will have to explain his guilt to him, which could have the most dire consequences, since it will attract unnecessary attention to the prisoner who should remain in the shadows,” said d’Artagnan.
“You are quite right, Captain, but de Bezmo has proven himself to be an unreliable commandant of the Bastille,” replied Louis.
"Well, prisoners sometimes manage to escape from prison," d'Artagnan replied. "The Duke of Beaufort was not the first nobleman to escape the King's jailers."
"I know the story," the King replied dryly. "And yet I can no longer trust de Besmo. As long as the prisoner, whom I shall not name, remains in the Bastille, I will remain uneasy. Can you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, vouch for Monsieur de Cinq-Mars that he will not make a similar mistake to the one de Besmo made?"
"I can vouch for that even if he is not warned of the special measures taken to keep him," replied d'Artagnan. "And if I am allowed to conduct an explanatory session with him, specifically explaining to him the inadmissibility of any visits between this prisoner and anyone, I can vouch for him as for myself."
"That is enough for me," replied the King. "Surely you could not give me the same guarantee for Monsieur de Besmo?"
“I have not had the honor of serving closely with the Marquis for too long to give such guarantees for him, but this does not mean that I deny his loyalty to Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan.
"You are quite tactful, d'Artagnan, but fortunately, your loyalty to me and your honesty outweigh your friendship with your former comrades," the King concluded. "I testify that you have not cast a single shadow on de Besmo's loyalty, yet you have finally convinced me of what I have long been thinking. I believe that the prisoner known to you should be transferred as quickly as possible to Pignerol, under the care of de Cinq-Mars, as this will be safer than leaving him in the Bastille."
"If I were permitted to judge Your Majesty's decisions, I would call this one extremely wise," d'Artagnan replied. "But my duty is not to judge, but to carry out Your Majesty's orders."
"Of course," the King replied, nodding. "Tomorrow you will receive orders to transfer the said person to Pignerol, and you will set out tomorrow. But we must not draw attention to this action, so you should not take a hundred musketeers. Limit yourself to twenty. You must promise me that under no circumstances will you release the prisoner."
"I would rather be killed a thousand times than let him be released!" cried d'Artagnan.
“That will not do for me!” the King objected. “If your death is the condition of his release, that will not do for me, for there may be those who would agree to such a price! You will not allow yourself to be killed, Monsieur d’Artagnan! If you allow such a thing to happen, you will not only greatly upset me, but I will consider you a traitor. You are obliged to preserve your life, for if there is any danger of this prisoner’s release, you must not allow it, even if you are killed. Even from death, I will hold you accountable for this failure! I will disenfranchise your children and deprive you of your inheritance; I will curse you! Do you understand me, Monsieur d’Artagnan? You can only allow yourself to be killed if you first kill this prisoner. I am not joking! If you cannot prevent his release, you must prevent him from being released alive.” He has the right to remain alive only if he remains in your hands and completely under your control, or if you hand him over to Monsieur de Saint-Mars, for whom you have vouched as for yourself. No one else should dispose of his freedom and his fate.
"I understand everything, Your Majesty, I will carry it out exactly," replied d'Artagnan. "If circumstances should arise that I can no longer escort this prisoner, my sword will settle the matter, after which, with your permission, I will also kill myself, since I cannot live after raising my hand against a royal person."
"This option greatly distresses me, but I accept your choice," the King replied. "If you cannot deliver the prisoner to Pignerol, then you will do what you must, after which you may dispose of yourself and your life as you see fit, but not before."
D'Artagnan bowed to show that he understood everything, and the King dismissed him with a gesture.
"What cruelty towards a brother!" thought d'Artagnan. "Cowardice makes people extremely cruel! One's own well-being weighs more in the scales of reason than a human life, than dozens of lives, and perhaps even hundreds! When decisions are made without the participation of conscience, personal gain can outweigh, perhaps, even thousands of other people's lives! How sad!"
“There’s still one question I haven’t cleared up!” thought the King. “D’Artagnan has just demonstrated his devotion to his former comrades in arms, a devotion that almost outweighed his duty! This is not good! After all, the conspirators, as I’ve discovered, were once my captain’s best friends! Colbert warned me that d’Artagnan would not betray friendship even for the sake of loyalty to his King! This assumption is neither proven nor refuted! He may not have been instrumental in the escape of one of his friends, the main conspirator, but it’s also possible that he did assist him in some way. D’Artagnan assures me that if the orders prepared by Colbert hadn’t prevented him from acting, he would have arrested both conspirators. This is neither refuted nor proven! D’Artagnan served me faithfully against Fouquet, but Fouquet was never his friend!” Did he serve me so faithfully against the former Bishop of Vannes and the Baron du Valon? That remains to be seen! There's no point in testing this until he's delivered Philippe to Pignerol, under the guardianship of de Cinq-Mars! But when he returns and reports to me that this mission is complete, I'll have to have a serious talk with him about this former Bishop of Vannes, this d'Herblay! He must be loyal to me to the end, my Captain of Musketeers, regardless of comradeship, the brotherhood of his comrades, any strong friendship, or he'll come to grief! Loyalty in its true and primal form is measured by the sacrifice you're willing to make for your master. After all, God tested Abraham's loyalty by forcing him to sacrifice his son Isaac! I think this Baron du Valon was actually named Isaac! Significant, indeed! But he died by accident! Will d'Artagnan be able to find his friend d'Herblay for me and sacrifice him to prove his devotion to me? I have no answer to that question. Time will tell."

Chapter 309

The next morning d'Artagnan received the following order:

"Order to Monsieur d'Artagnan to transport the prisoner known to him, the Marquis de l'Inconnu;, after covering his face with an iron mask, to the fortress of Pignerol. Under penalty of death, forbid the prisoner to remove it except when he is completely alone and double-locked. Entrust the guard of the prisoner to the commandant of the fortress of Pignerol, Monsieur de Saint-Mars, under his personal responsibility, handing him the instructions enclosed herewith."
Louis."

"Your Majesty, may I ask where I can get an iron mask?" d'Artagnan inquired.
“I have already taken care of that,” replied the King.
With these words, he pointed to the table where the hatbox lay. The captain opened it and saw an iron mask. It was crafted to cover the entire face, from the upper lip to the forehead, and from ear to ear. It was secured to the head by three rows of leather straps with buckles around the crown, and by a single strap down the back of the head. Holes were cut in it for the nostrils and eyes.
“The prisoner will be comfortable in it,” said Louis. “I tried it on myself out of curiosity. It turned out magnificent, don’t you think? The inside was made to my measurements, taken personally by Cheppelier. I told him I was planning to order a plaster mask for a performance in which I would be playing the pagan god Momus. They took a mold of me using three layers of silk cloth and wax, from which they made a plaster cast. But then they gave it to a blacksmith, who made an iron copy exactly to its shape. The result is an excellent iron mask. The face of Momus, as I imagine it. The inside of the mask is lined with velveteen and velveteen, so it will not bother whoever wears it. Besides, he will not wear it constantly. It will be very useful during his transfer from the Bastille to Pignerol, but he will still have to interact from time to time with the people who will clean his cell and bring him food. Communication must be limited to a minimum. No one must see him without his mask, no one but you, d'Artagnan. Not even Cinq-Mars! If I learn that my instructions are being violated, this mask will be permanently fastened to him, the leather straps will be replaced with iron clasps, which will be riveted. He will wear it constantly, day and night, and anyone who sees him must be immediately imprisoned for life, regardless of their nobility or government position. Even if it is the Duke of Orleans. Commoners or people concealing their rank will be killed at the slightest attempt to free him, speak to him, or attempt to order him to be killed.
D'Artagnan was horrified, but showed no emotion. He merely bowed his head in silence.
"His Majesty has decided to make me his eternal jailer," he thought with annoyance. "But who else could he entrust a prisoner of such rank to? Especially since I'm the only one privy to this secret, if you don't count the Queen, Aramis, and the Duchess de Chevreuse. There's nothing to be done; the King has no choice."
"How can I explain to Saint-Mar that his power extends so far, even to the most noble persons?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Captain, don't pretend you're stupider than you really are," the King replied with some irritation. "He simply mustn't allow a situation to arise that would require such high authority. His high authority extends, first and foremost, to the prisoner and those guarding him. To lock him up, to confine him, to remove him from society—that's his job."
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan.
"The prisoner's maintenance will be adequate, in keeping with the Duke's status," Louis added. "It would be unwise to keep him as a Prince; in that case, the secret would be impossible to contain; it would leak even through granite walls a fathom thick. Since Fouquet is being held at Pignerol, if anyone learned of the nobleman's presence in the fortress, everyone would assume it was him."
“Yes, Your Majesty,” repeated d’Artagnan.
"Travel expenses, a thousand pistoles, you'll get from Colbert," the King thought for a moment. "No, that won't do. I wouldn't want to involve him in this matter."
“I’ll tell him that I’m taking Pecquet to confront Fouquet,” replied d’Artagnan.
“But he won’t ask you about the purpose of your trip,” the King doubted.
“I’ll tell him that in passing,” replied d’Artagnan.
“But for Colbert to believe you, Pekke would have to disappear for the duration of your trip,” Louis continued to doubt.
“I’ll take him with me,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Pekke will be indignant, since he is not guilty, and then, perhaps, he will say that he did not meet Fouquet,” the King continued to doubt.
"If he gets the chance to give Fouquet the letters from his wife and from Madame du Plessis-Belli;re, he'll agree to go for his master," the captain replied. "I'll read these letters first, and we can, as an exception, allow Pekka to deliver them to him in person."
"No, it's all too complicated and confusing. Why would I need to arrange a confrontation when the investigation is over?" Louis said irritably. "Take the money without explaining anything. Or better yet, just say you've been tasked with verifying how securely Fouquet is being kept in the fortress."
"If I'm not transporting a prisoner, then what good is an escort of even twenty musketeers?" asked d'Artagnan.
"That damned Colbert is sticking his nose into matters that don't concern him and making things difficult for me!" the King exclaimed, slapping his hand on the arm of his chair in irritation. "Tell me this. Tell Colbert you're on a secret mission. If he dares to ask what it is, just repeat it. Go."
D'Artagnan bowed and left.
"Well, I didn't manage to please Fouquet with news from his loved ones, but I did get an excellent opportunity to pull the wool over Colbert's eyes," thought d'Artagnan. "With what pleasure will I tell him that this matter is a secret even from himself!"
After this, d'Artagnan left the King in the best of spirits.

