Memoirs of Aramis, Book 4

The Memoirs of Aramis, Book 4

Annotation

The fourth book of Aramis's memoirs begins where the action of Twenty Years After begins. The Musketeers meet again only twenty years after their separation. The year is 1649. Retelling Twenty Years After is pointless and futile.
But the memoir genre has its own rules. Aramis is familiar with the book "Twenty Years After," which, according to the preface to Alexandre Dumas's trilogy, is the memoirs of the Comte de la F;re, or rather, Athos. But Aramis has logically proven beyond doubt that Athos could not have written this trilogy (describing Athos's death and the sobath that followed!). He believes that these memoirs were written by his servant, Grimaud, whom Athos forbade to speak without proper cause, which led him to start writing diaries. After becoming acquainted with Athos's extensive library, he himself became an avid graphomaniac.
But Grimaud wasn't so thoroughly familiar with the reasons behind the musketeers' actions, their military exploits, and sometimes got his facts mixed up. This undoubtedly didn't go unnoticed by Aramis.
Since Aramis is methodical in his descriptions, he provides in the third volume an account of what happened during the time our heroes did not meet, that is, from 1629 to 1649. After reading the third volume, you will be able to understand why King Charles I of England found himself confronting his own people, lacking an army, money, or sufficient loyal servants, and also why similar events nearly occurred in France. In the third book, Aramis claims that the Comte de la F;re served for a time as the French ambassador to King Charles of England. Historical evidence confirms this; during this period, the King did indeed have a French ambassador, the Marquis de la F;re, until he was recalled by Cardinal Mazarin due to revolutionary events in England.
In the fourth book, Aramis set out what he considered important to set out, bearing in mind that the Memoirs of Grimaud, that is, the book Twenty Years Later, might be accessible to the reader, and he himself checked the presentation of some events in it, although he perceived it critically.
Enjoy reading!
Chapters 1–44 can be found in the first book, chapters 45–92 in the second book, and chapters 93–133 in the third book.

Author's Preface

The third book concluded with Mordaunt, Milady's son, arriving at Cromwell's side and helping him defeat the opposition in order to deal with the Earl of Suffolk, King Charles I 's closest friend, aide, and advisor . It also describes some of the events that led England into civil war, which the King initially thought he was winning, but which was followed by a second stage of this war, or even a second civil war, in which Fate finally turned against the English monarch. Meanwhile, Mordaunt burns with a desire to avenge his mother's death and his own unfortunate fate on all those he considers guilty. The list of those he has already avenged includes several random individuals—priests and judges, as well as the Comte de Ronchamp and Milady's former servant, Katie. Mordaunt's revenge on this girl was achieved simply because, as Mordaunt learned, his mother hated her for some reason and desired revenge. Without delving into the reasons for this hatred, he attempted to kill her by shooting through the window of the Duchess de Chevreuse's castle. The Duchess immediately called for a doctor, who declared that the girl's life hung in the balance, but he would do everything possible to save her. Aramis received news from the Duchess that there had been an attempt on his prot;g;'s life, but it seemed she would survive and was gradually recovering. Aramis, on instructions from the Jesuit Order, decided to organize de Beaufort's escape and recruited Athos and d'Artagnan's former servant, Planchet, to his side. Passions ran high in Paris, and everyone anticipated the imminent revolt of the mob, which went down in history as the Fronde.


Chapter 134

Cardinal Mazarin, forty-seven years old, a year younger than Queen Anne, sat in his study, pondering. A wave of popular discontent was rising against him and the Queen, impossible to miss and utterly unthinkable to ignore. A preemptive strike was necessary. This wave had to be broken first into at least two, then even smaller—four, eight, and so on.
"However, four are enough ," Mazarin said to himself, so quietly that no one could overhear. "Even a quarter of the nation is no majority, and if this quarter doesn't begin to accumulate sympathizers like a snowball, it will be easily dealt with. 'Divide and rule.' This wisdom is worth repeating daily! Instead, it seems Anne and I have already made a mistake. Instead of dividing, we allowed forces to unite that, it would seem, should never have united under any circumstances. Just think! The princes of the blood are uniting with the mob against their rightful Queen and Regent, against the young King Louis XIV !"
Mazarin wanted to add "against his first minister," meaning himself, but he didn't even whisper it to himself. The thought was too painful.
They accused him of being a foreigner! Just think of it! As if the Queen weren't a foreigner! After all, she belongs to the hated Habsburg family, and it is she who defends France and the French from the tyranny of her family, which controls the Great Roman Empire—that is, Spain, Italy, the German states, and both Hollands! She even opposes her own brother, and only because he, Mazarin, taught her to do so. The two foreigners ruling the kingdom are France's most ardent patriots, and a future monarch, a young King, is growing up, who, in essence, is also three-quarters foreigner! Why do these vile rabble judge a person not by his actions, but by his origins?
“Princes, dukes and peers, marshals and marquises, counts and barons, nobles, industrialists and merchants, large landowners, clergy, townspeople and peasants,” Mazarin continued quietly. “A very significant portion of all these classes has rallied around the idea of overthrowing the prime minister. Someone is writing pamphlets against the cardinal and distributing them among the people. This must stop! The great Richelieu would have sent everyone to the Bastille for such pamphlets, both those who write them and those who read them! And those who argue, he would simply execute! And no unrest! Richelieu executed Montmorency, and no one dared utter a word! And I merely temporarily—briefly!—detained the Duke de Beaufort, who clearly attempted murder; he was openly preparing to hire assassins for me! And how did it end?” There was such a fuss as if I'd executed a whole dozen princes! But it wasn't me who put him in jail! The order was signed by the Queen! You see, I raised taxes! Did I do that? Take your complaints to your beloved Parliament! Even though it's made up of donkeys, even they understand that you can't wage war without money, and money comes into the treasury only from taxes! So what do you want from me? Or are you suggesting peace? Nonsense! It won't work! As soon as the countries around us sense that we don't have enough money for the war, they'll simply gobble us up! Yes, yes, they'll gobble us up! The north of the country will go to Holland, the northwest to England, the south to Spain, and the east to Germany. That's all! And a scrap of France will remain, smaller than the Duchy of Anjou! Is that what you want, gentlemen rebels?
It's essential to set them at odds. The Queen is certainly right that we should win over as many friends as possible, but what kind of friends are they who remain friends only as long as they receive their regular pay, or as long as they hope for something even more substantial? Pay begins to seem insufficient, hopes no longer fully satisfy such friends, and they demand everything, and now! But where can they get this "everything" when there's a war going on, and there's not enough money for the bare necessities—arms, gunpowder, and forage? Even soldiers' pay can be delayed for a while, but they cannot be deprived of food, feed for their horses, or gunpowder and bullets for their rifles and muskets! If we were on the offensive, the army could feed itself with what it can requisition from conquered territories! But it's only on the map that borders can be easily relocated, but on the ground, all this costs blood, sweat, gunpowder, and bullets! The Roman army fed itself while it was advancing, and for how long did that last? There was nowhere left to advance, and the empire fell apart! And where would one advance in modern Europe? Thank God we still have the great Cond;, who is advancing! And then there's the Viscount de Turenne. Two commanders fighting for an idea—that's no small feat, but it's not too many! Split them! Infiltrate their ranks with influential figures who would switch sides at the right moment! But where to find them? I recall the Count de Rochefort being very eager to please me, buttering me up to take him into my service. Well, he served Richelieu quite well, as they say. He exposed the Chalais conspiracy! That's worth a lot! And he was still so young! And what next? It seems he failed at a simple task. And what a task it was – to detain four musketeers on the road from Paris to London and back! Three were apprehended almost at the exit, and the fourth slipped away! The nobleman, apparently, was a scoundrel! I wish I had someone like him in my service! And with a dozen such men, I would completely exterminate this damned spirit of opposition, imported either from England or Venice! So, Rochefort. The Queen hates him, and rightly so, but if he served Richelieu faithfully, why shouldn't he serve me faithfully? What difference does it make to him what the name of the first minister, the cardinal, the member of the Royal Council is? Richelieu or Mazarin, what difference does it make? Richelieu was French! So what? Ravaillac was French too! Does that make you feel any better? And Jacques Cl;ment was French! Feel better?
At that moment, Fran;ois de Comminges de Guitaut, captain of the Queen's guard and Royal Advisor, a man of sixty-nine years of age, appeared in the doorway.
"Tell me, Guitant, how well do you know the Count de Rochefort?" he asked.
"I believe he was devoted to Cardinal Richelieu," Guiteau replied. "The great cardinal held him in high esteem. But I have heard nothing of him for the last four years."
“It doesn’t matter, because I didn’t ask you where he is,” Mazarin waved his hand dismissively. “I want to know your opinion: will de Rochefort serve me as faithfully?”
"I can't know that, Monsignor," Guiteau replied. "If you know where to find him, it would probably be best to summon him and ask him."
"Thank you, Guiteau. If I need advice on what to do, I will ask your advice," the cardinal replied as gently as possible. "But at the moment, I am not asking you for advice, but for information on how reliable this man is, and whether he can be faithful."
"This man may be loyal, but that doesn't mean he'll serve you faithfully," Guiteau replied. "The Cardinal paid his special agents generously, and he also provided assistance to the Count's brothers on several occasions. Rochefort was not cheap for the great Cardinal."
Mazarin winced when he heard the word "great cardinal" a second time, which meant that Guiteau did not consider Mazarin great and used this characteristic as a distinguishing feature.
"Why invent adjectives for names when the names themselves exist?" he thought. "If I were to call de Treville the Great Captain in his presence, how would he feel? Oh, those French!"
"So, Comminges, you believe Rochefort could be of use to me," Mazarin concluded. "If he doesn't agree to serve me faithfully, perhaps he can give me some reliable information about other contenders?"
"What kind of service are we talking about, Monseigneur?" Guiteau asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
"Don't worry, we're not talking about replacing you, you're doing a wonderful job!" Mazarin hastened to console Guito. "There are some tasks you wouldn't entrust to the Royal Advisor, but they require a loyal, honest, and courageous man."
"Monseigneur has such people," replied Guitant. "Take, for example, the lieutenant of the musketeers, Monsieur d'Artagnan, who is now on duty at your door."
"D'Artagnan, you say?" Mazarin asked. "I seem to have heard something interesting about him. Could you remind me what it was?"
"If Monseigneur is going to speak with the Comte de Rochefort, I believe he can tell you about this man's faults better than I can," Guiteau replied. "I know of none, or at least very few, and needless to say, while his virtues are the most essential for a soldier. He is honest, loyal, brave, intelligent, an excellent fencer with all types of stabbing and cutting weapons, and also proficient with a musket and pistol, and an excellent horseman."
"In general, like all your guardsmen, including you?" Mazarin added with a slight questioning tone.
"Not worse than me, and certainly far above the average level of skill," replied a flattered Guiteau. "He defeated several of the best fencers in Paris with ease."
- But duels are prohibited? - Mazarin was surprised.
"Duels are, of course, prohibited, but who hasn't had a skirmish?" Guito replied.
"Skirmishes?" Mazarin asked. "Ah, yes, skirmishes. A scaramuccia non e un duelo."
"Exactly so, Monseigneur," agreed Guiteau. "A skirmish is not a duel."
"Thank you, Guiteau, you have been of great assistance ," said Mazarin. "Be so kind as to invite this Lieutenant d'Artagnan of yours to see me."
When d'Artagnan entered, the cardinal was finishing writing a few lines on a piece of paper. He then signed and sealed it and handed it to the lieutenant.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan ," he said, "go immediately to the Bastille and bring back the man mentioned in this warrant. Take a carriage with barred windows and the necessary escort. The prisoner must not escape. You are responsible for his life to me."
D'Artagnan took the letter, saluted, turned, and left the office. Mazarin immediately heard his commanding yet calm voice:
— Four musketeers for the convoy, the carriage, my horse.
Five minutes later, the cardinal heard the sound of the carriage's retreating hooves and wheels.