An hour later, d'Artagnan was in the Bastille, where, having presented the King's order, he entered Philippe's cell.
It was a two-roomed space, furnished quite luxuriously, but it was still a prison cell, as the windows had metal bars, the door was also iron and was locked with a bolt from the outside and two locks.
D'Artagnan was sure that no one was eavesdropping on him at the door, since he had forbidden this, and de Bezmo, although he was a general, was afraid of the captain of the king's musketeers, who easily communicated with the King on a daily basis.
"Monseigneur," said d'Artagnan, "you are being transferred to another castle." "You will be no less comfortable there than here, and you will have the added pleasure of being able to ride in a carriage for a few days. I cannot promise you a horseback ride, but I do guarantee fresh air. Furthermore, in your new location, your windows will offer a wonderful view of the sunny, pine-covered slopes."
"Am I going to Pignerol?" asked Philippe.
"Are pine trees only found in Pignerol?" asked d'Artagnan. "Besides, I didn't tell you anything. Think what you will, you won't be allowed to talk anyway, and to my regret, I must ask you to put on this mask."
After this, d'Artagnan showed Philip the mask prepared for him by order of the King.
"I see that His Majesty is showing truly brotherly concern for me," Philip said bitterly. "Well, I obey."
He meekly put on the mask and allowed the captain to fasten the straps that held it in place.

Chapter 310

After this, d'Artagnan picked up the Prince's trunk and invited him to follow him. Once outside and assured that he was no longer in earshot of de Besmo, but still out of earshot of the guards in the courtyard, d'Artagnan addressed the prisoner.
— Your Highness, forgive me for not addressing you with the proper title in the presence of the commandant.
“I understand, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” Philippe answered calmly.
Having descended into the courtyard of the Bastille, the captain politely opened the door, inviting Philippe to get into the carriage; after the prince had taken his seat in it, he got into it and ordered the coachman to drive out of the fortress gates.
The guards waiting for the carriage at the exit of the fortress gates did not see the masked man, and the guards who saw him in the fortress courtyard did not show any sign of surprise.
“We are going to Pignerol,” said d’Artagnan to his twenty musketeers, who this time formed a rather modest escort, and then ordered the coachman to set off.
The carriage passengers rode in silence for a few minutes, after which Philip sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair.
"What a terrible dream," he said quietly. "To spend my whole life in prison, then wake up one morning in the King's bed and be the King all day, then suddenly be forced back into the same cell in the same hated prison! Any other prison would be a change."
"Do you think you were the King all day?" d'Artagnan inquired.
"Do you doubt it, d'Artagnan?" asked Philippe, assuming the guise of the King.
"I have no doubt that you considered yourself the King, and that the people you met also took you for the King," the captain replied. "The question is different. Were you the King of France that day?"
"Why not?" the Prince asked in surprise.
"You are a Prince by birth, but to be a King, it is not enough to be a Prince with the right of succession to the crown of France," d'Artagnan explained. "A King rules the country, not just entertains relatives and nobles in his study, not just destroys p;t;s and desserts, and not just extends his hand to men and women to kiss."
“Didn’t I rule?” asked Philip.
"What decrees did you issue, Your Highness, when you considered yourself Your Majesty?" the captain inquired.
“I was going to cancel the order for Fouquet’s arrest and take other important actions,” the Prince answered sheepishly.
"If people were judged by what they were going to do, everyone would be in Heaven," d'Artagnan replied sadly. "But I asked you what you did as King of France?"
"I didn't have time to do anything, because one day is so little," Philip muttered uncertainly. "With time, I would have learned to rule the country as it should be."
“One day is enough to leave behind a trace, a memory, good or bad,” d’Artagnan countered. “Of course, it’s better to do nothing than to do something bad, but can a King afford the luxury of not governing the country for an entire day? The state is not a horse, so obedient that you can occasionally loosen the reins and let it go where it pleases. Even with a horse, this doesn’t always pass without leaving a trace, and not with every horse. The state requires the resolution of many problems every day. Your father and your grandfather delegated a significant share of the affairs of state to their prime ministers, whom they trusted completely. But your brother, Louis XIV , has no longer had a prime minister since the death of Cardinal Mazarin. He announced to the Royal Council that he intends to govern the state himself. And he is up to the task.” The daily work of governing a country isn't just a privilege and a privilege; it's also a colossal responsibility, requiring intense mental effort, a considerable strain on memory, and a certain amount of experience and skill. Furthermore, you and the Bishop of Vannes had conceived a dangerous undertaking, one that would see you completely replace your brother, and do so without anyone noticing the substitution.
"I don't think anyone noticed, do they?" Philip asked. "At least, everyone addressed me as King."
- You forget that I noticed this and did something to restore the status "Quo ," d'Artagnan retorted. "Perhaps someone else noticed, but was afraid to admit it, or didn't believe their eyes or ears, because such a thing is so difficult to imagine. It's impossible to believe in your existence, that you were hidden for so many years, and that you remain so similar to your brother that the substitution is not noticeable at first glance. A missing tooth, a slightly different hair color, a couple of differently placed birthmarks, or just a slightly different posture—in short, something almost imperceptible—would be enough for the substitution to become obvious! Fate has played a cruel joke on you: you resemble your brother perfectly, despite the fact that your brother is the King of France, and he has already been crowned, so your rights to inherit this crown are de facto and legally null and void. For no one to notice the substitution, you should learn to speak like him, to imitate his gestures, even those he makes unconsciously. Some of your gestures resemble his even without training. This is likely due to your natural similarity, but he acquired some qualities during upbringing and growing up that you lack, and you acquired others that he lacks. Your brother speaks Spanish fluently, understands English and Italian fairly well, is trained to dance, fence, shoot muskets and hunting rifles, hunt game, court women, and pay compliments. He can be kind and firm, able to agree or demand unconditional obedience, depending on the circumstances. He, after all, has a unique handwriting and signature, which he uses to sign a wide variety of government documents. This signature may vary from case to case, but it remains his signature. It's not enough to copy one version of his signature and copy it with utmost precision on every document. You simply need to sign like him—identically and differently at the same time. His handwriting should have become yours, his voice should have become yours, his mannerisms in all the infinitely varied situations should have become yours. Did you hope that all this would come naturally?
"I see now what a hopeless adventure it was," said the shamed Philip. "Tell me, in your opinion, how it could have ended if you hadn't intervened?"
"I cannot say for certain, but most likely there would have been people observant and intelligent enough to become convinced, after a few days or a few weeks, that the one occupying the King's throne and pretending to be him was not Louis XIV ," d'Artagnan said. "These people might have devised some plan to extract personal gain from this situation. Someone might have wanted to overthrow you, like, for example, the King's official brother, Philippe, called Monsieur, that is, the Duke of Orleans. If King Louis XIV had been officially declared absent, and you an impostor, his double, I am not convinced that you would have retained the crown and power." If you were overthrown and the true King were found, chaos would reign in the country, for some would advocate for your rights, either out of sincerity or hoping to profit from such a change. There would also be those who would staunchly support your brother, the legitimate King of France. The state would split into two, as equally equal, parts as the Duke of Richelieu so feared. Perhaps someone would propose placing Monsieur on the throne, as the King's son is still too young. Other contenders could also emerge, given that Monsieur has no desire to rule the state; he was raised to avoid the fate of his and your uncle, Gaston d'Orl;ans, who was constantly involved in conspiracies against his elder brother and the sovereign. So even if he himself had no claim to the throne, there could have been those who would force him to the throne and seek his confirmation as King of France. In any case, I don't think the circumstances could be favorable for France or for you personally. Only if Ar… If Monsieur d'Herblay were to constantly and carefully watch over you, sign state papers for you until you mastered the King's handwriting, prompt you to answer questions asked not only in Spanish but also in French, if he became your constant mentor, this idea might work.
"That's exactly what he promised me!" Philip exclaimed.
"Promised?" d'Artagnan asked skeptically. "And how many hours did he spend with you during those twenty-four hours while you were pretending to be the King?"
“It seems like no more than two hours,” Philip answered and blushed deeply.
"Not more than half an hour," d'Artagnan clarified. "And if you count from the moment you first appeared before anyone other than him, and when you needed his help most urgently, he spent less than two minutes with you. In placing you on the throne, he pursued only his own interests, not yours, and as soon as his interests began to conflict with yours, he vanished without a trace. He didn't even stop by to say goodbye or offer you a few last words of advice.
“That’s true,” Philip agreed and plunged into gloomy thoughts.
For about half an hour the travelers rode in complete silence, each one indulging in his own thoughts.
"And yet I don't regret anything!" Philip suddenly said firmly.
“And I regret it,” d’Artagnan responded.
"About not leaving me on the throne, becoming my adviser in place of Monsieur d'Herblay?" Philippe asked animatedly.
" That you took the throne not when you were ready, but when it was needed by a man capable of extracting you from the Bastille and carrying out a daring plan to kidnap the true King and take his place," d'Artagnan replied. "Your first step as a free man, your first act as King, was to become a pawn in the hands of circumstances and in the hands of a man who desperately and urgently needed a change in those circumstances. Your rights and needs were ignored, so your actions could not lead to their satisfaction. You were not given the opportunity to prepare for this grave mission, so you were doomed to failure."
"How could I prepare for this mission?" Philip asked.
" I won't tell you that, since you'll hardly get a second chance. Although, if I were planning on committing such audacity, I would at least read two books. First, a history of France and the surrounding countries, at least for the last twenty or thirty years. Second, it wouldn't hurt to read a short book by Messire Nicola Machiavelli. Third, it wouldn't hurt to learn to at least understand Spanish, or at least read it. For example, I found a curious book in Monsieur Fouquet's library. Note that it contains chapters on the history of France, Italy, Spain, England, and Holland, as well as the work by Machiavelli I mentioned. And here, for example, is a Spanish edition of the same book. I wonder why the superintendent needed exactly the same book in Spanish?" I was going to ask him about it, we had a short ride together in this carriage, but we got distracted by conversation, so I didn’t satisfy my curiosity,” with these words, d’Artagnan casually threw both books on the seat opposite the one on which they were both sitting.
Philip looked at both books with curiosity.
"Do you think, Captain, that reading books can make a King out of a prisoner?" he asked.
“No, monseigneur, but I believe that neglecting reading can turn a prince into a slave, an eternal prisoner, and a man forever deprived of the desire and ability to think, make decisions, take responsibility for them and for their implementation,” replied d’Artagnan. “You have a very significant privilege compared to Monsieur Fouquet. He is forbidden to keep more than one book in his cell at a time, but no such order was issued for you. You can keep a whole library at your disposal. So you will not be bored. But you will not be able to send any messages to the outside world, so you cannot even ask for a specific book, since it could be a coded message. You will have to make do with the books that are provided to you, or those that you manage to ask me for while we are traveling to Pignerol. I am the only one who is not forbidden from communicating with you.” True, if the King suddenly decides to visit you in your confinement, you will be able to lay out your requests to him, but I wouldn't count on such a visit. Most likely, it will never happen.
"In that case, Monsieur d'Artagnan, I ask you for these two books!" Philippe exclaimed.
"Very well, but do not attempt to return them to me or Monsieur Fouquet," replied d'Artagnan. "Any book that comes into your possession must not leave your room. Either you keep it, or it will be burned immediately upon its return. You will be instructed to place it in an opaque envelope and burn it along with the envelope, unopened. For this reason, I ask you not to order expensive works of art or antique books of great historical value for future generations. But how will I know which books to send you?"
"I rely entirely on your taste, Monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Philippe. "I beg you to remain for twenty-four hours at Pignerol after you have delivered me to my new prison, and to collect for me there such books as you think I should read in order to be able to fulfil the mission which I have failed."
"Do you hope to return?" d'Artagnan asked incredulously.
"I simply want to be who I was born to be, no less than my brother is!" Philip exclaimed fervently. "Even if I never need it, I have the right to receive an education worthy of me. If there are no teachers for me, I will educate myself!"
"That's the kind of conversation I enjoy, Your Highness!" replied d'Artagnan. "You'll probably also want a few books in simpler Spanish, so you can learn your mother the Queen's native tongue?"
"Absolutely!" Philip exclaimed. "And if we can find one, it'll be a dictionary that explains the pronunciation of Spanish words!"
"Do you think such books exist?" the captain asked doubtfully. "Well, if there's at least one such book in Pignerol, it'll be yours. If I don't find one, I'll do everything in my power to ensure you get one a little later."
"You are extremely kind, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" exclaimed Philippe.
After these words, he grabbed a book written in French and began to read it carefully.
“Your Highness!” said d’Artagnan. “I am tired and intend to take a short nap. I advise you to do the same, but if you prefer to read while there is still sufficient light, I have no objection. And do not attempt to escape. I sleep very lightly; the doors are locked, the windows are barred, and ten musketeers ride on either side of the carriage, with orders to kill you if you attempt to escape and they are unable to bring you back. I would not wish such a sad end to our walk together, which began with such interesting and instructive conversations for both of us. Submit to your fate, think that it is only temporary, and then you will be able to bear all adversity more easily, and perhaps someday Fate will submit to you.”
After these words, the captain raised his collar, pulled his hat down over his forehead and fell asleep almost instantly.

Chapter 311

Arriving in Pignerol, d'Artagnan reported to the fortress to the commandant and his former quartermaster, Benigne de Saint-Mars.
"My dear de Saint-Mars, my friend, do you remember how, when I ordered the castle to be rebuilt so that it could comfortably accommodate another prisoner, you expressed great surprise at the necessity of this?" he asked.
"Yes, of course I remember, Captain!" confirmed Saint-Mars. "But it wasn't that that surprised me, but your order to place Fouquet in the worst of the two apartments, each of which consists of two rooms. Are you really expecting someone more distinguished than Fouquet?"
"Yes and no, my dear Cinq-Mars!" replied d'Artagnan. "I'm not expecting it; I've already brought it. But I assure you that not a single nobleman has been arrested in recent years, as you can easily verify. Nevertheless, the prisoner I've brought to you must be treated like a prince, or at least no worse than a marquis. Here is the order, along with the most detailed instructions, all signed by our glorious King and sealed with the state seal. It's a matter of state importance, top secret, and extremely delicate.
Saint-Mars read with surprise the order for the detention in the fortress of Pignerol of a prisoner designated by the name of the Marquis of Inconnue.

"Order to Monsieur d'Artagnan to transport the prisoner known to him, the Marquis de l'Inconnu;, after covering his face with an iron mask, to the fortress of Pignerol. Under penalty of death, forbid the prisoner to remove it except when he is completely alone and double-locked. Entrust the guard of the prisoner to the commandant of the fortress of Pignerol, Monsieur de Saint-Mars, under his personal responsibility, handing him the instructions enclosed herewith."
Louis."


After Saint-Mars read this document, d'Artagnan handed him a memorandum on the prisoner's treatment.