Chapter 135

Since the letter was unsealed, d'Artagnan glanced inside to learn the name of the prisoner he had been ordered to deliver. As soon as he read the name of the Comte de Rochefort, a cold sweat broke out over him, and a string of names flashed through his mind, the first of which was Constance's. Then he remembered Milady, and finally, "the Stranger of Meung," as he had called Rochefort until fate revealed his true identity.
“Now this man is completely in my power,” he thought. “I could shoot him, telling the Cardinal that the prisoner was killed while trying to escape. My musketeers would not betray me. But nonsense! Is it honorable to kill a man who cannot defend himself? To challenge him to a duel? Twenty years ago, I would have paid dearly for such an opportunity, before memories of Constance allowed me to judge what is honorable and what is not in relation to this enemy! I must have grown old! Now I am my own Athos! Well, well! The King’s officer is guided by moral principles! However, on Aramis’s advice, I inflicted three very painful wounds on him, each of which took him at least a month and a half to heal! I would have inflicted two or three more, but I am tired of this game of cat and mouse. When you know that your opponent is weaker than you, the thought of dueling him becomes repugnant. "It's truly time I forgave him! After all, he simply served his superior, as we served ours. Fate assigned him Richelieu, and us de Treville and Deszesart! To each his own. Is it worth feuding for the rest of our lives over this? I should have killed him in the third duel; I shouldn't have listened to Aramis! It's decided, I'll treat him like a stranger."
On arrival at the Bastille, d'Artagnan handed the order to the commandant, who was Monsieur du Tremblay, brother of Father Joseph, friend and mentor of Cardinal Richelieu, who had long since died.
When Rochefort was brought in, the prisoner and the convoy commander met eyes, both pretending not to know each other, or not to recognize each other.
The lieutenant gestured for Rochefort to follow him, and the prisoner calmly obeyed.
"Goodbye, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" exclaimed du Tremblay.
“Not before death,” the captain replied. “But even later would be better!”
Du Tremblay merely smiled, accustomed as he was to such jokes from people leaving him, and knew full well that he would see many of them again, either as escorts or as escorts. These two states are so close that people sometimes don't even notice how they shift from one to the other.
Having seated Rochefort in the carriage, d'Artagnan himself took the seat opposite him, explaining to his guards that such was the order. However, he did this more for Rochefort's sake than for the soldiers, who were accustomed to blindly obeying their lieutenant without asking unnecessary questions.
As the carriage moved off, d'Artagnan uttered an almost forgotten phrase.
"My God!" he said. "The stranger from Meng, damn him! Once, in pursuit of you, I ran into three duels, and it was only by a miracle that I didn't get killed in them."
"And they would have killed you, if the Cardinal's guards hadn't stopped you!" Rochefort replied, then turned to face d'Artagnan. His face was serious, but the outer corners of his eyes were lined with telltale wrinkles, betraying his playful mood.
"A fine joke, considering it's true!" the Gascon burst out laughing. "So, from the very beginning, I owe my life to the Cardinal's gentlemen of the guard?"
"Not only in life, but also in friendship with the three magnificent musketeers," Rochefort confirmed. "I've met people for whom friendship is more important than life itself, so that's no small feat."
"Damn it, you're right, Rochefort!" cried d'Artagnan.
He had a painful desire to embrace Athos, who invariably smelled of gunpowder and Burgundy, Porthos, who smelled of fried onions, roast game and gunpowder, and Aramis, who smelled of Cologne water and, again, gunpowder.
In his heart, d'Artagnan extended his hand to Rochefort, who shook it with pleasure.
"Away with old feuds, Lieutenant!" he exclaimed. "Even if tomorrow you command my execution, I forgive you in advance."
"I don't command executions," replied d'Artagnan. "And besides, Mazarin doesn't execute anyone."
"He probably knows perfectly well that being imprisoned in the Bastille without knowing the reasons for this imprisonment can be much worse than being shot?" Rochefort asked.
“I wouldn’t risk disputing that,” d’Artagnan replied. “So you really don’t know why you were imprisoned?”
"I have no idea!" Rochefort replied.
"Perhaps you have been too vocal in your dislike of the current cardinal?" asked d'Artagnan.
— How active must such manifestations be for a person to be thrown into the Bastille without being charged or given a prison term?
"Different times," d'Artagnan replied philosophically. "In all times, if you don't want to love someone who could put you in the Bastille, then it's best not to love them in private, without witnesses. And if you love, as you loved Richelieu, then love them openly, visibly, and effectively. But never the other way around."
"But in that case, half of France would already be sitting in the Bastille or other fortresses!" Rochefort exclaimed.
"Who told you that it isn't?" d'Artagnan countered with a smile. "Or that it won't happen in the foreseeable future? Did you count the prisoners, keep an eye on them? There was no information about this in the place I'm taking you from!"
"Is it really that bad?" Rochefort asked in surprise.
"No, I'm joking, of course," replied d'Artagnan. "However, the Duke de Beaufort..."
"Beaufort? Really?" Rochefort asked in surprise.
"What about Beaufort?" d'Artagnan asked. "Did I tell you anything about him?"
“No, of course not, I’m just talking to myself,” Rochefort replied, nodding his head in understanding.
"However, you need not grieve!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "If you are being taken from the Bastille to the Louvre, you must admit that this journey is far more pleasant and promising than the return journey from the Louvre to the Bastille. But it may happen that there will be no return journey at all, and that is even worse! But away with these gloomy prognostications! Perhaps the Cardinal has become indispensable to you? Then a favorable offer from him may await you!"
“If the offer is worthwhile, I think I’ll agree to it,” Rochefort answered cheerfully.
"What do you call a worthwhile proposal?" d'Artagnan inquired.
"Well, at least one that begins with the words 'From now on you are free, Monsieur de Rochefort,'" the Count replied. "Actually, the rest is not so important."
"As far as I know Mazarin, you can only gain freedom from him if you immediately place yourself entirely at his disposal," d'Artagnan replied. "However, in our time, anything is possible. It's even possible that Mazarin's first order will be to take me to your place in the Bastille."
"What, you know you're guilty of something?" Rochefort asked in surprise.
"No, of course not!" replied d'Artagnan. "But you yourself didn't know and don't know of any guilt, according to your words, which didn't stop you from ending up in the Bastille and serving a whole... How long did you serve?"
“Four years, three months, and eighteen days, if one day is counted as half of today and half of the first day of my imprisonment, and only if I am not returned,” answered Rochefort.
"A bit long-winded," d'Artagnan agreed. "Especially considering the entertainment options at this establishment aren't particularly varied."
"Not very varied, yes," Rochefort confirmed. "Thinking, staring at the walls and ceiling, and coming up with swear words for the Italian. I can't rhyme, and I'm too lazy to write on the walls, so that's all."
“Don’t despair, something tells me that your fate will soon change for the better,” d’Artagnan lied, wanting to cheer up his old enemy, towards whom he no longer harbored even a shadow of hostility.
"Thank you for this lie, which gives me a glimmer of hope," Rochefort replied. "I promise you that if fate grants me freedom, I will thank you, but if something bad happens, I will not share it with you."
"That's most noble of you, Count," replied d'Artagnan. "It's a deal! If Mazarin makes you a marshal, you'll take me on as your general."
At this point, both interlocutors burst out laughing, after which they noticed that they had almost arrived at the Louvre.

I won't recount Rochefort's conversation with Mazarin. Rochefort recounted it to Athos several times, so Grimaud heard and recorded it quite accurately.
Mazarin learned from Rochefort that d'Artagnan was a brave warrior and that he had three equally brave friends, whom he preferred not to name. He then hinted to the Count that he was in prison for refusing to go to Brussels on the Queen's business. This, in fact, reminded him of his refusal to secretly go to Brussels on Mazarin's business as his spy, fearing recognition and exposure. Mazarin hinted to Rochefort that he could gain his freedom if he agreed to serve him faithfully. When Rochefort learned that this service would consist of guarding the Duc de Beaufort to prevent him from escaping from the fortress at Vincennes, Rochefort flatly refused, declaring that he considered himself a friend of d'Artagnan.
"But he who has agreed to serve the King must have no friends but the King's, just as he must have no enemies but the King's!" exclaimed Mazarin.
"Will the King or you, Monseigneur, give me orders?" de Rochefort asked tactlessly.
"There was no need to drag this old fool out of the Bastille," thought Mazarin. "He should be left there forever."
Mazarin rang the bell in irritation, after which his secretary Bernouin entered the room.
"Our guest needs rest ," he said. "Dear Bernouin, please arrange for a separate room to be provided for him."
“In the Bastille,” he added under his breath, looking into Bernouin’s eyes.
At the same time as this gesture, he took from his pocket an order, which he had prudently prepared in advance in anticipation of Rochefort, and handed it to Bernouin.
Bernouin bowed understandingly and went out to call the escort.
Seeing himself being led into the same carriage with the same escort, Rochefort brightened. He decided to wait until the carriage passed the market square and then rally the crowd within to his aid, informing them that he was the victim of Mazarin's tyranny. His plan, as we know, was a resounding success. Moreover, Planchet was among the crowd that attacked the escort to free Rochefort, leading it. Recognizing Rochefort and recalling our conversation about this man, he not only granted him refuge but also introduced him to me and Athos.
When I learned from Rochefort that Mazarin had offered him to guard the Duke de Beaufort, and that Rochefort had refused, I expressed my surprise and indignation.
"Why did you refuse?!" I exclaimed. "If Mazarin had entrusted you with guarding the Duke de Beaufort, our plan to arrange his escape would have succeeded so easily! We couldn't have wished for anything better!"
"I was probably stupid," Rochefort agreed. "But I couldn't have known that in such a matter I would have such comrades as you!"
“If Mazarin had entrusted me with guarding Beaufort, I would have arranged his escape without any assistants at all,” I replied.
"And would you thereby break your oath?" asked Athos.
“Not at all!” I objected. “I swore allegiance only to the King!”
"But the King is a child, the Queen rules the country. You should have sworn allegiance to her, at the very least, and she signed the order for Beaufort's arrest!" Athos clarified. "No, Aramis, you wouldn't have done that! Serving the Queen would have made your participation in Beaufort's release impossible!"
"Are our servants allowed to deceive the jailers?" I asked.
“Our servants are not nobles, and they do not take an oath,” Athos replied.
"So, commoners are allowed to commit treason, but nobles are not allowed to use military cunning?" I asked.
“Yes, my friend, yes,” answered Athos.
"Ah, Athos, you're positively incorrigible!" I exclaimed. "Conspiracy is the same as war, and in war all means are fair. Just read Sextus Julius Frontinus's 'Strategems'!"
"Have you read Frontinus?" Athos asked in surprise.
"I stole this book from d'Artagnan as a souvenir before we parted," I confessed. "True, I confessed this to him immediately, but when he found out, he gave it to me, saying he didn't need it since he'd already memorized it. Indeed, it had been read to pieces, and was covered with notes and comments."
"And you also learned it by heart?" asked Athos.
"Not exactly," I tried to lie, but meeting Athos's sharp gaze, I confessed. "Yes, I have memorized not only her, but also d'Artagnan's notes, which I consider quite witty."
"In that case, you'll remember that in the fourth book, there's a fourth chapter called 'On Justice,'" Athos said. "It says that justice and nobility can sometimes achieve more than treachery and deception of the enemy."
"Then you too should remember that this chapter contains only two examples, while other chapters provide up to fifteen, so among the roughly sixty chapters, this chapter is the smallest, the most insignificant," I replied. "There are about a thousand examples of the effectiveness of treachery in this book. But there are only two examples of the usefulness of nobility."
"And what do they say?" asked Athos.
"Very well," I replied. "The first example tells of a teacher's betrayal. He led the children out of a besieged fortress under the pretext of a walk, then offered them to the besieging commander, Kamil, informing him that with such hostages they could demand any ransom from the besieged, including forcing them to surrender. Kamil was outraged by such treachery and ordered the children to beat the teacher back into the fortress to be punished by his fellow citizens. The besieged admired Kamil's fairness and generosity and agreed to surrender on lenient terms.
"An excellent example!" Athos confirmed.
— The second example tells how the personal physician of King Pyrrhus approached the Roman general Fabricius with an offer to poison the king for a substantial reward. Fabricius exposed this traitor to Cyrus, which led to an alliance between Fabricius and Cyrus.
"Just two examples, you say?" asked Athos. "But it seems to me that these two examples of nobility are worth a thousand examples of the usefulness of cunning! You must admit, a victory achieved through nobility is the most important thing in life, after which one can die in peace. But a victory achieved through cunning—that's something one would find repulsive even to remember!"
I didn't argue with Athos, though I disagreed. I recalled how Claudius Nero, having defeated the Carthaginians under Hasdrubal, had thrown Hasdrubal's head into Hannibal's camp. As a result, Hannibal, overcome with grief over his slain brother, was unable to command effectively, which brought Claudius Nero victory. This gesture saved a great deal of time and effort, and prevented the unnecessary deaths of many soldiers on both sides. Of course, Athos would not have approved of such a method. He needed to fight "with white gloves," informing the enemy of his every intention. The Comte de la F;re would never become a marshal or a general, let alone a captain. Such behavior is useless in war.

Chapter 136

When d'Artagnan was informed that Rochefort, who was being escorted back to the Bastille, had been freed by the rebellious mob, he became thoughtful.
"Of course, it's nice that such a kind gentleman chose to stop enjoying the even more kind hospitality of the Prime Minister ," he said to himself. "But there are reasons to be wary in this matter. Firstly, if the people are so excited that rage overcomes cowardice, we could experience the same thing as in England. Secondly, Mazarin will be furious and demand that my musketeers be punished. Thirdly, I myself am the instigator of this matter, since I hinted to Rochefort that the people were dissatisfied with the Cardinal, and, furthermore, I sent four recruits for the escort, and did not accompany them myself, apparently secretly hoping for precisely this outcome. Fifthly, these four young guards should still be taught a lesson for the future, but I wish them no ill will."
He thought for a few more minutes, after which he beamed and ordered his adjutant to summon to him the four who had let Rochefort escape, succumbing to the pressure of the crowd.
"So, you've lost a prisoner you were supposed to be escorting to the Bastille," he hurled a harsh accusation at the recruits standing at attention before him. "Do you know what you're getting for this?"
Since the lieutenant was not addressing anyone in particular, all four remained silent, their eyes lowered even lower to the floor.
"Stand still when you are spoken to, and look at me!" said d'Artagnan, not raising his voice, but in such a tone that the recruits felt as if God himself were speaking to them.
"So, Zhonsyu, what do you think I should do with you?" he asked the first musketeer in the row.
"Shoot me?" the recruit asked, trying not to show his fear.
"That's the very least," d'Artagnan agreed. "And even worse. Mark Antony used decimation in such cases. Do you know what decimation is?"
"No way!" all four answered in unison.
"Even more so!" d'Artagnan became inspired. "Decimation is the execution of every tenth person by lot. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!" the recruits replied.
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant continued. "But once, when Antony threatened to disband one of his legions, which had not fought bravely enough and had suffered defeat as a result, and strip it of its standard, every legionary, as one, begged him to decimate the legion, but not disband it. So, as you see, decimation is not the worst thing. So, I should prepare ten lots, one of which has a mark, and have the four of you each draw one at random. The one who draws the marked lot will be in trouble."
The soldiers remained silent, not daring to argue with their lieutenant.
“But I am just,” d’Artagnan objected to himself. “I cannot execute a tenth of you, since there are only four of you. And although each of you would have a one in ten chance of getting your bullet, I still do not intend under any circumstances to lose a quarter of my soldiers where a tenth would suffice. Therefore, we will proceed as follows. As soon as exactly ten men are guilty of something similar, I will make you all draw lots, and then one of the ten will answer for the misdeeds of all ten. But remember, if no such misdeeds occur within the next two months, no, six months, indeed, no, within a year, then I will close your account and forget what happened. Understood? So, pray that not a single musketeer will ever again waver or betray his duty. Therein lies your salvation.” Remember this. If one of you sins again, then he will draw two lots! Do you understand?
"Yes sir!" the recruits replied again.
“Go, and remember what I told you ,” said the Gascon, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed the musketeers.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, His Eminence Cardinal Mazarin requires you to see him ,” said Bernouin, entering the barracks.
The lieutenant nodded and headed towards Mazarin.