Memorandum on the detention of the Marquis of Inconnue
 
Mr. Benigne Duvergne de Saint-Mars, commandant of the fortress of Pignerol, is hereby ordered to do the following while holding the Marquis of Inconnuet in custody:
1. Eliminate any communication between the prisoner and anyone, whether verbal, physical, or written, and completely prevent the prisoner from transmitting any information to anyone . Consider this requirement to be of the utmost importance.
2. In case of urgent need for communication, the prisoner should use only the following method: show one finger as a sign that he requires additional food or is not satisfied with the food provided to him, two fingers as a sign that he requires a change of clothes, bed linen or cleaning of the premises, three fingers as a sign that he would like to receive new books, four fingers as a sign that he would like to ask for something unnecessary to be taken away, five fingers as a sign that he requires something in addition to the listed.
3. If the prisoner raises five fingers, communication with him is permitted only to the captain of the king's musketeers, Charles d'Artagnan, for which he must be summoned by letter or courier; until his arrival, no communication with the prisoner is permitted to anyone.
4. In all other matters, Monsieur de Saint-Mars is entirely subordinate only to my additional orders or to Monsieur Charles d'Artagnan and to no one else.
5. Whenever a prisoner moves outside his cell, he is required to wear an iron mask without removing it.
6. In cases where a prisoner must meet with staff to clean their room, change their bed linen, receive food, books, and so on, the prisoner must wear an iron mask and remain silent, making no attempts to communicate, including through gestures or written notes.
7. No notes may be accepted from the prisoner, and no items for recording may be given to the prisoner.
8. The transfer of Mr. de Saint-Mars to the post of commandant of another fortress, or of the said prisoner to another fortress, is prohibited. Mr. de Saint-Mars is responsible for the prisoner's custody until this memorandum is revoked or until this duty is transferred to another commandant by my special order. Until then, the prisoner is to follow Mr. de Saint-Mars, and Mr. de Saint-Mars is obligated to accompany the prisoner everywhere outside the fortress of Pignerol. These transfers are carried out exclusively by my additional orders, and in no other way.
9. Everything related to the prisoner must be kept strictly confidential from everyone without exception. Only minimal and essential information may be disclosed, specifically for the prisoner's care, such as cooking, laundry, cleaning, and other material support .
10. Monsieur d'Artagnan will give you further instructions orally.

In case of non-compliance with these measures, the guilty will be severely punished, the prisoner's detention conditions will be tightened, leather belts will be replaced with metal ones, a mask will be placed on him for life without the possibility of removing it, which he must be notified of in order to prevent attempts at disobedience.
Louis"

"I have already notified him, and as proof of his familiarity with this memorandum, he has, as you can see, made a cross on it, at the bottom left," said d'Artagnan. "You understand, my dear Cinq-Mars, that this name only means that the prisoner has no name, or, more precisely, his name cannot be spoken. But you will enter him in the register under his real name. You will make the entry in the log, and I will enter the prisoner's name myself."
By the way, this journal is still kept in the fortress and there is nothing easier to verify that the prisoner’s name was written in the entry in a different handwriting, the handwriting of my friend d’Artagnan.
" To register him as the Marquis Inconnue would be like announcing to the world that the prisoner has no name," thought d'Artagnan. "A name is needed that would not raise any questions. The devil take me, for the service I rendered His Majesty in connection with this prisoner, I should have been offered a marshal's baton! And now I must take upon myself the responsibility of what name to register him under! Inventing a name—that's something I haven't yet done, unlike Athos, Porthos, and Aramis; whatever name I received from my parents, that's what I bear! Should I call him Coconut, Apricot, or Cypress? In the Bastille, he was registered as Marchiali. I'll adjust it a bit in the Italian manner. Let's say, Marchialli."
“The prisoner’s name is Marchialli,” d’Artagnan said. “Hercule Antonio Marchialli. I will enter him in the register myself. So, you have already read the King’s order and the memorandum. The memorandum states that I will verbally outline the details of your mission. The prisoner must always wear an iron mask, the same one he now wears whenever anyone can see him. He may remove it when alone, but put it back on before anyone comes to see him. So your servants must warn him well in advance of a visit. You will place him in the best rooms, so placing Fouquet in slightly worse rooms is entirely in accordance with His Majesty’s orders. The prisoner is forbidden from engaging in conversation or correspondence with anyone. I am the only one allowed to communicate with him, but I do not intend to remain with him here for long. So I'll just take a look at how he's set up, listen to any complaints he might have, which I hope he won't have, and any requests, which I suspect won't be too many. He's quite accommodating, your prisoner. I'll leave him the books he's allowed to have, but no one is allowed to read them or even examine them after they've been in his hands. To prevent the books from being used for any messages, anything that leaves his hands and is no longer needed must be destroyed immediately. Books, like anything else that can be written on, must be burned immediately. They mustn't be opened or pages torn out. He must put items he doesn't need, including books, in an envelope himself, and these items or books must be burned right there in the envelope, unopened and unread. The laundry must be washed by an illiterate washerwoman, completely unable to read or even distinguish one letter from another. Find one. And by the way, are you a Jesuit, my friend?
“No, captain,” answered de Saint-Mars.
"Good to hear!" replied d'Artagnan. "You will probably be approached by Jesuits seeking contact with your new prisoner, as well as with the previous one. You must drive all Jesuits away from you; this is an absolute condition; consider it an order from the King. I will tell you in confidence that the head Jesuit is Monsieur d'Herblay, my good friend, whom you, of course, remember from his musketeer past. Lately, he has been called the Bishop of Vannes, but you know him by the name of Aramis. So, if Aramis comes to you, do not let him in and do not communicate with him at all. For if you offend him by refusing any of his requests, he will kill you. And if you are careless enough to fulfill even one of his requests, then I will kill you. No requests from Monsieur Aramis." Even if he asks you for a glass of water or offers you a grape or a flower to smell. Absolutely nothing. No negotiations, no requests, no old-fashioned favors, like one musketeer to another. Don't approach him, don't even speak to him from the fourth-story window of your fortress. Let the guards, with their visors down, tell him to get lost, speaking to him from the ramparts. If you allow Aramis or his men into the castle for even a second, you'll be in trouble. But do him no harm. If you dare shoot him, I'll hang you from the gates of your fortress. And if Monsieur Baron du Valon, whom you, of course, remember as Porthos, comes to you in his name or in his own, the wisest course would be to keep him out of the castle. Reinforce all the doors in the castle and the gratings on the first floor in advance. The fortress gates are good, but that's not enough; the other doors are flimsy. Porthos rips iron bars three fingers thick from the stone wall as if they were willow branches. Incidentally, your new prisoner's rooms should have additional doors, also made of iron. Make the inner doors open inward, and the outer ones outward. That will be better.
"It seems your instructions also extend to the Comte de La F;re, formerly Athos?" asked Saint-Mars.
"The Count won't bother you," d'Artagnan replied. "He has no business here in Pignerol; he's settled permanently in Blois and has no plans to leave, even if Blois sinks or a comet hits his house."
"But if he does show up, I also shouldn't engage in any conversation with him?" asked Saint-Mars.
"It's not up to you. Entering into conversation with the Count requires a strong desire on his part, and he is extremely taciturn," d'Artagnan replied. "If he wishes to converse with you, you will not be able to avoid it. As for his demands, Athos almost never demands anything from anyone, but if he does, God himself is on his side. Those who fail to comply with his demands come to a bad end, though not at his hand. I believe retribution comes from the right hand of God."
"It seems I've lied," thought d'Artagnan. "After all, I completely forgot that Athos, not long ago, dared to express his demands even to the King, and it was not the King who came to a bad end as a result!"
"But I shouldn't obey anyone, including Athos," replied Saint-Mars. "So if he does show up, I won't speak to him either."
“That’s reasonable, but Athos won’t come to you; there’s nothing to discuss,” d’Artagnan continued. “Fear the Jesuits above all else. Learn to recognize them. Aramis has great influence with them; he’s their leader, at least in France, but perhaps not only there. You are responsible to His Majesty for the two most important state criminals, and neither of them must escape, as Beaufort did. I must inform you that Beaufort’s escape was orchestrated by Aramis and Athos, so if there was any chance they were teaming up to extract Fouquet or your new prisoner, or both, from Pignerol, you’d be in trouble. In that case, you’d better inform me as soon as possible. But, I repeat, Athos will not interfere in this matter.” Aramis alone, without his help, will not break into the fortress, which is fortified according to my plans. Your prudence and resourcefulness will be sufficient to counter his machinations. But warn your men that they should not try to kill Aramis. It is in their interests, too.
"I understand everything, and I will deal with these problems," Saint-Mars replied. "We must combine respectful treatment of the prisoner, concern for his physical health and comfort, with the requirement that no one, including myself, see his face or communicate with him, or receive any information in the form of letters, notes, gestures, marks on linen or books, and the like."
“You are an amazingly intelligent man, Monsieur Saint-Mars, I have never doubted you, and His Majesty quite rightly entrusted this important and secret mission to you,” the captain replied, smiling with the full width of his Gascon face.
"Will you dine with me, Captain?" Saint-Mars will ask.
"Certainly!" replied d'Artagnan. "I'll have both dinner and breakfast. I'll stay with you until I've finished my business. But first, let's place the prisoner in his new quarters and give my twenty musketeers, who are tired from the journey, a rest."
"But these are my colleagues too, I know them all by name!" exclaimed Saint-Mars. "I invite them all to the table as well!"
"Excellent, my dear Saint-Mars!" replied d'Artagnan. "But first, let's finish our business."
After this, the prisoner proceeded in complete silence to the cell offered to him, where a sumptuous dinner and good furnishings awaited him; the doors closed behind him, two heavy bolts and two locks separated him from the rest of the world, free and henceforth inaccessible to him.

Chapter 312

D'Artagnan purchased numerous books on history and politics for Philippe, ordered them to be delivered to the door of his cell, and then personally carried all these stacks of books into his apartment.
"My Prince, even if you don't like three-quarters of the books I've bought, you'll have plenty to do for the foreseeable future," he said. "As soon as these run out, I'll make sure you have new ones."
"Thank you, Captain d'Artagnan!" said Philippe. "In one of the books you gave me on my first day here, I found the most up-to-date information on the most noble families of France. One particular family caught my eye."
"Which one exactly?" asked d'Artagnan.
“The family of Marshal de Gramont,” Philippe answered quietly.
"Ah, that," d'Artagnan said quietly. "Well, Marshal de Gramont's devotion to His Majesty in all periods, including the most severe, is worthy of every praise. His son, the Comte de Guiche, is also a most worthy man, although it seems in vain that he is so infatuated with Madame, the wife of your younger brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans. As for the Marshal's daughter, Catherine Charlotte, in 1660 she married Louis Velantinois, Prince of Monaco, so she is now Princess of Monaco."
“She got married,” Philip repeated sadly.
“That happens to women sometimes,” said d’Artagnan, looking sympathetically into the young man’s face.
In d'Artagnan's presence, Philippe did not need to wear a mask.
"How similar he is to Louis in appearance, and yet so different inwardly! So romantic! It seems he's capable of loving one woman his whole life, despite everything, whereas Louis can't limit himself to one woman even for six months!"
"By the way, it's less than twenty-five leagues from here to Monaco," d'Artagnan said casually. "Four hours on horseback at a gentle trot. You won't be allowed to make such a ride, of course, but perhaps the very thought will brighten your stay here in Pignerol."
“But she’s married,” Philip whispered.
"Believe me, my dear Prince, this is by no means the main obstacle to your pleasant conversation with her," replied d'Artagnan. "If you were ever restored to your freedom, your continued freedom might cause the Prince of Monaco a few unpleasant moments, since I cannot guarantee that you would not have the opportunity to tell Catherine Charlotte what you have apparently already said to her more than once in your dreams or fantasies."
Philip blushed deeply and became embarrassed.
"Don't suppress your feelings, Your Highness," d'Artagnan advised. "If God is willing to grant you freedom, and you are willing to fight for your love, you may find yourself receiving that coveted prize that now seems unattainable. We are all in God's hands, and those who today feel they have no prospects may possess much more tomorrow than those who today believe they have everything they desire. Life is fickle; it's not for nothing that Fortuna, the Goddess of Fate, is called the most capricious and unpredictable of women. As the saying goes, if you want to make God laugh, share your plans for tomorrow with him."
"So my life isn't completely ruined yet?" Philip asked.
"Good heavens!" cried d'Artagnan. "This question is being asked by a twenty-year-old youth, a crown prince by birth, to me, three times his age, the son of a poor noble family? Remember, Your Highness, no matter how capricious Fortune may be, a strong man always remembers that she is a woman, and a woman can be reasoned with, or else mastered. Women dominate weaklings not because they wish to, but because Mother Nature herself compels them to test the strength of character of those men unfortunate enough to be nearby, only to find one so strong that they cannot twirl him like a fan at a ball, so that they have no choice but to submit, which they do with joy!"
"So you're saying that Fortune can be forced to obey you?" Philip exclaimed.
"That's precisely what I do from time to time, and believe me, Fortune is far from the most unruly of ladies!" d'Artagnan replied. "Flesh-and-blood ladies are often far more difficult to handle than the Goddess of Fate! However, I must cease communicating with you, for although I am permitted to do so as an exception, it is only for short periods and on business. Anything you might have been interested in asking me should have been done on the way here. We have already had a rather pleasant conversation. Now, I must take my leave. If you have any further requests, please make them known to me immediately, or leave them for my next visit, should that occur.
"Thank you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, I have no further questions or requests," Philippe replied. "You have already done too much for me, not to mention destroying my life completely. Perhaps your actions were guided by the Savior himself, so I bear you no ill will and forgive you for my defeat."
"I saved France from Chaos, and you, Prince, from yourself," replied d'Artagnan. "And I also saved another man from himself—the Bishop of Vannes. Although he probably would not agree with me. I wish you fortitude and patience, find solace in reading, pleasure in knowledge, draw strength from hope, and all will be well. Farewell, Your Highness."
Philip made an impulse to shake the captain's hand or even hug him, but the captain had already left the apartment and closed the doors behind him.
D'Artagnan's return journey lay through Lyon. He didn't expect to meet any of his acquaintances along the way.
However, while driving along the central street of Lyon, he discovered an unusual crowd in the square.
At first, he planned to circle the crowd through the side streets, but his natural Gascon curiosity won out. He dispatched a musketeer to find out what was going on. A few minutes later, the musketeer returned and reported that the Lyonnais were celebrating a festival, during which an unusual competition would take place, one not at all common in France, but more suited to the Spanish.
"What kind of competition is this, Jean?" asked d'Artagnan. "Is it really a bullfight?"
"Not exactly a competition, Captain, and not exactly a bullfight," the musketeer replied. "But the main characters in the show are a bull and a certain enormous nobleman who has promised to bring it down with his bare hands. And the bull, it must be said, is a thoroughbred, a huge one!"
A chill ran down d'Artagnan's spine.
"Porthos!" he thought. "What is he doing in Lyons if he should be in England?"
"Tell me, Jean, have you seen this giant up close?" asked the captain.
"No, Captain," Jean replied. "As soon as I learned the cause of the crowd, I hastened to inform you."
"I need to sort this all out, and you stay here and wait," he ordered the other musketeers. "You can pop into this inn and get a bite to eat, since it's almost time for dinner. Pack me some food for the road, we'll eat on the way."
He handed the musketeers ten pistoles and headed into the thick of the crowd. The sight he saw filled him with both laughter and horror.