"Lieutenant, explain to me how it happened that the prisoner Count de Rochefort escaped on his way to the Bastille?" asked the cardinal.
“Rochefort somehow learned that the streets were full of dissatisfied citizens,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Perhaps I let it slip to him in our conversation ,” Mazarin said with some confusion and bit his moustache in annoyance.
"Forgive me, Monseigneur, I had no idea he had received such information, otherwise I would have personally led his escort back to the Bastille ," said d'Artagnan. "I plead guilty and ask to be punished."
Mazarin liked the fact that the lieutenant behaved exactly as Mazarin himself had behaved when communicating with the Queen, so he looked more kindly at d'Artagnan .
"Do you think that if you had been in charge of the convoy, the prisoner would not have been able to escape?" asked the cardinal.
"He didn't escape on the way to the Louvre!" the Gascon replied.
"Would you mind revealing your escort methods?" Mazarin asked. "Why couldn't he have escaped from you?"
"Because I got into the carriage with my prisoner and pointed a pistol at him, warning him that if he tried to escape or made even a sound on the road, I would shoot him," replied d'Artagnan. "And also because this prisoner already knew that I don't throw words to the wind, so if I told him I would shoot him if he tried to escape, that's exactly what I would do."
"You are a serious man, Lieutenant!" Mazarin said admiringly. "I need people like that!"
“But it seems that I am already in the service of His Royal Majesty, and therefore, by virtue of my office, I am also subordinate to the First Minister ,” said d’Artagnan.
"That's not quite what I had in mind," the cardinal clarified. "I was referring to a special kind of assignment, one that is given only to the most courageous, intelligent, and devoted people, and, of course, is rewarded quite differently."
“I am in the service of the King, so I cannot transfer to any other service, Monseigneur, with all due respect, I apologize, I must refuse ,” said the Gascon.
“But the King is a child, you must obey the Queen, who is also the sole and absolute regent, the head of the Royal Council,” Mazarin corrected the lieutenant.
“I agree with your clarification, Monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And what will you answer me if the Queen herself confirms to you that my proposal also comes from her, and that your consent is as desirable to her as it is to me?" asked the cardinal.
"In that case, I will be free to accept your offer," d'Artagnan replied. "Then I will ask you what my service will consist of and what conditions Your Eminence offers me."
"Just 'agree'?" Mazarin was surprised. "Aren't you obliged to obey your Queen?"
"Transitioning to another position is not an obligation, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan replied. "As you know, the Duc de La Rochefoucauld refused Cardinal Richelieu's offer of generalship, and he suffered no consequences. Such instances are not isolated. If what is required of me is not to my liking, I will choose to resign."
"You're a tough nut to crack, Lieutenant!" said Mazarin, admiring his prudence and courage even more. "But I still ask you to give me an account of the penalties you imposed on those musketeers who failed to deliver their escort to their destination."
“I decimated them,” d’Artagnan answered shortly.
"Decimation?!" Mazarin exclaimed in horror. "Following the example of the ancient Romans? If I'm not mistaken, that means..."
"Yes, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan replied. "There is a war going on. Under the laws of war, an officer has authority over his subordinates, even to the death."
"What horror!" exclaimed Mazarin.
"War is always a horror," replied d'Artagnan. "Now you have no doubt that I would have shot Rochefort or any other prisoner in his place at the slightest attempt to escape."
"Lo giuro sul diavolo, I have no doubt of your determination!" exclaimed Mazarin. "But decimation! You are a very determined man, Monsieur d'Artagnan! Answer me one more question. Why did none of your escorts follow your example and get into the carriage next to the man they were escorting?"
"They wouldn't have dared to ride in the same carriage with the Count," the lieutenant replied. "And even if they had, they probably wouldn't have dared to shoot him at the first attempt to escape. After all, in such a matter, hesitation is tantamount to death. Even a few seconds in such a matter can ruin the chance to accomplish it. However, now, after the decimation, any musketeer would do the same in similar circumstances as I would have done, after all, I've taught them a lesson."
"Yes, a lesson, and a very clear one," Mazarin agreed. "But why do you say they wouldn't have dared to get into a carriage with a count, while you did? After all, you're not a count yet?"
“You are right, Monseigneur, I am not a count yet ,” replied d’Artagnan, emphasizing the words “not yet.”
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Mazarin perked up. "You'd like to become a count?"
"I can't say it's my cherished dream, but if I were a count, it would be easier for me to carry out such missions," d'Artagnan replied. "In these times, when dukes and princes are being arrested, a nobleman who doesn't want to be called a jailer is better off maintaining courtesy with those he has to escort, and to do that, he needs the right to share a carriage not on the basis of an arrest warrant, but on the basis of equal or at least comparable noble rank. But I don't pursue titles. I'm quite satisfied with a fair payment for the services required of me."
"Well, at least it's honest, frank, and straightforward," Mazarin agreed. "Well, I hire you, along with three of your friends, of whom I've heard, for special service. We'll discuss the terms later, when they appear before me. And don't worry, I'll provide you with proof that my will is in complete agreement with the Queen's, and that by joining my special service, you will act in accordance with her wishes."
"Is Monseigneur speaking of the three musketeers with whom I served about twenty years ago?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Can you name others no less worthy than they?" Mazarin answered a question with a question.
“I’m at a loss, but we haven’t seen each other for twenty years, and I don’t know where to look for them,” the Gascon replied.
"You will find them, for the Queen asks for it, and that will be my first commission," the cardinal replied. "I give you a week for this and a hundred pistoles for travel expenses; you are to depart immediately."
"If a week proves insufficient, Monsignor, what should I do?" the lieutenant asked. "Continue the search or return with those I can find?"
"Come back even if you don't find anyone," Mazarin replied. "In exactly a week, I'll need you and your comrades, but I need you in any case."
"What terms can I offer my comrades on your behalf to persuade them to enter your service?" d'Artagnan inquired.
"Promise whatever you deem necessary, in accordance with their character and hopes," replied Mazarin. "Without, of course, going beyond reason."
The lieutenant bowed and left.

"However, when they promise anything, it can often indicate that these promises are worthless, since no one intends to keep them!" thought d'Artagnan. "I would prefer a clear price list of services and rewards for them, and I believe both Porthos and Aramis would agree with me. As for Athos, I don't think he can be bought, and besides, I doubt he's retained his former physical form. He always drank more than we did, and after Milady's execution, he seems to have lost heart."

Chapter 137

The Duchess de Longueville, my Anger, conveyed to me through trusted sources that she wished to meet with me to coordinate some steps regarding our initiative. Between the lines of her letter, I read another reason for our meeting. Naturally, I myself had no intention of foregoing the most enjoyable part of our pleasant conversation, our t;te-;-t;te, and I even confess that perhaps it was precisely this that was the main reason for my visit. One way or another, both these matters occupied me.
I had no idea the letter was a forgery, as I was not yet familiar with Anger's handwriting. It had been prepared and bribed for me by Duke Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, who was jealous of my relationship with the Duchess and desired to occupy the position at her side that she had chosen to grant me. This Duke, also known as Prince de Marsillac, naturally had enough of his own men to organize an ambush and simply lie in wait for me and shoot me like a boar, or stab me to death. Had the fight been fair and square, I might have been able to overcome not only him but perhaps several of his attackers at once. But no man can escape a treacherous bullet fired in the twilight, especially several bullets from several pistols. And it's unlikely that you'll save your life when a dozen assassins, whose existence you don't even suspect, attack you in the night.
I have Grimaud's second book in front of me, entitled "Twenty Years Later." Well, he described the episode of La Rochefoucauld's ambush of me and d'Artagnan's unwitting rescue quite accurately. And this is probably not only because d'Artagnan and I recalled many events, including this one, while we were at Monqueville, but also, of course, because Planchet recounted to him what he knew. But Planchet knew nothing of our conversation with d'Artagnan, so here Grimaud has only relayed the part of our conversation that we recalled.
Grimaud believed I had long been living in the nearby monastery where d'Artagnan found me. He was mistaken. Only shortly before, I had arranged for several rooms on the second floor to be ceded to me, using my connections with the Order. I had ordered Bazin to furnish them to my taste. Only during daylight hours could I access the ground floor. At night, I had to use a ladder, but I sometimes used a rope ladder so that it could be easily pulled up, thus preventing unexpected visits from uninvited visitors, while the ladder was securely locked in the shed.
So the Duke's mercenaries mistook d'Artagnan for me, but, convinced of their mistake, they set off for Paris, believing they had hopelessly lost me this time. I did indeed mount Planchet's horse and ordered him to continue on quietly. He recognized me, I suppose, and of course his doubts vanished when I told him my name.
He informed d'Artagnan only that there was a man sitting behind him, remembering that I had ordered him not to tell d'Artagnan about our agreement, and therefore decided not to take on the responsibility of exposing my incognito even to his former master.
Naturally, I welcomed my friend, and now, once again, my savior, with open arms. Frankly, if d'Artagnan had admitted that serving Cardinal Mazarin was a fait accompli from which he would never retreat, and, consequently, that he categorically did not want me to join the opposing side, I would likely have abandoned the idea of the actions that Athos, Rochefort, and I subsequently took. His friendship was more precious to me, even if he hadn't so fortunately saved my life. I wanted to embrace him and thank him with all my heart for saving me. But I restrained myself. In youth, we hide our feelings, and in old age we become sentimental and display our moods excessively clearly and vividly, precisely when no one around us is interested in them. Of course, at forty, I thought I was already a mature man. How wrong I was! If only I could turn sixty now, what stupid things I'd still have time to do! Only a naive forty-year-old would think life is over at forty!
So, we discussed La Rochefoucauld's ambush for me, and I hesitated to thank d'Artagnan simply—heartily and with feeling. It must be said that in battle, it's not customary to thank those who saved you, and I probably still felt like I was in battle.
By the way, Grimaud mistakenly calls Marsillac by the name Marsillac, just as he mistakenly calls Madame d'Aiguillon by the name Madame d'Aiguillon.
D'Artagnan expressed his suspicion that I was the Duchess de Longueville's lover, and I denied it. What else could I do? Confess ? It wasn't my secret, after all, and I don't reveal women's secrets even to my closest friends! To bolster my active denial, I even sang a humorous song about Angers, but I could see the cunning Gascon didn't believe me. Well, at least I hadn't let it slip, and suspicions aren't absolute certainty, and while confession seals the deal, any denial at least leaves room for doubt. We discussed many topics quite well, letting our spirits soar, which dinner and wine helped to elevate. I tried to eat and drink as little as possible, as I anticipated another dinner, with Angers, but I had to eat and drink something to avoid arousing my guest's suspicions and to make him feel at ease. After all, it would be impolite to turn a shared meal into a feeding of a guest, as if to say, "Eat and get out." That's not the way things are done between friends.
D'Artagnan noticed everything. He noticed that I wasn't in poverty, so I had to chalk it up to royalties from poetry and sermons. It seemed he didn't believe that either.
I anticipated that he would ask about the reasons for the duel in which I had asked him to take part as a second, so I was the first to talk to him about it and explained it away as some trivial matter. It seems he didn't believe me even on that.
When d'Artagnan said: "I have been commissioned to find my comrades, and I began with you," I understood who had entrusted him with this task.
I didn't think this choice was all that important to him, and I thought it was a one-time assignment that he could handle perfectly well without me or Athos, and I realized that going to Porthos was pointless. I decided that since I had already beaten him to it and won Athos over to my side, it would be only fair that Porthos should be with him. It never occurred to me that our goals could be so diametrically opposed that we would collide head-on! Indeed, in all of France there was only one man who could stop me, and that was d'Artagnan, while in all of France there was only one man who could stop him, and that was Athos. Fate, in that hour, divided us equally into two opposing camps, doing to us exactly what it had done to the entire people of the kingdom. If it is said that there is no greater misfortune than a civil war in which one half of the population fights against the other half, then I can say that the division of friends like us into two opposing camps is a commensurate misfortune, at least for us.
We briefly discussed the political situation in the country, and since d'Artagnan didn't exactly praise Mazarin, and I would even say he criticized him in some ways, I convinced myself that my friend's service in the cardinal's ranks was temporary and not based on complete acceptance of this politician or complete loyalty to his orders. In some ways, I ended up being right.
D'Artagnan told me something Grimaud didn't write about. It was a profound understanding of the entire political situation that had developed in the Louvre.
I have already presented some of this information in previous chapters.
The Queen and her children, the King and the Prince, had taken up residence in the Louvre. The arsenal would have been a safer place, but moving there would have meant revealing her fear of her own subjects and also displaying a counter-belligerence. Her military advisers recommended precisely this, but the shrewd politician Mazarin dissuaded her. D'Artagnan had already noticed the public's agitation and foresaw a storm. He informed me that the Comte de Rochefort had been found in the Bastille, and that he had learned that he had been freed by a rebellious mob while being escorted back to the Bastille from the Louvre, where Mazarin had ordered him to be taken for a private meeting.
"What could Mazarin have been talking about with Rochefort?" I asked in surprise.
“He probably wanted to find out some of Cardinal Richelieu’s secrets from him,” d’Artagnan replied.
"Perhaps he wanted to know his personal opinion about certain people, like us, for example?" I asked, since I had already met Rochefort and knew almost everything about this conversation firsthand.
"No, I don't think so," replied d'Artagnan. "What's the point of asking a man who spent four years in the Bastille for his opinion of anyone? After such a time, it's hardly surprising that he'd have the most unfavorable opinion of anyone who'd been free all that time! Personally, if I'd spent that much time in the Bastille, I'd declare the world to be filled with worthless people!"
"And would you extend this statement to your friends? To me? To Athos and Porthos?" I asked.
"God forbid!" the Gascon burst out laughing. "No, of course not! Being in prison wouldn't have changed my attitude toward my friends, but I don't think Mazarin asked Rochefort about his friends. And did he even have any?"
"For example, Milady?" I asked.
"Cross yourself, Aramis, and rinse your mouth with holy water!" d'Artagnan replied, waving my words aside. "Why do you suddenly decide to bring up the one at night who, I believe, now has her permanent residence in Hell with Satan?"
“There is no point in guessing about the content of the conversation between Mazarin and Rochefort,” I replied.
“I can say that it was after this conversation that I was instructed to find my friends,” the Gascon replied.
"So it was Mazarin who ordered you to find us?" I asked in the most innocent tone and saw the annoyance on d'Artagnan's face.
"What makes you think that?" he retorted indignantly. "You know I'm a lieutenant in the king's musketeers, and therefore serve the King and Queen. Only they can give me orders, although, of course, she can convey her orders to me through whomever she authorizes. Sometimes through Guiteau, sometimes through Chancellor Seguier."
“Sometimes through Mazarin,” I added.
"What's wrong with this Mazarin?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Yes, if you like, and through him too, since he's the prime minister. But to tell you the truth, I prefer to obey the Vicomte de Turenne."
“He seems to be far from Paris?” I asked.
"Right now, yes," he agreed. " But if I were to go to war again, I couldn't wish for a better boss."
"So, you wanted to invite me to war?" I asked.
"Not at all!" objected d'Artagnan. "I thought we could find a worthy occupation in Paris."
“At Mazarin’s?” I asked.
"By Jove, Aramis, you pronounce that name in such a tone that it becomes more and more repulsive to my ears," replied the Gascon. "I beg you not to mention it to me again, or I shall hate it so much that, upon my arrival in Paris, I shall try to persuade His Eminence to change his name, for the very reason that I dislike it so much!"
"This will completely ruin France!" I exclaimed.
“Why?” d’Artagnan asked in surprise.
"Because he would gladly accept your offer, on the basis of which he would beg the Queen to grant him a duchy as a gift, so that henceforth he could be known by the name of that duchy!" I replied. "Would you like him to receive a new duchy, hastily cobbled together from several marquisates?"
"God forbid!" cried d'Artagnan, and we both laughed.
"Well, my dear Aramis, thank you for the treat, I think I must be going ," said my friend. "By the way, could you tell me how to find Porthos?"
"He settled on his estate of du Valon and bought the neighboring estate of de Bracieux," I replied. "So he is now called the Chevalier du Valon de Bracieux."
“Thank you again,” replied d’Artagnan.
We exchanged a few more meaningless phrases and then parted ways.