Chapter 313

The crowd surrounded a sort of ring, with a huge bull on one side and an athletically built nobleman on the other, whom d'Artagnan immediately recognized as Porthos. His powerful torso, muscular arms and legs, his head set firmly on a strong neck, and his entire figure—all of which d'Artagnan would never have mistaken for anyone else. This was Porthos himself, the Porthos the King had presumed dead, and for that very reason alone hadn't ordered him found and sent to prison, or worse!
Everyone present believed the daredevil stood no chance against the bull, and only d'Artagnan thought otherwise, judging the bull's chances to be negligible. The horror of the situation was that if d'Artagnan dared to call out to Porthos within earshot , it could significantly improve the bull's chances, something the captain of the musketeers resolutely did not want. However, Porthos's victory in such a glorious duel was certainly also undesirable. It would make him a celebrity throughout Lyon, and perhaps even Paris! The King would hardly deign to ignore the fact that one of the two conspirators who had raised a hand against his sacred person had, as it turned out, not died at all, but was openly roaming the cities of France, even allowing himself to participate in public amusements, receiving prizes for strength and courage!
Despite the horror of the situation, the spectacle was extremely comical, as Porthos, a notorious dandy, was dressed like a scarecrow. His shirt and jacket were clearly too small for him, so he had to rip them open in places, while his trousers were so large they suggested they had been tailored not for a human being but for some mythical creature, for it was impossible to imagine anything larger than Porthos. Because of their excessive width, Porthos had tied his trousers with a simple rope instead of a belt, making him look like a scarecrow. Yet Porthos wore the obvious trappings of a nobleman—his boots, sword, and feathered hat. But the most astonishing thing was that Porthos's face and hands were black, as if smeared with soot or, rather, with shoe polish, and his beard was so black that he could have been taken for a blackamoor, if not for his neck and ears, which remained white.
In short, if Porthos decided to change his appearance, he changed it in such a way that he would attract the attention of anyone who met him, and not just the most attentive idle onlookers!
"I'll wait until Porthos puts the bull down, and then I'll try to quietly lead him away from this crowd," thought d'Artagnan. "But how can I make the crowd forget about this incident?"
Meanwhile, the bull rushed toward Porthos, intent on finishing him off. Our glorious giant extended his arm and grabbed the bull by the nostrils. Although the bull couldn't stop immediately, its impact with Porthos's powerful arm barely disturbed the newly minted bullfighter's balance. Porthos merely flexed his arm slightly, absorbing the impact. As a result, the bull, subjected to a powerful onslaught accompanied by both pain and humiliation, stopped. Porthos instantly grabbed the bull by the horns with both hands and sharply twisted the animal's head clockwise. The bull was forced to submit to such irresistible force, pinning him first on his left foreleg, then on his hind leg, before simply falling sideways.
The crowd roared and rushed to celebrate the victor. Porthos, accustomed to performing such exercises among his peasants, who were accustomed to such spectacle, was completely unprepared for such a reaction. Confused, he released the bull's horns, which immediately leaped to its feet and rose almost to its full height on its hind legs. The crowd retreated in horror, and the bull, seeing that its only opponent was the same black-faced giant, rushed at him again, but this time lowered its head so that Porthos would have been unable to grab it by the horns with both hands. Without thinking, Porthos delivered a backhand blow to the bull's left ear with his right hand, causing the bull's head to fall to the ground and its right horn to sink into the ground . The bull was so stunned that it stopped moving, although it remained alive and almost unharmed. Porthos lost all interest in his fallen enemy.
At that moment, d'Artagnan ran up to Porthos, grabbed him by the elbow and shouted quite convincingly almost into his ear: "Porthos, let's run immediately!"
"Why?" Porthos asked in surprise, turning around and recognizing d'Artagnan.
"We're in for a good fight!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, knowing that other arguments were unlikely to dissuade Porthos from the lists.
D'Artagnan's sword, which he never drew from its sheath, and Porthos's titanic arms cleared a path for them through the crowd, after which d'Artagnan dragged Porthos into the carriage that was waiting for him at the corner of the square and slammed the door behind him.
Since the musketeers, whom d'Artagnan had ordered to refresh themselves, were still in the tavern, and only Jean remained with the carriage, d'Artagnan ordered him to drive as quickly as possible away from the square.
When the carriage had driven two blocks, d'Artagnan stopped the carriage and ordered Jean to go to the tavern for the rest of the musketeers and bring them to him.
"Porthos, are you mad?" he exclaimed, taking advantage of the absence of witnesses. "The King has thought you dead until now, and that was very good. Now he will most likely learn that you are alive, after which you will surely face the death penalty for insulting His Majesty and attempting to assassinate him!"
"How will he know I'm alive when I've changed my appearance so significantly?" Porthos objected. "Besides, we're in Lyon, and he's in Paris!"
"Do you think he doesn't have detectives in every major city?" d'Artagnan exclaimed.
"But for them to search for me, someone would have to commission them to do so, and who would commission them to do so if the King thought I was dead?" Porthos asked in surprise.
"There is some truth in your words, but, Porthos, you are such a distinguished man!" d'Artagnan retorted. "Every musketeer, every guardsman, and many other nobles of every rank and dignity know you!"
"That's nice to hear!" Porthos replied with a smile.
"That would be pleasant if it weren't so dangerous," d'Artagnan countered. "Now Jean has seen you and, of course, recognized you. Soon, nineteen more musketeers will be arriving here, each of whom knows you by sight."
"But I painted my face!" Porthos was surprised.
"Your facial features remain unchanged, and, what's more, your figure is unmistakable!" d'Artagnan persisted.
“Muston is almost as wide as I am,” Porthos objected.
“Yes, but he is an ordinary fat man, his height is the most ordinary, his bones are thin, and he owes his thickness to accumulated fat, whereas you are a giant, a whole head taller than the average man, you have a wide bone structure, your palm is as wide as two of mine, your arm is thicker than my thigh, I could easily put both my feet in any of your boots!”
"That's true, but should I hide in the basement for the rest of my life?" Porthos objected.
"That would be ideal, but I told you to go to England!" d'Artagnan continued. "I explained to you in detail how to get to Monqueville!"
"Yes, exactly! Monqueville!" Porthos said, perking up. "The thing is, I forgot the name of the place you sent me to, and I lost the piece of paper I wrote it down on. You understand that going to an unknown destination would be completely unwise. So I returned to Pierrefonds."
"Have you returned to Pierrefonds?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "It's getting worse by the hour! Why, every dog there knows you! I'm surprised the King hasn't heard that you're alive!"
"I told Muston to introduce me to everyone as my brother, Hercule de Porto, my closest relative and heir!" replied Porthos. "This allowed me to enjoy all my wealth and return to my beloved way of life."
"And you think your people believed this fairy tale?" d'Artagnan laughed.
"But I've changed my appearance quite a bit!" Porthos objected. "I grew a beard and dyed it black, and I painted my face with paint I bought from a traveling actor. They used it to play some Moor in their performances."
"My God, Porthos, if an actor on stage forgets to paint his ears and neck, he at least covers them with a collar or a wig, but you look completely ridiculous!" d'Artagnan objected. "And why did you change your clothes?"
“It’s a long story,” Porthos replied.
"Very well, tell me about it a little later," said d'Artagnan. "And now be quiet. I see my musketeers are returning. Sit here in the carriage, I'll be back soon, we'll ride together and discuss everything along the way, after which we'll decide what to do."
"Where are we going?" Porthos asked.
"That's the whole trouble, I'm going somewhere you absolutely shouldn't go!" cried d'Artagnan. "I'm going to Paris!"