Chapter 138

I had no doubt that d'Artagnan would be able to persuade Porthos to join him and enter Mazarin's service. And so it happened. D'Artagnan promised Porthos a baronial title.
After this, d'Artagnan went to Athos, met Raoul there, and received a refusal from Athos.
After this, he returned to Paris and, together with Porthos, appeared at a reception at Mazarin’s.
Meanwhile, Athos, Rochefort, and I plotted and executed the Duc de Beaufort's escape, though I personally was less pleased to free Beaufort than to vex Mazarin. Athos was guided by conflicting sentiments, and Rochefort displeased me even more than I had. Athos entrusted Raoul to the care of Marie de Chevreuse, introducing him to her after an intriguing tale of his miraculous birth just nine months after the gallant adventure of a certain Agla; Michon. The Duchess was both embarrassed and delighted to learn that the boy she had borne and abandoned to the village priest she believed to be his father was, as it turned out, fathered by such a distinguished nobleman, who, moreover, had taken him under his wing, raised and educated him, and provided for his future by transferring the Viscountcy of Bragelonne to him. Maria expressed her desire and readiness to intercede for Raoul's future, which she did, having arranged for an officer's position for him.
Grimaud gave free rein to his imagination in his memoirs. He didn't describe why he was accepted as Chavigny's assistant, as he didn't know everything. Grimaud didn't have to demonstrate any particularly remarkable character traits; he was hired anyway, because I obtained a letter of recommendation for him from someone who couldn't possibly be suspected of sympathizing with Beaufort. The Order has truly astonishing opportunities. All of Grimaud's demonstrated character traits wouldn't have helped him without such a recommendation, and with one, they were worthless.
He also indulged in some wild fantasy about a tennis ball, which supposedly carried letters from Rochefort to Beaufort and back. Why go through all the trouble when Grimaud himself could easily deliver such letters? I'll give you one answer. He'd read his share of adventure novels in Athos's library and couldn't resist incorporating such contrivances into his narrative. Of course, in these chapters, he himself was the protagonist, so how could he describe this episode with dull words, recounting even more dull affairs? There are plenty of exaggerations and fabrications in this chapter. How, for example, would Beaufort have managed to mend a torn ball so that it would appear whole? However, the narrative became more entertaining thanks to these absurd inventions of the merry and silent Grimaud, so let's forgive him for that.
The skinny Grimaud was thoughtfully equipped with a fake belly made of cotton wool. We had to fatten him up a bit first, so he'd gain at least some weight in his face, so the fake belly would pass for real. Chavigny was used to seeing Grimaud with a bit of a pot belly, so when we needed to move the ladder, daggers, and gag, we used Grimaud's fake belly as a container for them.
We devised the following plan. Grimaud almost immediately confessed to Beaufort that he was his accomplice and plotting an escape. First, he brought a rope ladder, which Beaufort had hidden in a pillow, the feathers of which Grimaud placed in his empty stomach and carried out. The ladder turned out to be larger than Grimaud's stomach, so we had to cut it in half, and Athos showed Grimaud how to tie the two pieces together to support Beaufort's weight. Carrying the gag was no problem. The daggers proved more difficult, and we considered using a pie for this purpose, but abandoned the idea because the daggers weighed significantly more than the pie, so the guards, who inspect everything passed to the prisoner, would doubt such a transfer and would certainly open the pie. But since all the preparations for the pie had already been made, Beaufort came up with a funny prank on Chavigny, and we supported him in it. Athos, who, as I've already said, was extremely meticulous, was especially pleased with this move. This prank allowed Beaufort to forewarn Chavigny of the impending escape, which lifted a burden from Athos's overly refined soul.
So the pie was brought, but if it had a secret filling, it was a sleeping pill, which was placed in the part of the pie decorated with a trefoil of pastry. The part of the pie intended for the Duke of Beaufort was decorated with a lily, and Athos knew nothing about the filling.
On the day of the escape, indeed, all the guards were sent away except Grimaud and La Rame; the evening was to be devoted to pie and wine.
When the pie was on the table, La Rame, savoring its appetizing aroma, decided to boast to Beaufort.
"Monsignor, do you see how we strive to provide you with the best possible conditions?" he said. "What could one wish for, to be in such comfortable rooms, to have everything one needs, and to be served such delicious pies as this one? Its magical aroma assures me you will have no complaints about its taste!"
“I consider this pie one of the most delicious in France, even without trying it,” answered Beaufort.
"Oh really?" La Ram;e was surprised. "Without even trying? Why is that?"
“Because with the help of this pie I will tell you one of my forty ways to leave this castle and stop abusing your hospitality,” answered Beaufort.
"Is there really a flying carpet from the Arabian Nights hidden in the pie?" La Ram;e asked with a laugh.
“Perhaps so,” Beaufort answered mysteriously.
La Rame became wary.
"Are you planning to escape with the help of a pie?" he asked with a forced laugh, although he felt he was no longer in the mood for jokes.
"I intend to explain to you how a pie could aid in an escape," Beaufort clarified. "Suppose there is something in this pie that will help me leave your hospitable fortress."
"A flying horse?" La Ram;e laughed.
"Why do you need a horse?" Beaufort countered with a smile. "A rope ladder would have sufficed."
"And she's there?" La Ram;e asked with fear.
"I don't know!" Beaufort replied. "What do you think? Maybe we should cut it open and take a look?"
La Ram;e, wary, took possession of the pie, intending to prevent Beaufort from getting hold of the rope ladder, should it happen to be inside. When he cut into the pie, he found it to contain the usual filling.
"Phew, you sure gave me a scare!" he said with relief. "I thought you were really up to something!"
"I was planning to show you a way to escape and enjoy some pie," Beaufort replied. "I hope you won't dispute my right to the piece with the fleur-de-lis on it? It is, after all, the symbol of the Bourbons."
“This piece is rightfully yours, and I will take the piece with the trefoil,” La Rame replied.
"Well then, let's have a drink and taste this pie that doesn't have a rope ladder!" Beaufort proclaimed.
After waiting for La Ramee to finish his piece, which was stuffed with sleeping pills along with the excellent filling, Beaufort decided to continue discussing the topic of escape.
“And admit, my dear La Rame, that the idea that there was a rope ladder hidden in the pie frightened you quite a bit ,” he said.
"I was a little taken aback, I admit, but I have nothing to fear," La Ram;e dismissed. "After all, you would have had to confront me and Grimaud to do so!"
"That wouldn't be easy," Beaufort agreed. "So, you're not worried about me getting a ladder?"
“On second thought, it would be unpleasant, but not fatal; we could cope with such a complication,” La Rame replied.
“Are you saying that even now, at night, there are guards under my window who will grab me if I climb down the rope ladder?”
"Guards?" La Ram;e asked in surprise. "What guards? But excuse me, you don't have a ladder!"
"I inform you that I have it," replied Beaufort. "And I do so solely out of the courtesy of a gentleman who wishes you to be informed of it before I take action and acquaint you with other items necessary for my escape."
La Rame, who was wiping his mouth with a napkin at that moment, almost choked.
“So you have it?” he exclaimed. “But where?”
“Well, at least in this pillow,” answered Beaufort, taking a pillow from his bed, tore open the pillowcase and pulled out a long rope ladder consisting of two securely tied pieces.
"Damn it, Grimaud!" cried La Ramee. "What are you standing there for? Take her away from him!"
Grimaud approached La Rama and put a dagger to his chest, which appeared in his hand out of nowhere.
"Mouth!" he said, taking a pear out of his pocket with his other hand.
"What does he want?" asked the surprised La Ram;e, turning to Beaufort.
"My taciturn friend suggests you open your mouth wide so he can insert this pear into it to stop you from screaming," Beaufort replied. "Don't worry, its shape is so cleverly chosen that it will deprive you of the ability to scream, but will not interfere with your breathing."
"Mouth!" Grimaud repeated more insistently.
Seeing a dagger pressed to his throat, La Ram;e thought it wise to obey. Grimaud stuffed a pear into his mouth, then tied his hands behind his back, tied his feet as well, and tied La Ram;e to Beaufort's bed.
"You won't have to suffer the discomfort of your position for long ," Beaufort said. "You'll fall asleep very soon. The half of the pie you got contained a hefty dose of sleeping pills. This will exonerate you in Chavigny's eyes, since you can easily prove it by having the remains of your pie analyzed."
La Rame, meanwhile, had indeed become quite lethargic and was soon overcome by sleep.
Using the keys from La Ram;e's pocket and a rope ladder, Beaufort and Grimaud easily left the cell, walked out into the fortress courtyard, slung the ladder over the wall, and, after ensuring it was securely fastened on the opposite side, secured it on their side as well. This allowed them to climb the wall and descend on the other side.
Athos, Rochefort, and I were already waiting for them downstairs, along with a guard in case of pursuit and two extra horses—one for Beaufort and one for Grimaud. The fugitives didn't bother putting on spurs; it was a waste of time, as they needed to leave the castle as quickly as possible. Knowing this, Athos ordered the use of special stirrups, which had extensions that acted as spurs. The horses were already warmed up, so we immediately broke into a gallop.

Chapter 139

As I learned later, d'Artagnan and Porthos arrived at Mazarin's at that very moment. The Cardinal had already met Porthos and admired his demeanor, after which he merely exchanged a few words with them, from which he learned that d'Artagnan desired to become a captain and Porthos a baron. The Cardinal intended to entrust them with the protection of the Duke de Beaufort, but the conversation was still in progress when a messenger arrived with the news that Beaufort had escaped.
Mazarin, upon receiving the message, was terribly confused. He stood silently for a minute and reread the message three times.
"Has Monseigneur received bad news?" d'Artagnan inquired, somehow reminding everyone of his presence.
"Terrible," replied Mazarin. "Beaufort has fled. The state is in danger. Everything is very bad."
"Will Monseigneur give orders to pursue and re-arrest the fugitive?" d'Artagnan asked, as if the question was whether the cardinal would like a glass of water.
"Do you think this is possible?" Mazarin asked with surprise and timid hope.
“Every minute of delay reduces the chances of success, and every extra word as well,” d’Artagnan answered laconically.
"Then go ahead!" Mazarin exclaimed. "Your wishes will be fulfilled if you arrest him."
D'Artagnan bowed quickly, grabbed Porthos by the hand and pulled him along with him.

We expected pursuit, but we didn't imagine it would begin to overtake us so quickly, and, most importantly, we didn't expect it to be so invincible. In our eagerness to get the Duke as far away from danger as possible, we hadn't expected to engage in combat with the men pursuing us, but were counting on the speed of our horses and the traps we'd prepared in advance to allow us to quickly change horses and maintain our speed. However, the pursuers arrived too quickly, and before we could react, two of our rearguard were knocked from their horses by two well-aimed shots from the pursuing Mazarins. There was no way to inquire about their fate; perhaps they were killed, perhaps only wounded, or perhaps only their horses were wounded or killed.
However, our pursuers' horses were extremely tired, while we were already riding fresh horses, which we had managed to change twice. So we easily lost them.
Without slowing our pace, we reached the next outpost. Since there were initially twelve of us, including the Duke, on horseback, a dozen saddled horses had been prepared for us. Two horses turned out to be extra.
"Shouldn't we shoot the two extra horses, Athos?" I asked. "We shouldn't give our pursuers a chance to change horses!"
"Do you wish to take the lives of such good horses who are innocent?" asked Athos. "Are you afraid that the two riders who are lucky enough to catch up with us might be a problem for us, who are ten in number?"
“Let me at least cut their girth ,” I said.
"Don't waste any time, Aramis, everyone's already in the saddle, let's get going!" cried Athos, spurring his steed, after which everyone else, including myself, were forced to follow him immediately.
But an hour later, Athos was forced to repent of his mercy toward the horses. Our pursuers, who were galloping in our wake, naturally found these two fresh horses and made use of them. Even though the horses had been entrusted to men loyal to us, d'Artagnan found arguments that persuaded the grooms to yield to his demand that they be given to him.
"There are only two horsemen chasing us!" cried Athos. "Shouldn't we engage them?"
"If we do that, then do it immediately!" I replied. "If we approach the city, these horsemen will be able to find fresh horses again, and even strengthen themselves with additional soldiers, if they have Mazarin's orders!"
“You’re right, Aramis,” Athos replied. “Shall we go back?”
"Count, I beg you and your friend not to abandon me!" Beaufort exclaimed. "We have enough other fighters with us."
And he signaled to the horsemen riding in the rearguard to return and stop the Mazarinists pursuing us. Dusk had fallen, and we could only make out the horsemen's silhouettes, and even then not always, so that sometimes only the clatter of hooves informed us of pursuit. We had no doubt that our friends would stop the two horsemen who were pursuing us, ten of them, with no idea what they were hoping for.
We had almost calmed down and even slowed down a little to give our friends a chance to catch up with us, but when we thought we should have seen these friends, we recognized them as those two stubborn Mazarinists who were chasing us with inhuman persistence.
We had to repeat this maneuver, but Athos suggested sending three of our comrades to meet the pursuit, not just two. Only five of us continued running.
And yet, half an hour later we again saw horsemen catching up with us.
"Aramis, there's nothing we can do!" Athos exclaimed. "We'll have to stop these persistent pursuers. Monseigneur, continue on with Rochefort and Grimaud; you're already close to the border. Don't worry about Aramis and me. We'll stop them."
After this we turned our horses and rode towards the two mysterious horsemen.
As soon as we saw the silhouettes of the two pursuers, we shot at them, but they, as it turned out, shot at us almost at the same moment.
Noticing the musket barrels glint in the dim moonlight, Athos and I instinctively reared our horses, the mighty beasts shielding us from bullets with their chests. Surprisingly, our pursuers did the same, so in the twilight we were forced to quickly free our feet from our stirrups and engage in combat. Sword blades flashed.
"Damn it, what a hand!" exclaimed Athos's opponent, and I recognized d'Artagnan's voice.
"D'Artagnan, is that you?" Athos shouted loudly.
"Athos! It can't be!" cried both Athos's adversary and mine, in whom I recognized Porthos's bass voice.
"Porthos!" I exclaimed.
"Sheath your swords, friends, sheath your swords!" shouted Athos, and we all obeyed this imperative command.
"The devil take my fate!" cried d'Artagnan. "In all of France, there are only two men who could stop Porthos and me, and they are the ones who stand in our way!"
"It seems, d'Artagnan, that you regret not killing me?" Athos asked in his characteristic paternal tone. "If you insist, it is not too late."
"How could you think I was capable of such a thing?" d'Artagnan asked calmly.
"It seems my barony has slipped away forever?" Porthos inquired. "Well, to hell with it! I only needed it so I could interact on equal terms with my neighbors, whom I couldn't care less about. Meeting with old, good friends is much more pleasant for me."
"This meeting will not be long, Porthos," d'Artagnan replied. "Our pursuit is over, and with it our meeting. We only have to return and report our failure, and Athos and Aramis, I believe, will wish to continue accompanying their Duke."
"I sense that bitter disappointment and resentment towards us remain in your heart ," Athos said. "We will discuss nothing now and resolve nothing. I propose that we meet a little later in Paris and discuss matters so that no misunderstandings remain between us."
"Yes, such a meeting is necessary!" d'Artagnan confirmed, and it seemed to me that I heard annoyance, resentment, and irritation in his voice.
“We should have shot the two extra horses,” I whispered to Athos.
Athos patted my hand, from which I did not understand whether he agreed with me, or wanted to make it clear that there was no point in resisting fate in such a situation, and our clash was inevitable.
"Is the Place Royale suitable for you?" asked d'Artagnan.
“So be it,” Athos answered for both of us.
“When?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Tomorrow evening, at ten,” answered Athos.
"Accepted," d'Artagnan agreed. "Let's go, Porthos."
He didn't say, "See you later, friends," and Athos and I didn't say anything like that either.
Grimaud, describing these events, added that Athos presented his friends with two magnificent horses. Nonsense; Athos had nowhere to get them. He also added that Rochefort suddenly appeared out of nowhere, asking him to tell Mazarin that he was not yet old. Also nonsense. Rochefort was with the Duke at the time, but even if he had returned, this additional insult would not have occurred to him, just as the idea that d'Artagnan, preoccupied with how to justify his failure to Mazarin, would convey mocking messages to Mazarin from his enemies would not have occurred to him.
Our dear Grimaud! You'd be better off sticking to the truth and reading fewer adventure novels! As for the charming encounter between Grimaud and Mousqueton, that's also a fiction. The heavy Mousqueton had fallen far behind d'Artagnan and Porthos long ago and couldn't possibly have caught up with them by the time we met. At least, I didn't see him.
I don’t know how d’Artagnan and Porthos justified themselves to Mazarin, but we decided not to try to catch up with Beaufort, since he no longer needed our services.
To my proposal to try to join him, Athos responded simply and convincingly.
"As long as the Duke needed us, our presence with him was appropriate, even necessary ," he said. "The Duke is safe; he is tired; he needs rest and time to gather his men and plan his next move. We have demonstrated to him in action that we are ready to stand by his side. Trying to catch his eye now would mean we expect a reward for our actions. But we do not need a reward, for if we acted not from conviction but for a reward, we would be little different from merchants, or, at best, from mercenary Swiss, willing to fight against their own homeland for a handful of coins."
I didn't entirely share Athos's opinion, believing that we could form the Duke's military council, and that serving without pay wasn't at all necessary, since Beaufort wasn't poor. But remembering that in just twenty-four hours we were due in Paris to meet friends whom I was almost ready to consider merely former friends, and also realizing that by the time we had to set out, the Duke would hardly be awake, and that we also needed rest, I realized that by setting the date for this meeting, Athos had deprived us of the opportunity to see the Duke, and had done so deliberately.
We should have set out for Paris almost immediately. It was a great pity we didn't go together, all four of us, but that was impossible in the mood we were each in, each in his own way and each for his own reasons. Besides, if d'Artagnan and Porthos had returned to Paris in our company, the question would legitimately have arisen as to why they hadn't arrested us. Besides, I wouldn't have dared undertake such a journey, assuming they might have attempted it. I admit, I was wrong. Our friendship wasn't over; it had merely reached its greatest test. I should have believed in the strength of our friends' friendship and in my own affection for them, but I believed neither.
Well, I entrust my repentance to these sheets.

Chapter 140

In pursuit of Beaufort, d'Artagnan apparently struck Councillor Brussel. More accurately, he merely startled him, rushing past like lightning, while the councillor stumbled and fell to the pavement. This bookworm, who had grown old among papers in the dust of the Grand Chamber, and who, as I have already said, believed that disobedience to the sovereign could in some cases be considered the best way to serve the state, had invented, or, more likely, read somewhere, this thesis, this paradox, and was simply looking for an opportunity to put it into practice.
He considered this incident a confirmation of his own expectation that the machinery of state repression would descend with all its might upon this noble old man, who was doing everything in his power to complicate the work of any government body. To his credit, he was quite successful in his sabotage, since it helped him gain the support of the most embittered segment of the population, which led to his elected position as a councilor in the Grand Chamber. Living under a monarchy, he tried his best to be a republican, and he thought he was succeeding, if only in words. Being a republican under a monarchy is no smarter than pretending to be a cavalryman at sea, or a sailor in the cavalry. So Councilor Brussel was no more useful to the Grand Chamber than a fifth wheel on a cart, which, to top it all off, was jammed and out of alignment.
His undoubted virtue was his selflessness, so much so that he spent his entire salary primarily on handouts, making it impossible to bribe him, even in theory. A selfless advisor to a collegial body in a monarchy is as strange as a vegetarian wolf in a pack, and just as rare. Perhaps he was merely restraining his mercantile nature until he could assume a more important position to secure the ultimate and even greater prize.
Mazarin remembered all of Richelieu's aphorisms, including this one: "Buying loyalty by handing out positions and money left and right is a good way to ensure one's peace of mind." Although I would clarify that purchased loyalty cannot be purchased once; it must be paid for regularly, like a leased asset. And in Brussels' case, bribery was impossible, which further pitted the prime minister against his adviser, and the adviser against the prime minister. Brussels opposed any tax proposed by the cardinal, and soon became accustomed to protesting principledly against any proposal by Mazarin. Not so much because of his eloquence, but because of Brussels's decades-old authority, as unshakable as it was unfounded, each of his objections was a major problem for Mazarin.
A reputation for incorruptibility was mistakenly equated with a reputation for wisdom; the city's respect for him reached the level of worship. Yet Brussels avoided meetings with the Queen and the Cardinal, precluding any compromises or, at worst, discussions involving the exchange of arguments, where it was more important to listen to the opponent's opinion than to express one's own. It must be said that the Queen herself had no intention of engaging in such discussions, so the confrontation between the monarchy and parliament escalated from hostility to enmity, from enmity to secret war, and from secret warfare threatened to escalate into open and overt warfare, as had happened in England.
With the situation on the battlefronts worsening, the confrontation in Paris began to escalate, as both sides began to blame the other for these troubles, directly or indirectly.
Spain, meanwhile, realized that influencing a Queen descended from a Spanish dynasty was futile . Her brother, the King of Spain, was forced to accept the fact that no Queen of France had ever been as truly French as Anne of Austria. Realizing this, he began sending agents to France to undermine his own sister, Queen Anne. These agents distributed pamphlets and proclamations ridiculing Mazarin and, by extension, the Queen. The pamphlets, in verse and prose, attributed to the Queen and the First Minister of Communications, went far beyond the political alliance and cast them in an extremely unflattering light, using not any facts but, most likely, the satires and pamphlets of Pietro Aretino, an Italian satirist from the last century who caricatured all human vices and attributed them to the papal court. A whole genre of songs arose, known as "mazarinades." I have probably compiled a complete collection of these mazarinades, but I will not quote a single one in these memoirs, as they are all false, or, in any case, predate by ten years the closeness between the Queen and Mazarin, which not only did not exist at the time, but could not have been even hinted at, so preoccupied were both these politicians with political affairs. I cannot vouch that the Cardinal never had the wild idea of becoming closer to the Queen, but if anything like that ever happened, it was only in his wildest dreams. The Queen behaved exactly as a Dowager Queen Mother should, devoting herself entirely to governing the state and caring for her children—the King and Little Monsieur, as the King's brother was then called to distinguish him from his uncle, Gaston d'Orl;ans, whose title was Monsieur, meaning "King's Brother." The first pamphlet, "Mazarinade," was written by Paul Scarron in 1649. It became the name for the entire stream of satirical works against Mazarin. I slightly edited some of the Mazarinade pamphlets to give them a more refined form and rhythm, and to add some spice. Some of the Mazarinade pamphlets were actually written by me. To be perfectly honest, a significant portion of them were my own. For example, this one... But no, in my current position, it would not be fitting for me to recall and include such things in my memoirs... Ah, the wild youth! In those years, I found it gratifying to hear the stupid crowd screaming their lungs out singing the vulgar verses I'd written. They weren't written, of course, by the Abb; d' Herblay, but by the musketeer Aramis! I must say, if all my poems had been published under my own name, I would have achieved no less fame than Honorat de Bueil, Marquis de Rakan, once achieved. My poems are simply better. Rakan was awarded the title of Field Marshal and Knight of the Order of the Holy Spirit for his pastorals. And who needs these dreary pastorals? Epigrams, satirical couplets, parodies, fables, inscripts, and future epitaphs for scoundrels who are still alive and active are a different matter! These genres are read by everyone, especially by those who criticize them the loudest.
I've already written about how, after the four upper chambers decided to establish a fifth body without the Queen's permission, this deeply outraged her. She viewed this act as an attempt to create a republic within the monarchy. Four councilors were arrested on the Regent's orders, including Brussel.
When news of Beaufort's escape reached Paris, coupled with the arrest of the councilors, the news stirred the city to extraordinary heights. The Coadjutor of Paris, Paul de Gondi, as far as I know, added fuel to the fire, even incurring considerable expenses, distributing a considerable sum of his own money to support the rebels.
It should be noted that Paris did not rebel against the King; it was indignant only against Mazarin, but the Queen, of course, took this resentment personally as well. She wasn't entirely wrong; the Mazarinades sung about her also contained much that was offensive, but Parliament continued to maintain a reserved respect for the Regent, and the entire city still felt the King to be its sovereign, whose legitimacy was beyond the slightest doubt. The uprising wasn't aimed at overthrowing the King, nor was it aimed at overthrowing the Queen, but the mob, incited by the rebellious dukes and princes, demanded the abolition of arrests, changes to certain tax laws, and dreamed of Mazarin's resignation. I successfully fueled these sentiments with my writing, which immediately reached the people. Mark my words: if the French monarchy ever collapses, it will be due to satirical poems circulated among the people and a conspiracy by members of the State Council, perhaps even close relatives of the King who have no chance of inheriting the crown of France.
On Mazarin's advice, the Queen reluctantly agreed to some concessions, but she refused to release Brussels's adviser and three others. These concessions only temporarily calmed the people, as Spanish agents and the princes' servants convinced the pliant Parisians that these concessions merely proved the rebels' rightness and demonstrated their strength. The new movement became known as the Fronde, symbolizing the slingshot—the weapon of the poorest citizens. One wag remarked that he wished he could make a slingshot so large, with such a powerful and long bowstring, that he could insert Mazarin into it, so that he would fly out of Paris like a cork from a bottle of overheated sparkling wine.
The name stuck. The gendarmerie's actions were incredibly foolish. Fearing the movement of large crowds, or perhaps cavalry or carts laden with weapons, the chief of police ordered the main streets to be cordoned off with chains. This measure had the opposite effect from what was intended. These chains primarily prevented carriages from passing, including those of the military and courtiers, and also hindered the march of troops through the streets. Of course, the Queen wouldn't have fired on her own citizens, but a few cannons loaded with grapeshot and rolling through the main streets of Paris would have silenced the public unrest for a long time without firing a single shot, but the chains made this impossible.
The people quickly figured out what was going on. I attribute this to the fact that there were leaders among the people who had themselves served in the army, or at least had served as orderlies to officers, like Planche, for example.
Our good Planchet quickly achieved the illegal rank of lieutenant in the people's militia. Illegal, but well-deserved. Whereas legal ranks, handed out by monarchs for money and pedigree, are often entirely undeserved. These popular commanders, like Planchet, ordered that the police not be hindered in hanging these chains, but rather, supported. The people tore up cobblestones from the pavement and erected barricades. They used whatever they could find, but these weren't simple, haphazard blockades; if such existed, it was only at first. Under the leadership of seasoned soldiers, the townspeople erected barricades like impenetrable fortress walls: earth in the center, stone-lined edges, and embracing loopholes. It was impossible to bypass such a barricade, as it stretched from one house on the left to another on the right.
I've been informed that Coadjutor Paul de Gondi was the instigator of this Parisian revolt. I'm familiar with this theory. Rumors to this effect were spread by Paul de Gondi himself. But in fact, the revolt occurred spontaneously, although, frankly speaking, the Coadjutor attempted to lead it and, in any case, facilitated its initial steps with all his might. That's precisely why he spread the rumor that he held all the reins of the Fronde in his hands.
If it comes to that, the instigators of the Fronde were we: I, Athos and Rochefort, who pulled Beaufort out of the Ch;teau de Vincennes, and unwittingly d'Artagnan, who frightened Brussels so much that it so greatly intensified its forces against the Prime Minister and the Queen that it aroused their discontent, which was followed by his arrest.
So, I do not recognize the coadjutor as the main creator of the Fronde.
Knowing about the Order's commission, I believe it was the Jesuit Order that gave corresponding commissions not only to me but also to other members, and I can only guess what those commissions were. I didn't know all the members of the Order at the time, but Paul de Gondi was a member, so his actions were undoubtedly dictated by the Order and likely coincided with his personal plans for achieving the cardinal's hat, which many in his family held. For this reason, the Coadjutor of Paris—that is, the bishop-assistant of the Archbishop of Paris and his possible successor—considered himself eminently worthy of this honor. Just as Porthos sought a baronial title and d'Artagnan the position of captain of the king's musketeers, Gondi sought the rank of cardinal, a position in which only the Queen could assist him in France. It is therefore not surprising that Gondi sought leverage over Queen Anne , and having found it, did not fail to use it.