Chapter 314

"Why don't we go together?" asked Porthos.
"My dear Porthos, you're behaving like a child!" d'Artagnan replied, almost groaning, revealing his weariness at being responsible for the life and fate of a friend who didn't want to cherish them. "How can you not understand that the King will order your execution as soon as he learns you're alive? I was hoping to hide you in England, and yet here you are, amusing yourself in the very center of Lyon, gathering around you nearly a tenth of the city's inhabitants! How have you managed to survive all this time? But your prank today is beyond all bounds! Why, now word of your feat will reach Paris, after which every Genevan will describe you in such a way that it will be impossible not to recognize you by that description. The King will learn of your escape! And after that, I won't give a sou for your life!"
"I am alive, and I intend to live, not hide in cellars and attics!" exclaimed Porthos. "Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux never hid!"
"Because you, Baron du Valon de Pierrefonds de Bracieux, are simply impossible to hide, especially with all your restlessness!" d'Artagnan exclaimed angrily. "Your body, like your name, would be enough for three men! Ah, if you were a man of ordinary height, with a quiet voice, able to blend in, remaining unnoticed not only in a crowd, but even among a small group, how wonderful it would be! How much easier it would be to hide you from the King's spies!"
"Well, in that case I wouldn't be Porthos, but Aramis!" Porthos replied, laughing so loudly that the arriving musketeers probably jumped in surprise.
“You’re right, but it’s not fun at all,” d’Artagnan objected with annoyance.
"Come on!" Porthos said peacefully. "After all, no one but the King himself knows what happened between us. You and Aramis don't count. No Colbert or Seguier is looking for me."
"Not knowing the reasons for the King's hostility and not receiving a search warrant are two different things, dear Porthos. They were hunting you and Aramis with an entire army, and it didn't go unnoticed. Your descriptions as state criminals were issued to every officer."
"Three years have passed, everything is forgotten," Porthos replied serenely. "I was forced to hide and conceal myself all this time, like a hare."
"I can guess how you hid!" d'Artagnan chuckled. "It's amazing they haven't found you yet! But they certainly will now."
"Okay, I admit I wasn't hiding at all," Porthos agreed. "But that, along with the fact that I haven't been arrested yet, proves that no one is looking for me; everyone's confirmed my death and crossed me off the list."
"Nobles, especially those like you, my dear Baron, are not erased from the lists!" d'Artagnan retorted. "Their lineage stretches through years, decades, even centuries. If you've made yourself a baron, rest assured that some heirs await your death, and they'll be very displeased to learn that you haven't actually died, and continue to enjoy your property, which they already considered their rightful inheritance, and therefore their property!"
“I have no heirs except myself,” Porthos waved his hand.
"Even a beggar has heirs, even if he doesn't realize it," d'Artagnan insisted. "And everyone who's even slightly related to you will want to get their hands on the estates that entitle them to a baronial title. One of them will be your mother's second cousin, another your great-nephew's cousin, a third your second cousin's baptismal christ, a fourth held the candle at your parents' wedding, a fifth simply lived in your neighborhood and consoled your aunt during her husband's military campaigns. Now they'll all start proving their kinship with you."
"But there's also Hercule de Porto, who inherited all my titles, didn't you understand?" Porthos said joyfully. "Isaac de Porto du Valon died, but his brother, Hercule de Porto du Valon, arrived and took up his inheritance! I have everything legally in place!"
"You had a brother?" d'Artagnan asked incredulously.
"Of course!" exclaimed Porthos. "And this Hercule is me! I am my own brother! That's why I changed my appearance: I grew a long beard and darkened my complexion!"
"Are there really any idiots who would believe this whole tale?" d'Artagnan asked in surprise.
"Everyone!" Porthos replied joyfully. "Everyone around me calls me Monsieur Hercule and Monsieur de Pierrefonds!"
"They're simply playing along with your childish behavior!" d'Artagnan guessed. "If the master orders us to call him Hercule, no one will dare object. Especially since I've called you Hercule several times myself, not because I consider you your brother, but because of your physical strength and power!"
"Does the name Hercule mean anything?" asked Porthos.
"Of course it does, and now you must perform twelve labors to fully live up to that name, since you live up to it perfectly in appearance!" d'Artagnan replied. "Your first labor would be, in my eyes, to disappear from France, but I already see that that will be quite difficult to accomplish!"
"Why not simple?" Porthos asked in surprise. "Geneva is just a stone's throw from here!"
"You are right, my dear Porthos!" d'Artagnan replied decisively. "You will leave for Geneva immediately! You will not linger in Lyon for a moment, for you have been seen here, and you have undoubtedly been identified, so they will look for you here first."
"Well then, I'm ready!" replied Porthos, intending to leave d'Artagnan's carriage.
"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan cried hastily. "Stop! Why are you planning to go out into the street like this? We'll buy you a horse and take you to the western road, and only then will I part with you."
"There's a simpler way," Porthos replied. "We'll stop at the Sunny Lion Inn, I'll pick up my things, and then I'll set off on my horse, accompanied by my Muston and my servant and squire, Auguste. It's not far, just two streets away."
“So much the better,” replied d’Artagnan. “That’s what we’ll do. I’d be happy to question you about your life since we parted, but there’s no time for that. I’ll be forced to deviate from my course, but that doesn’t bother me; my musketeers won’t betray me. Still, I’ll have to come up with some excuse for why we’re heading east instead of west. Do you have any ideas?”
"On the outskirts where we're going, there's a Madame de Lupez, and her cook, Charlotte, makes excellent truffle and chicken pies, as well as superb apple and cinnamon buns," Porthos replied. "I stop by to see her sometimes."
“Everyone knows that I’m not such a gourmet as to deviate from my route for the sake of pies,” d’Artagnan objected.
“The hostess is not bad-looking,” Porthos clarified and blushed deeply.
"Are you suggesting that I pretend to know her and come to see her?" d'Artagnan asked. "Can that be arranged? And she won't give us away?"
“I’ll make arrangements with her,” Porthos replied, after which he pretended to examine the upholstery of the seat and began to whistle some frivolous melody so clumsily that d’Artagnan, who did not have an excellent ear for music, although he was not familiar with the song Porthos was performing, understood perfectly well only that Porthos was shamelessly out of tune.
The friends did exactly as they had agreed: first they stopped at the Lyon Ensoleill;, where they collected Porthos's things and took his servants and horses, then the entire cortege went to the eastern outskirts of Lyon, with Porthos hidden in the carriage the entire time, then d'Artagnan feigned extreme interest in Madame de Lupez, whose cook, Charlotte, made excellent pies with chicken and truffles, as well as apple buns, after which the friends did not deny themselves the aforementioned dishes and treated d'Artagnan's musketeers with them at Porthos's expense, then Porthos with Mouston and Auguste headed to Geneva, and d'Artagnan with his escort went to Paris.
"This Madame de Lupe is quite a sight!" d'Artagnan whispered to Porthos as they parted. "I approve of your choice. Just don't go back to her until you hear from me that it's safe!"
"Of course!" Porthos answered so hastily that d'Artagnan doubted his friend's sincerity.
"I suppose he'll be back here pretty soon," d'Artagnan thought with annoyance. "It seems to me that he's attracted not so much by Madame de Lupez herself, but by Charlotte and her culinary masterpieces!"