Chapter 141

We had barely reached Paris and had only managed to rest a little when it was time to get ready to meet d'Artagnan and Porthos.
I asked Bazin to temporarily resume his duties as my servant-squire. Since Grimaud was supposed to accompany Raoul immediately after the Duc de Beaufort's escape, and Bazin remained in Paris, he was the only squire for Athos and me.
“Let’s leave our swords and pistols at this inn and go to the meeting ,” said Athos.
"Allow me, my dear friend, to suggest that we not disarm," I objected. "To begin with, we are rebels, and anyone we meet could turn out to be an enemy, especially a soldier or an officer."
"I hope you don't extend this statement to our friends?" asked Athos.
"Why, exactly?" I objected. "They are in Mazarin's service, we are Mazarin's enemies, they could very well receive orders to arrest us."
“Then I pity them ,” said Athos. “I wouldn’t want to be in their place.”
“Is that the only thing that upsets you?” I asked.
"Of course!" replied Athos. "After all, they will be forced to disobey their master! I wouldn't want to be in their place!"
"But they can choose to obey, can't they?" I asked.
“In that case, I feel even more sorry for them ,” said Athos in an even sadder tone.
“But, you must admit, in this case, weapons will be quite useful to us ,” I said.
"For what, Aramis?" Athos asked, surprised. "If I was unwilling to raise my sword against my friends to defend the Duc de Beaufort, do you really think I would raise it to defend my own life? Life is nothing compared to honor; is it worth betraying friendship for such a trifle?"
"If duty is more valuable to you than life, then I must remind you that we promised Beaufort and a few others to participate in a mission in which we are all bound, if not by an oath, then by shared convictions and a common understanding of the plan of action!" I exclaimed. "Our comrades are counting on us, and we cannot afford to simply walk away from this mission. Even death is not a sufficient reason if we deliberately refused to defend our lives. After all, that would be tantamount to flight, and flight is tantamount to cowardice."
"Your logic is so devious that I wondered if you had learned it from the Jesuits?" Athos said with a smile. "Do not be offended, my friend! If you believe that our lives do not belong to us, and that for this reason we are obliged to bear arms, I am ready to submit to your arguments, but I warn you that I do so under duress, and my heart breaks at the thought that these arms might be interpreted by our friends as a means of defense against them. I hope they will not think that we are capable of turning them against our friends?"
“I hope they won’t force us to do this, but I can’t be completely sure of that,” I replied.
“If that happens, I would rather die from a sword thrust than even wound any of them ,” said Athos.
“At least the sword can be used to parry blows without delivering any of your own ,” I said.
"Okay, I agreed," Athos replied. "But you can't make me take the pistols. We leave in an hour."
Then he left the room and, as far as I could see, found Bazin, after which he gave him some kind of assignment.
I reluctantly accepted Athos's terms, but I stocked myself with pistols. I didn't take them to defend myself against d'Artagnan and Porthos, but in case they brought additional guards to arrest us. I didn't dare voice this suspicion to Athos, and I was right to do so. Today, I'm ashamed that I could have thought such things about our friends.
However, a minute before leaving, I felt ashamed and handed the pistols to Bazin, telling him to give them to us only if other people besides d'Artagnan, Porthos, and Mousqueton showed up for the meeting. Bazin took this instruction calmly, without unnecessary emotion or questions.
Before leaving, Athos looked in on Bazin again.
“Go ahead, Aramis, I’ll catch up with you ,” he said.
I waited for him for no more than a minute, after which Athos came out of the hotel, and, as it seemed to me, his face was shining with joy.
At the Place Royale, we saw our friends on horseback. D'Artagnan and Porthos had swords sticking out from under their cloaks, and Mousqueton, like Bazin, had two pistols tucked into his belt.
It was inconvenient to talk in the square, and I suggested going into the summer garden at the Rohan mansion, where I was known because I was a friend of the Duchess de Chevreuse, n;e de Rohan.
The guard, Leon, knew me well, so there was no need to contact the owners of the mansion, who, besides, were absent. Leon demanded that I promise that we weren't meeting for a duel. I gave him this promise, though I wasn't sure the meeting wouldn't turn violent, and besides, I'd given Leon a pistol. I saw doubt in his eyes, but he didn't dare admit he didn't believe me.
When the four of us entered the garden, I locked the gate, leaving Bazin and Mousqueton with their pistols behind. As I walked away from the gate, I noticed that Bazin and Mousqueton were keeping a cautious distance from each other. But, hidden behind a bush, I peeked through the foliage and saw them calmly approach each other, shake hands, and begin a leisurely conversation.
"Our servants trust each other more than we do," I thought. "That's because they have nothing to share. So shouldn't we follow their example?"
Sighing, I slowly walked to the place where Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were already waiting for me.
We sat down on benches opposite each other.
"Gentlemen," Athos began, "we have met to clarify any misunderstandings that might hinder our friendship, so as not to allow them to ruin it. If anyone wishes to speak, now is the time. I am glad that neither of us has avoided the meeting, which proves that our friendship is still alive."
"Do you want an honest and frank conversation, Count?" d'Artagnan replied, "Or do you expect us to return the compliments in the same spirit?"
"I desire nothing more than an honest and frank conversation," replied Athos. "I see that you wish to reproach us, Aramis and me, for something. What have we done wrong, d'Artagnan?"
"First, I would like an answer from you, Count ," said d'Artagnan. "I came to you at your castle of Bragelonne and made you a very specific and clear proposal. Instead of telling me as a friend that you had already committed yourself to other obligations that were incompatible with my proposal, and even completely opposed to them, you told me a whole bunch of other reasons for refraining from my offer. I left you confident of your neutrality, and now I greet you as an enemy! If you had informed me of your commitments, perhaps this would not have happened!"
"D'Artagnan," Athos said thoughtfully. "During our meeting, I could not have imagined that my frankness, or lack thereof, could have such a significant impact on our destinies. You present it in a completely new light. I am willing to admit that from this standpoint, my behavior is not entirely blameless from the standpoint of friendship. But you must nevertheless agree that if I have already made commitments to the other party, then among those commitments is the obligation to secrecy regarding the plans of my comrades."
"That's all true," replied d'Artagnan. "Such arguments are quite in keeping with Aramis, but I expected nothing of the sort from you, Comte de la F;re. You, who even try to inform your enemy of the blows you intend to inflict upon him, have treated me as someone who doesn't deserve a shred of your trust."
“I must regretfully admit that you are at least partially right,” Athos agreed.
His soft tone left d'Artagnan at a loss, and his ardor instantly cooled by at least half.
"Forgive me too, Athos," d'Artagnan replied, somewhat flustered, and this "Athos" sounded much more cordial than his previous "Comte de la F;re." "But you yourself asked me to express my grievances with the utmost frankness. I promise to listen to your frank grievances and answer them as calmly as you do."
"I suppose your complaints against me are roughly the same?" I asked. "In that case, my answer will be exactly the same."
"Oh, what can I say!" d'Artagnan waved it off. "Frankly speaking, I expected nothing less from you, Aramis, and I confess you weren't exactly successful in deceiving me."
"Well, I'm glad you seem to have forgiven me ," I said. "But I don't feel any guilt, and therefore I don't need your forgiveness. You offered me service under Mazarin, and I replied that I would never serve him, but was quite prepared to join those who oppose him. We even had a good laugh at the prospect of Mazarin ordering you to arrest me. You had your secret, and we had ours. We didn't share them, which only proves that we know how to keep secrets."
“I do not reproach you for anything ,” said d’Artagnan, “since your actions are quite worthy of a pupil of the Jesuits.”
And though d'Artagnan was quite right, the tone in which he said it provoked both him and me. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, perhaps merely mechanically. But it didn't escape my notice; I repeated the gesture as slowly as possible, but with determination. I think I even raised my left eyebrow slightly. A moment later, we both jumped to our feet. A second later, Porthos did too.
Athos, cool as a rock, continued to sit.
"It seems you're all about to leave, each to his own business?" he said, deliberately slowly and almost leisurely. "But we haven't finished our conversation. Please sit down, gentlemen."
"I will not sit down until I receive an answer that satisfies me!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
"Did you ask a question?" Athos asked in an even softer, calmer voice.
D'Artagnan wanted to answer something harsh, but gradually calmed down.
"My friends, we all came here still fresh from yesterday's adventure ," he said. "You and I, d'Artagnan, have already offered each other mutual apologies, and if they haven't reassured you, then you consider my words insincere. In that case, I apologize again, and I make no excuses for myself."
"I think, Count, that when I had the chance to prove myself in a worthy cause, I first remembered that I had three friends who might also find this matter interesting," replied d'Artagnan. "And so the first thing I did was seek out each of them and make each an unambiguous offer, which any one of you could accept or refuse. And I never expected that two of you had already thought of engaging in a similar undertaking on the opposite side, and that neither of you had considered the possibility of us fighting together on the side you had chosen before me. I would not have done such a thing to you, that's all."
“We knew that you were in Mazarin’s service, and we could not hope that you would join us ,” I said.
"You knew, Monsieur l'Abb;, that I was in the King's service," d'Artagnan replied sharply. "And you knew perfectly well that the King and the Cardinal are far from the same thing! In any case, twenty years ago, when we were accomplishing great deeds, we all saw this matter the same way!"
“You probably didn’t quite understand me,” I objected with embarrassment, realizing that he was right.
"It's hard to understand a man who hasn't yet decided whether he's an abbot or a musketeer!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "And I certainly can't understand musketeers pretending to be abbots, or abbots pretending to be musketeers. Here," he added, pointing to Porthos, "is a man who shares my opinion."
Porthos apparently didn't know what to say to that, so he simply adjusted his hat and stood up straight.
"Oh, really?" I exclaimed.
This phrase offended me greatly, since d'Artagnan had struck me where it hurt most. It was precisely for this ambivalence that I despised the Parisian coadjutor, Paul de Gondi, sometimes forgetting that I myself was not far behind him.
Without realizing it, I drew my sword three inches from its sheath. D'Artagnan jumped back and gripped the sword tightly in his hand, but didn't draw it even an inch.
Then Athos said calmly:
"Aramis, do you intend to draw your sword from its scabbard, only to break it, of course?" he asked.
I froze and looked at him in bewilderment.
"It is not proper for a nobleman to sheathe a sword that has been drawn even an inch without using it," Athos said calmly. "You did not intend to turn it on any of your friends, I hope, and I see no one here except the three of us. Therefore, you have decided to break it in desperation. I share your impulse. Break your sword."
I hesitated, not wanting to submit to this absurd proposal, but also not wanting to turn it against d'Artagnan or Porthos.
"Well, your idea is to my liking, my dear Aramis," Athos continued in the same even and calm voice. "Perhaps I too will break my sword."
After these words, he broke his sword over his knee without removing it from its sheath, after which he contemptuously threw the fragments aside.
"It's much easier to talk to friends without this burden ," he said. "Thank you for the idea, Aramis. Well, break your sword, too."
Seeing that I was still standing there hesitating, he said firmly: “It must be so, I want it so. Break your sword, my friend.”
I obeyed, then crossed my arms over my chest and raised my head proudly.
D'Artagnan adopted exactly the same pose, without touching his sword. Looking at him, Porthos did the same.
"Never," said Athos solemnly, "I swear before God, never will I cross swords with any of you. What does Mazarin mean to us, to us who refused to submit even to a man like Richelieu! Do you wish to serve him? That's your business! We will not aid you, but we will not become your enemies, my friends! D'Artagnan, Porthos, forgive our paths crossing, but rest assured that our swords will not cross.
He looked at me so eloquently that I repeated his words almost verbatim.
"Then I will speak too!" cried d'Artagnan. "Athos, you have said exactly what I was about to say, and I do not understand why I did not begin our meeting with similar words. I too wish to swear an oath. I swear that I will give the last drop of my blood, the last living shred of my flesh, to preserve the respect of a man like you, Athos, and the friendship of a man like you, Aramis, and like you, Porthos."
"And I ," said Porthos, "I swear nothing, but I have never loved anyone as I love you, you devil, the devil take me! If I had to fight against one of you, I would rather let myself be pierced through, because I cannot imagine life without you!"
Moved to tears, all four of us hugged.
“By the way, you and Aramis didn’t take anything away from Porthos and me,” d’Artagnan said cheerfully after some reflection.
"How so?" I asked, surprised. "But we didn't allow you to carry out Mazarin's order! Therefore, we deprived you of the opportunity to receive the reward you sought."
"But that very opportunity arose only through your actions," d'Artagnan replied. "So you've only robbed us of the opportunity you created. We're even, after all."
After these words we all burst into laughter, and this laughter after the pathos put everything in its place; we were once again our old friends, Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan, the very same ones who defended the Queen's honor and plotted against Cardinal Richelieu.
"D'Artagnan, did Porthos really break and throw away his family sword?" Porthos whispered in the Gascon's ear, but his whisper was so loud that Athos and I could hear it too.
“It was just one of her copies for everyday use,” Athos answered with a smile.
"Athos using counterfeits?" d'Artagnan was surprised. "I don't believe it! Athos, admit it! You knew you wouldn't draw a sword against us, and that's why you brought a training rapier to this meeting! Am I right?"
Athos smiled softly, and Porthos laughed heartily.
"So that's why he sent Bazin somewhere!" I belatedly realized. "He sent him for a practice rapier! Athos never even considered the prospect of a battle with Porthos and d'Artagnan!"
After this, d'Artagnan took his sword out of its sheath and showed that instead of a whole sword, he had in the sheath a blunt fragment, no longer than a third of an ordinary sword.
“Porthos, show him ,” said d’Artagnan.
Porthos showed his sword, which turned out to be a training rapier, half the length of his usual sword, and heavily blunted at the end.
"You conspired?" I exclaimed. "If it had come down to swords, would it have turned into a joke?"
“Better a joke than a deadly duel with a friend,” Porthos grumbled cheerfully.
"You didn't trust us, Aramis," d'Artagnan replied. "And I didn't trust myself any more than I did you or Athos. You know the Gascon ardor. And Porthos acted exactly as he did on his own initiative, and I only learned of it by chance."
I was annoyed that of the four, one of them didn't trust his friends and ended up losing a magnificent blade. Well, that was my own fault, since I alone feared for my life, while my friends were afraid to turn their weapons on one another. So it served me right. However, I kept the guard and scabbard, and soon ordered a new, even better blade.

Chapter 142

So, we were together again. Could we part as if nothing had happened? Of course not. We agreed to meet for dinner the next day, and at that meeting there was no longer a shadow of suspicion; we were once again the same inseparable friends we had been twenty years ago.
With d'Artagnan's permission, I even allowed myself to tell a couple of anecdotes about Mazarin, but the Gascon didn't remain in debt, telling equally amusing stories about the Duke de Beaufort. The last anecdote seemed to be about the Duke's love affairs.
"Speaking of love affairs, the funniest joke I've heard in the last ten years was just recently!" d'Artagnan said, but suddenly, looking at me, he stopped short.
"Why are you silent?" asked Porthos, who was already preparing to hear something particularly cheerful.
“I suddenly realized that I had forgotten the last couple of words of this joke, and that was where all the fun was ,” said d’Artagnan.
“How unfortunate,” Porthos grumbled.
"If you've forgotten those few words, don't try to remember them," Athos replied softly. "Your memory will prompt you to remember if it's important to you, and if something's forgotten, then so be it."
From d'Artagnan's confused look, I realized the anecdote he was about to tell concerned the Duchess de Longueville, and I even guessed which one, since the last two words left no doubt on the subject. I appreciated my friend's tact and was glad he had caught himself in time. It seemed Athos, too, understood the reason for d'Artagnan's "weak memory," and only Porthos accepted it at face value. After that, the conversation turned to more serious matters, as Athos himself decided to defuse some of the tension caused by d'Artagnan's hesitation.
"There are some topics that are best left untouched, but I think it would be a good idea to recall one of them, even though it's quite unpleasant for me ," he said. "I've been thinking about it a lot since we took on the mission of providence without permission."
“You speak of Milady ,” I said, and it was not a question.
“Luckily, she’s in Hell, and she won’t return from there ,” Porthos said with a grin and drained another glass of wine in one gulp.
"Sometimes it seems to me that people return from there too ," Athos said seriously. "If not she herself, then her spirit. I am overcome by strange dreams, a heavy premonition of disaster."
“If it depends on Satan that she remains in Hell forever,” Porthos continued, “then I am ready to supply him with a couple of cases of Burgundy so that she will remain there until the Last Judgment.”
I involuntarily crossed myself.
"Don't joke, Porthos," Athos replied. "There are things that are dangerous to joke with."
"Athos, have you become superstitious?" d'Artagnan asked in surprise. "I never would have thought you were capable of such a thing!"
"I didn't expect anything like this from myself," Athos replied. "Perhaps some kind of guilt is eating away at my soul."
"There's no reason to remember Milady!" cried d'Artagnan. "If we don't remember her ourselves, nothing will remind us of that fiend of Hell, rest assured!"
At that moment, Bazin entered the tavern.
“You have a letter, Your Holiness ,” he said, and respectfully placed the sealed letter on the table next to me.
"Your Holiness?" d'Artagnan asked.
"Don't pay any attention," I replied. "Bazin has no understanding of the regalia and is constantly exaggerating."
“With such connections in heaven, we have no fear of any descendants of Hell,” exclaimed d’Artagnan and burst out laughing, but Athos’s stern gaze cut short his mirth.
“This, I believe, is from one of my parishioners ,” I said, covering the letter with a handkerchief. “I’ll read it later.”
“The parishioners, male or female, will wait, of course,” d’Artagnan agreed and winked at me.
I took the letter along with the handkerchief and put it in my breast pocket.
At that moment, the inn doors swung open and Grimaud entered, covered in dust and sweat, indicating he'd been riding recklessly. I was surprised, knowing he was supposed to catch up with Raoul and see him off. Athos's face seemed calm, but it was only apparent, as we both knew Grimaud's presence could mean something had befallen Raoul.
“Gentlemen, he has come, and he is hunting you ,” said Grimaud.
“Who?” Athos asked, and I noticed how pale his face had become.
"My Lady's son," Grimaud replied. "Disguised as an Augustinian monk. Killed the executioner of Lille. With a dagger to the heart."
Grimaud was extremely verbose compared to his usual manner of expression, instilled in him by Athos. This indicated the seriousness of the situation.
All four of us jumped up as if on command.
"Raoul?" asked Athos.
“I saw him, but none of them knows the other,” Grimaud replied.
We sat down at the table again, but none of us wanted to eat or drink anymore.
"Gentlemen, we're paying too much attention to some boy ," I said. "Stop thinking about it! Would you like me to read you what a parishioner writes to me?"
"Well, perhaps it is interesting," replied d'Artagnan. "But first read it yourself. If it contains any secret, such as the secret of confession, do not read this letter aloud to us."
"I have no secrets from my friends, but you are right, d'Artagnan, the secrecy of confession must be respected, although parishioners, of course, do not confess in letters ," I said. "Of course, I intended to read this letter myself first."
I took out the envelope, opened it and read it, after which I couldn’t speak for about a minute.
"This letter is from the Duchess de Chevreuse ," I said. "She writes that Milady's son visited her. During his first visit, he attempted to kill her maid, Kitty, whom you probably remember, Milady's former servant. The wound was serious, but she recovered. The other day, Kitty was strolling in the courtyard wearing one of the dresses the Duchess had given her. Milady's son probably mistook her for the Duchess and fired two pistols over the fence. This time, the doctor could do nothing. Kitty died. The killer escaped.

“Well, it seems to me that Satan has released Milady’s spirit in the body of her son,” said Athos.
Our feast ended and we went outside to discuss the situation.

Chapter 143

I turn to the thirty-ninth chapter of Grimaud's memoirs, entitled "Twenty Years Later." The events he describes take place during the Fronde, which began in 1648 and lasted until 1649. Grimaud erroneously reports that at the outbreak of the Fronde, Charles I of England's daughter, Henrietta, was with her mother in France, heatedly discussing the political situation in England with her, and praying for her father's well-being. This romantic fantasy, let it remain on Grimaud's conscience. Henrietta was born in 1644; she was four years old at the time described. Yes, she was with her mother at the court of our King, and was nicknamed "the little cat," that is, "Minette." It is sad to remember her; at the age of twenty-six years and four days, she died mysteriously, already married to Monsieur Philippe d'Orl;ans. I have a lot to remember about Madame, as she was called at that time, a title given to the wife of the King's eldest brother. I'll tell you more about her later. Yes, she had an affair with the Count de Guiche, the son of Marshal de Gramont. But one shouldn't assume that at four years old she was in love with him. This scene was born entirely in Grimaud's mind, and we have only his imagination to thank for it. De Guiche was eleven years old at the time. Even if I were to admit that Henrietta was already in love with de Guiche, which I don't intend to agree with, I would be even less likely to accept that de Guiche was fighting under the flag of the Prince of Cond; at the time. And however much Grimaud might wish to attribute any exploits to de Guiche during the period he describes, the truth is dearer to me, so I must report that , although de Guiche was later a brave warrior, he first distinguished himself in Flanders, at the siege of Landrecies in 1655, and then at the siege of Valenciennes in 1656 and at the capture of Dunkirk in 1658. In the year described, he was only preparing for military service, that is, improving his horsemanship, fencing, musket and pistol shooting, and nothing more.
I will add that, along with Queen Henrietta of England, also at our court was eighteen-year-old Charles, the second son of Charles I, then still only the Prince of Wales and heir to the throne, as his elder brother died on the same day he was born, May 13, 1629. This heir to the throne of England subsequently succeeded in reclaiming his father's throne. At the time, no one expected this, but, alas, the loss of his father, Charles I, was already foreseeable. But even then, no one could have foreseen the tragic outcome of this monarch's fate. I have already reported that England was engulfed in rebellion, the position of the King of England was grave, but all sides still recognized him as King, their sovereign. The discussion was merely about limiting his rights, curbing his omnipotence, only partially and only temporarily. The tragedy was that the King was unwilling to accept this and would not compromise. Or, more accurately, all the compromises he seemed willing to make turned out to be mere ploys to stall for time, as the King categorically reneged on all his promises at the slightest opportunity. To do so would be suicide for any head of state .
The King corresponded with his wife until the last possible moment and consulted her on everything, so she shares his moral responsibility for what happened in England. However foolish her advice, the King, deprived of the opportunity to consult her, began to act so foolishly that, compared to his actions, even the Queen's advice seemed quite tolerable.
However, Grimaud's descriptions in his novel were relatively accurate. The exiled queen, sister of our King Louis XIII , and therefore aunt of King Louis XIV , Henrietta Maria of France, received a letter brought to her by our acquaintance, Lord de Winter. However, Queen Henrietta didn't live in a convent; she had her own court, made up of many Englishmen who had emigrated to France, which was somewhat of a burden on the far from abundant French treasury of that period.
Of course, the Queen did not utter the phrase that Grimaud put into her mouth: “Your mother no longer has a throne, a husband, a son, money, or friends.”
She would not have spoken such sad words to her four-year-old daughter, besides, she still had children, and not just one son, but three - the Charles I mentioned, as well as Jacob and Henry, and, in addition, daughters, Maria, Elizabeth and Henrietta.
Karl and Henrietta were with her here in France.
Perhaps, with some third sense, she suddenly realized that her husband might lose not only two crowns—England and Scotland—but also his life? Who knows! Things hadn't come to that yet. But I'm willing to admit that the anxiety of a loving wife might have suggested to her that such an outcome was possible.
Lord Winter did indeed bring Queen Henrietta a letter from her husband, King Charles, and it wasn't a happy one. Perhaps she prayed for his survival, even if it meant giving up his position as King. If so, the King should have heard her prayers and acted differently, not at all as he did.
Lord Winter asked the Queen to find out France's intentions regarding support for King Charles.
This dialogue is written, as I have already said, based more on fantasy than on knowledge of the true state of affairs. Mazarin was already determining state policy, but power formally and effectively remained in the hands of Queen Anne, who, if she listened to the Cardinal's advice, did so only because she never once regretted it. The Cardinal, however, passionately desired to help Charles regain the throne, but he had ample sources of information that pointed out two facts. First, it was impossible to deal with King Charles in any way, since his word was worthless, so little did he care to keep his promises . Second, as a result of this first reason, fewer and fewer people in England itself with any power were still willing to deal with the King . The minimum that could have been achieved was the removal of the King from political power for ten years. However, due to Charles once again demonstrating himself as a man who did not keep his word , Parliament had already decided to double this period. That is, to maintain peace with Parliament, the King would have to voluntarily withdraw from political affairs for twenty years, after which, according to the treaty he was being asked to sign, he would regain full power. Charles refused to even read this new treaty. And this was one of his last mistakes, and, in any case, one of the fatal mistakes in a series of fatal mistakes that this monarch committed with such extraordinary consistency, as if he had set out to ensure his own defeat on all counts .
Grimaud writes that Lord de Winter came to the Queen to ask Mazarin for support for her husband. Does he really think that's how state affairs are conducted? Mazarin was monitoring the situation in England and, of course, made certain political decisions in that regard. The problem was that France was also in turmoil at the time, and the power of the Queen and Mazarin was extremely precarious, as I've already written. It was being undermined by the princes of the blood, by Parliament, and by many others, including Athos and me.
Besides, France continued to wage war with Spain.
What aid could England possibly have been offered then? Military? The Queen and the Cardinal were constantly forced to consider whether to withdraw some of their troops from the front to protect their power in Paris! Financial? Due to the ongoing war, as well as the fact that the Cardinal and Queen were constantly forced to win over those who wavered and at least neutralize their opponents, all of which was done primarily at the expense of considerable funds, Mazarin simply lacked the means to aid England. Moreover, such expenditures would never have been recouped , since it was already clear that restoring Charles I to the throne as a sovereign monarch was impossible. And who would give money to a King who had spent sums disproportionately greater than he could now ask from all potential creditors combined, and who had spent them so unwisely that it left no doubt that even ten times more than he was asking for would not change the fate of either England or the King .
It must be said that France should never have helped any country with finances, weapons, or an army, for France has always had its share of internal problems that were difficult to resolve. This has always required money, weapons, and an army, and a change of power has almost always been desirable, as those nominally in power completely mistakenly believed themselves capable of solving these problems, while in reality they couldn't even notice them or comprehend their gravity and scope. This, it seems, is the eternal fate of this country, whose pride and self-esteem always exceed reasonable limits by at least three times. Riots, civil wars, and other unrest easily arise here, to say the least. If there was anything we should interfere with in world politics, it would be to teach other countries by our example what not to do. And what France has really succeeded in is replacing gold coins with paper banknotes, which, unlike gold, can be printed as much as you like, ruining everyone except those who own the printing press, and then squeezing the last penny out of the people with the help of a sophisticated tax system and a whole network of collectors, headed by the superintendent himself or the minister of finance, and most often by the first minister of France.
Mazarin did not want to quarrel with King Charles, but he was not interested in maintaining allied relations through one-sided infusions, and he had nothing to do with it.
Therefore, I will not undertake to discuss whether Queen Henrietta approached Mazarin with another request for support for her royal husband, but even if she had, his answer would have been obvious. The English Queen's court at the French court was already ruinous enough, and the costs of its upkeep, initially recouped by the sale of some jewels Henrietta had brought with her from England, were now no longer reimbursed. The costs of the unaffordable luxury of this second court were further supported by the awkwardness Queen Anne would have felt had she been forced to ask her daughter-in-law to live a little more modestly, to get rid of her surplus courtiers, or at least not to support them at the expense of the French treasury. The Queen could not say this directly, because she would be ashamed that the King's aunt could not live in France with the splendor due to her status, although the Queen herself had seen much harsher times, when she did not have the means for new bed linen or for a dinner befitting a royal family, so that she even had to gratefully accept financial assistance from Madame d'Aiguillon and from the Vend;mes.
Grimaud's second delusion is the tale about Cromwell's letter, which was allegedly sent by him to Mazarin.
While King Charles was alive, Oliver Cromwell had no real power in England, he only led the cavalry that fought against the King.
When Cromwell became what he became, these were completely different times, by which time no question of saving King Charles could have arisen since Charles was no longer there by then.
In any case, Cromwell would not have dared to write to Mazarin on his own, and Mazarin would not have read Cromwell’s letters.
The letter to Mazarin was signed by three men: Cromwell, Fairfax, and Ayrton. These were the same three men to whom Charles I had previously addressed a letter.
The letter had the following content.

"To His Eminence Monseigneur Cardinal Mazarin, Lord First Minister of France.
Monsignor!
Our countries are such close neighbors, bound by the closest historical and dynastic ties, that we understand that France cannot remain neutral regarding events unfolding in England. King Charles has currently been stripped of all political power by a decision of the country's Parliament. This decision is the result of his unwise policies, which have plunged the country into a series of civil wars. It is clear that the King will attempt to appeal again to foreign powers for assistance, as he has done before. If this happens, and if France provides military or financial support to the King, this will greatly complicate relations between our countries.
On behalf of Parliament, we urge you to exercise wisdom and prudence and refrain from assisting the King, who has been removed from real political affairs by a decision of Parliament expressing the will of the nation.
We appreciate your understanding. If Monsignor deigns to respond to this letter, it can be delivered by the courier who delivered it.

Lord Thomas Fairfax,
General Oliver Cromwell,
General Henry Ayrton."

"Tell me, young man, what is your name?" Mazarin asked the courier.
“My name is Mordaunt, a lieutenant in General Cromwell’s cavalry,” replied the courier.
"I'm wondering if you know who exactly wrote this letter?" Mazarin asked.
“It was compiled by my general, Sir Oliver Cromwell,” replied the man who called himself Mordaunt.
"So, Sir Oliver Cromwell," Mazarin repeated thoughtfully. "Well, I will prepare a reply to this letter. But I need to think it over and write thoroughly and in detail. How long are you prepared to wait?"
“As long as it takes, Monsignor,” Mordaunt replied.
“The letter says that the King is deprived of political power,” Mazarin continued. “Is this really true?”
"He is in the Scottish army," Mordaunt replied.
"The Scots will fight against English troops again?" the cardinal asked in surprise.
"They won't fight, but they won't go home because they haven't received the wages the King promised," the courier replied. "If the King paid them the wages he owes them, they might still serve him, but he doesn't have that kind of money, as far as I know. If Parliament pays them this debt, then they'll hand the King over to Parliament."
"Very logical!" exclaimed Mazarin. "And what is the amount of the debt?"
“Four hundred thousand pounds sterling,” replied Mordaunt.
"A very substantial sum!" Mazarin exclaimed with surprise and delight. "Is Parliament really going to pay that amount?"
“I don’t know,” was the answer.
"I suppose they could pay half, promising to pay the other half after the King is handed over to them and the Scots return home," Mazarin reasoned. "But even then, two hundred thousand pounds sterling is a very significant sum! Will Parliament really pay it just to get the King at its disposal?"
"Parliament will pay the debt because debts must be paid," Mordaunt replied. "Even if the King incurred this debt by hiring soldiers against Parliament, Parliament still recognizes the need to settle accounts with the Scottish army. In this case, it is better to pay than to continue this senseless civil war."
"Thank you, Mr. Mordaunt. This conversation with you has been extremely interesting and useful to me, and I would gladly continue it, but, alas, I have pressing matters to attend to," Mazarin said softly. "I would ask you for three days to respond, and I suggest you await my reply in Boulogne-sur-Mer. I myself do not know where I will be in the coming days, but my reply will certainly be delivered there. Therefore, you may go there even as early as tomorrow morning."
"Will you have an answer in three days?" Mordaunt asked.
"If it were up to me, I would answer you immediately ," Mazarin said with a sigh. "But you don't need an answer from Mazarin personally, or from Cardinal Mazarin, but from Mazarin, the First Minister of France. And the First Minister cannot promise anything to any foreign state without coordinating every word of such a reply with Her Majesty the Queen, Regent, and Head of the Royal Council. Therefore, I would like a detailed and thorough answer ready within three days, but in case I am unable to speak in detail and thoroughly with Her Majesty, or in case she wishes to consider the matter, I ask you to wait until five days. In any case, the answer will not be delayed more than a week. That I promise you."
"So, I'll wait a week in Boulogne-sur-Mer, and if I don't receive a reply in exactly seven days, I'll consider it as if there was no reply ," Mordaunt said. "General Cromwell asked me to warn you that if there's no reply at all, he, as well as Messrs. Fairfax and Ayrton, will consider the correspondence to have failed. That would mean that this letter never existed."
"Thank you for this information, Mr. Mordaunt," Mazarin replied. "I will take it into account. I assure you that an answer will be forthcoming, and no later than a week from this very moment."
Mordaunt glanced meaningfully at the clock hanging in the cardinal's reception room, bowed and left.