Chapter 315

Returning to Paris, d'Artagnan presented himself to the King. Upon entering, d'Artagnan bowed silently and reported that the order had been carried out.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, I am glad to see you," said the King. "It is wonderful that you have delivered the prisoner to his destination. I trust that the fortress of Pignerol will be secure enough to hold a man who, as you well understand, must not be released under any circumstances."
D'Artagnan only bowed silently in agreement.
"You carry out all my orders flawlessly," the King continued. "I wish I had only people like you by my side."
“I am only Your Majesty’s servant,” the captain replied and bowed.
"I remember that," Louis continued softly. "But I also remember that on one occasion you failed to follow my orders diligently, even though it was a matter of the utmost importance. Apparently, your disobedience was due to the fact that the matter concerned your so-called friends?"
“In Your Majesty’s service, all orders have equal force for me,” d’Artagnan lied.
" Let's assume so," the King agreed. "After returning from your trip to Belle-Ile, you explained to me the reasons for your failure quite convincingly, but was your explanation truthful?"
"I would not dare lie to Your Majesty," d'Artagnan replied, deciding to lie as brazenly as possible. "Any enemy of Your Majesty automatically becomes my enemy, any friend of yours is my friend; such is my duty as a loyal subject."
"Those are wise words!" the King praised his captain. "However, I thought you were one of my finest servants, and that nothing was impossible for you! But as it turns out, you couldn't carry out my order to simply arrest two people!"
“These two men took refuge on an inaccessible island,” replied d’Artagnan.
“The island’s commandant was obliged to obey my order, and in case of disobedience you were supposed to use force,” the King objected.
"My authority was interrupted by people who possessed letters that gave them power over me," the captain clarified. "Based on these letters, I myself was nearly arrested and, in any case, stripped of any authority. I believe I have already provided Your Majesty with a detailed explanation of this episode."
“That’s right, Monsieur d’Artagnan, your explanations were given orally, and then in writing, as I requested, but one small problem arose in connection with these explanations,” the King replied.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the captain replied.
"Aren't you interested in what trouble I'm talking about?" asked Louis.
“I am interested in everything that Your Majesty wishes to inform you,” said d’Artagnan with a naive and submissive air.
"You were to arrest and deliver to the Bastille the Bishop of Vannes, this same d'Herblay, as well as his accomplice, Baron du Valon," the King continued. "You explained to me that my orders were thwarted by officers loyal to me, who were charged with protecting you from irreparable mistakes. You also cited the assertion that Baron du Valon had perished, and that d'Herblay had departed by sea for an unknown destination."
“That’s how it really was,” d’Artagnan replied.
“Where did you get this information?” Louis inquired.
“From the local residents,” the captain reported.
"In other words, from their accomplices," the King concluded. "Have you seen the body of Baron du Valon?"
“This proved impossible, as he was buried under a huge stone,” d’Artagnan reported.
“You should have called together as many soldiers as were necessary, ordered them to move the stone, or dig a tunnel, or otherwise extract the baron’s body so that I could be sure that he was dead.
“That didn’t occur to me,” replied d’Artagnan.
"How very strange!" exclaimed the King. "Your mind is always so resourceful, you always manage to find a way out of the most seemingly hopeless situation, but here, suddenly, you didn't realize that if you couldn't deliver the prisoner, you should at least deliver his corpse?"
"I thought about it, but I decided that I should first report to Your Majesty about the fugitive, since the matter of retrieving the body can be postponed, whereas the capture of the fugitive cannot be postponed," d'Artagnan continued to justify himself. "As soon as I had the opportunity to visit Belle-Ile again, I went to the place of the baron's death and undertook my own search."
"And you dug up the body?" the King inquired.
"Not exactly," d'Artagnan clarified. "I was only able to retrieve a few personal belongings, specifically two of the Baron's boots. I recognized his boots; a foot of that size is rare; they were custom-made. I also recognized the spurs on them, so they convinced me that it was indeed Baron du Valon buried under the stone, so I abandoned the search."
"Where are these boots?" the King asked.
"I left them where I found them, figuring it would be awkward for the deceased to appear before the Creator without his boots. I remember his stockings weren't in the best condition; they were worn through at the heels and toes. In such a situation, being buried in just socks would be a real nuisance. I put the boots back on the feet I'd dug up and covered them all up with stones and earth. If Fate itself had laid him to rest there, I decided there was no point in resisting it."
“So, you have no proof of the Baron’s death,” the King concluded.
"If you allow me, I will go to Belle-Ile and bring back his boots!" d'Artagnan said hastily.
“Very well, go and bring me Baron du Valon’s boots,” said Louis, waving his handkerchief as a sign that he would not detain d’Artagnan any longer.
"It seems I've escaped with a vengeance!" thought d'Artagnan. "It turns out lying to the King isn't so difficult, no more difficult than lying to some chambermaid or maid!"
Having bowed to the King, d'Artagnan headed for the exit, but as soon as he took hold of the door handle, Louis called out to him again.
"Enough, Captain!" the King exclaimed. "How dare you so brazenly lead your King by the nose? You know perfectly well that Baron du Valon is not dead!"
D'Artagnan felt a cold sweat run through him.
"He didn't die?" he asked again, forgetting etiquette.
"He didn't die, and you knew it!" Louis repeated. "He's alive, and you saw him!"
"Your Majesty accuses the captain of your musketeers of lying. I have no choice but to fall on my sword, following the example of the ancient Roman warriors," d'Artagnan replied. "For want of a sword, I will run myself through. Farewell, Your Majesty!"
“Where are you going?” asked the King.
"For the sword I left in Your Majesty's reception room with your secretary," d'Artagnan replied. "As soon as he returns it to me, I will run myself through with it."
"Nonsense!" the King objected. "You won't do it because I don't want you to."
“But Your Majesty’s accusation casts a shadow on my honor,” replied d’Artagnan.
"My honor has suffered no less, but much more than yours, through the efforts of your two friends!" exclaimed Louis. "But I do not throw myself on my sword!"
“Your Majesty has the opportunity to punish the guilty, whereas I…” d’Artagnan tried to say.
"Then how did you contribute to the culprits escaping punishment?" the King retorted. "I am willing to admit that you could not have caught the Bishop of Vannes, and that you may have believed in the death of Baron du Valon."
"That's how it was, Your Majesty!" d'Artagnan exclaimed passionately.
"But as soon as you learned that the Baron was alive, you should have arrested him immediately!" the King finished his sentence.
"I learned this from you this very moment, Your Majesty!" cried d'Artagnan. "If Your Majesty claims that Baron du Valon is alive, then it is so, and I am setting out immediately to find him and arrest him."
"And you don't need confirmation of my words?" the King was surprised. "You're not asking how I know the Baron is alive?"
"I take Your Majesty's word for granted!" d'Artagnan blurted out. "If Your Majesty deigns to inform me that King Herod is alive and that he must be found and arrested, I will carry out your orders immediately!"
“Commendable, though foolish,” the King replied with a laugh.
“Better stupid but commendable than clever but reprehensible,” d’Artagnan clarified.
"Logical!" the King agreed. "Then act commendably and wisely. Find and arrest Baron du Valon, and then we'll discuss how you should proceed to arrest the Bishop of Vannes!"
D'Artagnan bowed and assumed a pose of expectation.
"What are you waiting for?" the King asked irritably.
“Your Majesty’s order,” replied d’Artagnan.
“You are still in my service, and you are obliged to obey my verbal orders as well,” said the King.
“It may take a long time to search; a document of justification will be required for my absence from the company of the king’s musketeers,” d’Artagnan clarified.
"You need a document from me to justify yourself to me?" the King asked, laughing. "Nonsense! I can send you anywhere for any length of time without any documents!"
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied d'Artagnan. "Including the Bastille or the Place de Gr;ve."
"It seems that this prospect upsets you less than the order to arrest your friend?" the King asked, feeling jealous.
“If only I had friends like you!” thought the King. “How much happier my life would be!”
"I do not fear death, for I am a soldier, Your Majesty," replied d'Artagnan. "A few minutes earlier I intended to run myself through with a sword, and I would have done so if you had not forbidden me."
“I believe you,” replied the King. “You have always been a man of your word, and a man of honor. But I forbid you this! Listen, d’Artagnan, I have always liked you. You are a silent man, never one to talk idle, but always do what is right. I like silent men. But the situation is extraordinary. As you know, Captain, a villainous attempt has been made on my royal person. The conspirators intended to use a secret they had learned against me. Both these men represent an extreme danger; they could harm my royal person and harm the peace of the state. And they have still not been caught, although so much time has passed! I cannot rule the country feeling like I am sitting on a powder keg, torch in hand!”
"Quite right, Your Majesty!" replied d'Artagnan.
"I'm not asking for your consent or approval of my words. In fact, I never do," the King said coldly. "Simply listen and remember."
D'Artagnan bowed to the King again.
"There are at least two men whose knowledge of a state secret greatly impedes our ability to govern France, since this excessive knowledge will remain a constant threat to the state as long as they remain at large," the King repeated. "Even those entrusted with our highest trust do not know what those in whom we have no confidence know! However, this does not apply to you, Captain."
D'Artagnan bowed to the King, this time a little deeper.
"I entrust you with this important task, Captain, because I continue to believe in your loyalty to me," the King said. "Your receipt of the baton of Marshal of France depends on its completion . Now listen to me, Captain, with the utmost attention."
D'Artagnan became wary and this time limited himself to giving his face as serious an expression as was possible with his moustache twisted jauntily upwards.
"You are charged with arresting my enemies, and if you again decide that any of them are dead, you are to obtain and bring me irrefutable proof of their deaths. This is, firstly, the Bishop of Vannes, Monsieur d'Herblay, also known as Aramis. Secondly, Baron du Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds, also known as Porthos."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" replied d'Artagnan.
"Thirdly, this is the Count de La F;re, also called Athos," the King continued. "Fourthly, this is the Viscount de Bragelonne, who dared to call himself the fianc; of Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de La Valli;re without my permission."
"Shall I arrest these persons?" asked d'Artagnan, pretending not to have fully heard the King's order.
"You've already received orders from me to arrest two of those four," Louis replied coldly. "Your execution of those orders doesn't satisfy me."
"If Your Majesty is dissatisfied with my service, I request my resignation," d'Artagnan replied. "Or lift your prohibition on the action by which I intended to defend my honor."
"Resignation from public service, Captain, does not allow one to disobey the King, and the honor of an officer of the King lies in serving the King!" Louis exclaimed. "Whether as Captain of the Musketeers or as a private citizen, you remain a subject of the French Crown, a subject of your King, and are obliged to carry out my orders. If you prefer to carry out this order as a private citizen, I will not object, but I think the Captain of the King's Musketeers is better placed to carry out this mission."
“I do not insist on resignation, Your Majesty,” said the captain, feeling the truth of the King’s last words.
"The right choice, Captain," the King replied. "I'll give you a month."
"May I go and do the work?" asked d'Artagnan, intending to think about how he could save his friends.
"Don't rush," Louis said coldly. "I haven't yet told you that my loyal officers will protect you from the mistakes you nearly made while carrying out my mission to Belle-Ile. If you attempt to send a letter to one of your friends, that letter will be delivered to me. If you attempt to send an envoy, that envoy will be delivered to me. If you attempt to help your friends escape, both those friends and you yourself will be delivered to me."
D'Artagnan bowed with a single movement of his head.
“If I receive proof that you intended to evade my orders, or if within a month from this very moment I do not receive from you either these men arrested and brought to the Bastille, or irrefutable proof of the death of those rebels whom you cannot arrest, or if I learn of an attempt on your part to free the prisoner of the castle of Pignerol, I will sign this order.”
With these words, the King handed the captain a paper on which d'Artagnan read the following text with horror.

"The King's order to Marshal Antoine III de Gramont

Immediately arrest, without negotiation, or kill the following state criminals guilty of treason:
Bishop of Vannes, Lord d'Herblay,
Baron du Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds,
Count de La Fere,
Viscount de Bragelonne,
Captain of the King's Musketeers, Monsieur d'Artagnan.
I deprive the named persons of their title of nobility, all ranks and their property, which must be transferred to the Royal Treasury.
To carry out this order, Marshal Antoine III de Gramont is allowed to call upon any officers and soldiers, both land and sea, throughout the territory of France.
Any citizen of France who knows the whereabouts of the said criminals and does not report this to Marshal Antoine III de Gramont personally or through officers subordinate to him is also to be considered a state criminal and dealt with in accordance with this order.

Louis"

“Have you read it?” asked the King.
“I have read it, Your Majesty,” replied d’Artagnan, turning pale.
"Read it aloud again," Louis said coldly. "I need to be sure you've understood the contents of this document in its entirety, without any omissions."

D'Artagnan read the document offered to him aloud in a calm, even voice, as if it were about some unknown rebels with whom he had no business.

"Take this draft," said the King. "I advise you to reread this order every night before bed and every morning the following day, so that you don't get the false impression that anything has been omitted. You have plenty of time, but not so much that you waste it needlessly. And you've already wasted ten minutes."
D'Artagnan bowed and headed towards the exit.
"Just a moment, Captain!" the King exclaimed. "Know also that if you shoot yourself in the forehead, or accidentally fall on your sword, or perhaps are killed in some unfortunate duel, I will still sign this paper. If, however, you fall seriously ill, or receive some accidental wound—in short, if your state of health prevents you from carrying out my verbal order—I will sign this written order as soon as I learn of your illness. Now go."


(To be continued)