Chapter 144

Queen Henrietta likely visited Mazarin and received the answer she was destined to receive. Naturally, it was that the cardinal was personally deeply concerned with the fate of the English monarchy, and particularly with the fate of King Louis XIII's sister and her children. However, the cardinal had very little means for France to provide any tangible assistance to Charles of England in curbing his own people, who were governed by Parliament.
"Why doesn't your husband dissolve Parliament?" Mazarin asked. "Advise him to do so, if you correspond with him. If I'm not mistaken, according to the laws of your state, in which you remain Queen and your august husband is King, Parliament exists only with the King's approval, and the monarch has the right to dissolve it without explaining the reasons for such a decision to anyone."
“This is not a solution to the problem, I am only a delay,” Henrietta sighed.
“Your Majesty, in many cases, postponing a problem is the best solution, but in the situation we are discussing, there may simply be no other solutions at all,” Mazarin replied.
“After such a decision, the nation might revolt, and Parliament would not obey it,” Henrietta suggested.
"But in that case, Parliament would be acting clearly illegally, as any even slightly competent lawyer would know!" Mazarin exclaimed. "I fail to understand what prevented His Majesty from making such a decision even earlier, much earlier?"
“If he dissolves this Parliament, a new one will be formed, which may be even worse,” Henrietta said sadly.
"Oh, come on!" the cardinal retorted. "No one will elect to Parliament the same people who served in the previous convocation and brought about its dissolution! Even if they had performed impeccably, the people remain dissatisfied with such a Parliament, so the new composition will certainly be different. Besides, they'll get an object lesson in the fact that by acting against the King, they're hastening their own dissolution! And that, believe me, is no small thing!"
"Perhaps you are right, Monseigneur, but I understand so little about politics!" Henrietta lied. "Am I to advise the King? He is my husband and my sovereign, I am merely his subject."
"Why do women, when they marry, always lie about their role in the family?" Mazarin wondered. "Why do they always strive to assume a dominant position, assuring everyone that they are obedient to their spouse? Why do they so delight in undermining all the security and goodness that the institution of marriage provides, and then present themselves as unfortunate victims of circumstance? This is why we should all be wary of marriage!"
"I understand, Your Majesty, that you cannot influence your august spouse," the cardinal hypocritically agreed, fully aware that matters were quite different. "But you could convey my advice to him, or, better yet, advise him personally."
“I came to you for help, but all I got was advice,” Henrietta sighed.
"Who knows, Your Majesty? Perhaps my advice is worth far more than a million or two million pounds sterling!" Mazarin replied sincerely. "In any case, everything I have—namely, the confidence of our Queen and Regent in matters of domestic and foreign policy, and the position of First Minister as a consequence of this confidence—all this I have only thanks to the advice I am fortunate enough to give Her Majesty, based on my insignificant understanding of the situation and the result of lengthy deliberation using all the sources of information at my disposal."
"Couldn't your advice, worth two million pounds, be exchanged for cash, Monsignor, at least at a rate of two to one?" Henrietta asked. "I could return your advice to you and receive a million pounds in return?"
"You are extremely witty, Your Majesty, and I admire your resourcefulness, but to my great regret, I don't have even a tenth of the sum you ask for," Mazarin replied with a disarming smile. "Frankly, I don't have even a hundredth of the money, otherwise I would hand it over to you immediately. Nevertheless, I promise you that we will consider your request at the earliest opportunity at all levels. I mean the Royal Council."
Henrietta realized that this was a final refusal.
After this, Mazarin bowed to Queen Henrietta as low as his position and rank allowed, then bowed his head again in a small bow, making it clear that the conversation was over.
When Henrietta left, the cardinal went to Queen Anne.

“Your Majesty, I must inform you of the visit your sister-in-law, Queen Henrietta Maria , has paid me,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me what she asked of you, provided that you, of course, refused her,” replied the Queen.
“In that case, I have nothing more to report in connection with this visit,” the cardinal smiled.
"We have enough problems with our own princes and dukes to interfere with the problems of foreign monarchs," the Queen replied. "We will not provide either money or troops to help her husband, who has completely debauched his own people! We have already spent enough on maintaining her court here in Paris, without wasting our own desperately needed money on such a hopeless undertaking as strengthening this crumbling, no-longer-ruling house."
“I completely agree with your opinion,” the cardinal replied with a bow, because he truly agreed with it.
And how could it be otherwise, if it was he who instilled this opinion in her through gradual conversations?
"How did you get rid of her?" asked the Queen. "Surely you couldn't have given her nothing at all, or at least not promised her anything?"
“I promised her to discuss her request at the State Council,” Mazarin replied.
"Excellent!" the Queen exclaimed. "Formally, it's an agreement to help, but in reality, it's a resolute refusal. After all, the Royal Council's opinion isn't hard to predict! There's no need to raise the issue; the answer is clear anyway."
“Besides, I gave her some advice,” added Mazarin.
"I hope she was smart enough to use it?" asked the Queen.
"I don't think so," the cardinal replied doubtfully. "I advised her to tell King Charles to dissolve Parliament."
"Excellent advice!" the Queen exclaimed admiringly. "Even now, when the majority of Englishmen have sided with Parliament, they wouldn't dare go against the law, which gives the King the right to dissolve Parliament at any time. Why didn't he think of doing it himself, and why hasn't he done it yet?"
"I believe King Charles should have done this before Parliament sentenced Stafford to death," Mazarin replied. "He would have demonstrated his power and saved a loyal man from death. Now, however, he can no longer have loyal men as loyal as Stafford, and no one believes in his power. And I think the King is not dissolving Parliament because if he did so now, his sacrifice, agreeing to Stafford's execution, would be completely meaningless. In that case, he would not be able to forgive himself for this betrayal in the future. He sacrificed Stafford to the idea of reaching an agreement with Parliament, and as long as Parliament exists, this sacrifice is justified in his eyes."
"Would he really rather accept his own utter defeat than take one small step that would show himself that he may have made a mistake in the past?" the Queen asked in surprise. "Is the possibility of considering himself flawless in everything so precious to him that he's willing to ignore the possibility of his own destruction to preserve it?"
The Cardinal looked closely at the Queen's face, trying to find at least a grain of irony in her expression, but he did not find it.
"I've met monarchs, Your Majesty, who reasoned exactly like that ," he said finally, looking back at the Queen. "The sense of their own righteousness and innocence was so precious to them that they were willing to make any sacrifice for the pleasure of experiencing it to its fullest extent. Any."
"How foolish people can be!" exclaimed the Queen. "But you seemed to promise to show me the script of a play you were planning to stage. When will you show it to me?"
"Your Majesty, reading scripts is the job of actors, but royalty enjoys a play only when it's fully prepared for performance," Mazarin replied. "A fresh understanding of the plot will allow one to better enjoy the performance."
"Very well, Cardinal, you have convinced me," the Queen agreed. "I look forward to enjoying this performance. After all, as I may have noticed, it will require considerable expense, won't it?"
"Oh, Your Majesty, one should not skimp on such things that can bring you pleasure," the cardinal replied. "You, the King, Little Monsieur, and the entire court. And by the way, look at this amusing little thing I had sent from Italy for you, at my direction. The jewelers there are certainly great masters!"
With these words, Mazarin pulled from his pocket a magnificent velvet box containing an original diamond bracelet. Mazarin always ordered jewelry that looked at least twice as expensive as it cost him. This, too, was an integral part of his policy.

Chapter 145

Returning from Mazarin, Queen Henrietta again invited Lord Winter to her place.
“As you expected, Lord Winter, Mazarin refused me ,” she said with a sigh.
"Will France not help King Charles with either money or troops?" Lord Winter inquired.
“Neither money, nor troops, nor anything else,” the Queen replied with a sigh, forgetting the advice Mazarin had given her.
"This is very sad," said Lord Winter. "Am I really going to bring my King nothing from this trip?"
"Bring him my regards, the letter I will write him, and the few family jewels I have left," Henrietta replied. "This diamond cross, my ring, and the star of Saint Michael that my husband gave me. They are worth more than fifty thousand livres."
With these words, Henrietta handed over to Lord Winter the objects she had spoken of.
“I will convey all this to him,” replied Lord Winter.
“These relics are doubly dear to me; I would rather die of hunger than sell them, even in the most difficult times,” Henrietta continued. “I held this cross in my hands during our engagement, I wore it during our wedding; it is a symbol of our love, our happiness. This star and this ring are the only things I have left as a memento of my husband. If there is even the slightest way to preserve these relics, I will be infinitely grateful to you. I mean that they will not be sold, but merely pawned with the possibility of later redemption, even for triple the price. But if the matter of saving the King requires that these things be sold without the possibility of their return, do so without hesitation. No treasure can be more precious to me than my husband. If you cannot restore Charles to his throne, at least return a father to his children and a husband to his wife. I implore you to do everything in your power to achieve this.”
"I would have done it even without your request, Your Majesty, but now I consider this the most important goal of my life, and if my life is needed to achieve this goal, I will give it without hesitation!" exclaimed Lord Winter.
"Oh, if only such people surrounded my husband!" Henrietta exclaimed. "If only ten people like you were around him, I could hope for a better outcome!"
"I've known four Frenchmen who were worth at least twenty other soldiers," Lord Winter replied sadly. "If I could only find them, our mission to save the King would have a better chance of success!"
"Why don't you find them?" Henrietta asked.
“I don’t know where to look for them, Your Majesty,” Lord Winter replied.
"Tell me their names, perhaps I can learn something about them?" asked the Queen.
“One of them was called the Count de La Fere ,” said Lord Winter.
"The Count de la F;re?!" Henrietta exclaimed. "But he was the French ambassador to our court for a time! I remember him very well. Ah, if I had listened to his advice, perhaps none of this would have happened! But he was recalled, and I don't know where to look for him! Can you recall any other names?"
“Another of them was named d’Artagnan,” Lord Winter replied.
"This man is in Cardinal Mazarin's service, and he won't be allowed to go to England," Henrietta replied sadly. "Besides, he won't do anything without the Cardinal's orders, and the Cardinal won't give him orders to support my husband. Tell me the other two names, then."
"The other two had strange names," Lord Winter replied. "One was Aramis, the other Porthos."
"Aramis and Porthos," Henrietta said. "No, I've never heard those names. It seems Fate itself has turned against my husband. Nothing can save him now."
"In any case, I promise you I'll do everything in my power to save him, or die with him," Lord Winter replied. "Early tomorrow morning, I'll pick up your letter, after which I'll leave for England to support him, if not with five swords, then at least with one, mine."
"Where are you staying, Lord Winter?" asked the Queen.
"At the Charlemagne Inn," Lord Winter replied. "As soon as I saw the name, I thought, perhaps it's fate? Perhaps the shadow of Charlemagne will help Charles of England overcome his enemies? Forgive me, Your Majesty, but misfortune makes all men superstitious."

Lord Winter's superstition was further tested. As he left Queen Henrietta's presence, he encountered a man he had never expected to see here in France. It was his nephew, or rather, Mordaunt's former ward, who also recognized him.
Both pretended not to recognize each other. Lord Winter continued on his way, experiencing an extremely unpleasant premonition, though he couldn't pinpoint its cause. In recent years, any encounter with this man had been a foreshadowing of great misfortune; there were no exceptions to this rule. This time, Lord Winter himself was aware of the misfortune that awaited him; he sensed the death of King Charles, and this encounter only reinforced his most dreadful premonitions.
Mordaunt, on the contrary, seemed pleased by the meeting. A serpentine smile stretched his flat, pale lips.
Lord Winter thought he had left Mordaunt far behind when he suddenly appeared from around the corner of one of the houses.
"Cain! What would you do to your brother Abel!" Mordaunt croaked theatrically, overtaking Lord Winter and blocking his path.
"Get out of my way!" Lord Winter replied, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I have no time for this nonsense!"
"Really?" Mordaunt exclaimed. "The murderer of his daughter-in-law wants to kill her son as well? Well, go ahead! Be bold! One villainy isn't enough, do another!"
Lord Winter came to his senses, removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and resolutely moved forward.
“Out of the way!” he repeated.
"Not until I have an answer to my question," Mordaunt replied. "Where is my mother? What have you done to my mother, murderer?"
"Find out for yourself," Lord Winter replied, turning pale. "Or follow her to Hell."
"You killed her!" Mordaunt cried. "You and four French noblemen, without honor or conscience! Five of you killed! Or rather, six of you. The sixth was the executioner of Bethune! But he will no longer execute anyone! He has met his fate. The same awaits you, all five of you."
With these words, Mordaunt stepped aside, letting Lord Winter pass, and then followed him like a shadow.
Seeing Lord Winter enter the Charlemagne Inn, Mordaunt grinned and went on his way.
Mordaunt therefore did not see Lord Winter almost collide with a nobleman on the threshold, with whom he then began a conversation that might have been of considerable interest to him.
The fact is that on the threshold of the hotel, Lord Winter met Athos, who was leaving the door, getting ready to go for a walk.
"Count de la Fere?!" he exclaimed.
"If I'm not mistaken, I see Lord Winter before me?" Athos replied, no less surprised.
"The Lord helps us!" exclaimed Lord Winter. "An hour ago we were thinking about you, and now I've found you, completely by chance, not expecting such a miracle!"
"Who is this 'we' and why did you remember me, my dear friend?" Athos asked.
"We" means Queen Henrietta and I," Lord Winter replied. "First of all, tell me, Count, do you still consider me your friend?"
Instead of answering, Athos shook Lord Winter's hand firmly, after which these handshakes turned into a strong friendly embrace.
"Could you doubt me?" asked Athos.
"The fact is, I wanted to ask you for a favor that not every friend can ask," Lord Winter replied. "But first, I must warn you of danger. I just met Milady's son, Mordaunt, and he threatened to have us all killed. I mean you, the four nobles involved in that affair with his mother, and me. However, I don't fear for myself as much as I do for you, since I know this little snake well and hope to deflect his attack.
"Why are you afraid for us?" Athos asked in surprise. "There are four of us, and five with you! Are we really going to be afraid of one young man, no matter how much malice he harbors toward us?"
"Malicy breeds treachery, and there is no defense against treachery," Lord Winter replied. "No one can defend themselves against a blow they don't expect, a blow from around the corner, poison, or a shot fired from ambush!"
"That's all true, but we can't hide from him!" Athos exclaimed.
"Even if you hid, it would hardly help," replied Lord Winter. "The only thing that can save you is that he doesn't know you. But he intends to find you through me. Therefore, our meeting poses a danger to you. I said I don't fear for myself, not so much because I hope to forestall his attack, but because I no longer value my life. I spent all my fortune trying to save my King, but in vain. Now I intend to give my life for him."
"And this is the matter in connection with which you mentioned me and Queen Henrietta, is it not?" asked Athos. "You need helpers. People who will die with you for the King or try to save him."
"You have guessed correctly, Count," replied Lord Winter. "The question is indeed posed that way. But dare I offer such a share to a man who lives in another country, is happy, as I hope, and has no obligations to the monarch of another state?"
"To die for the King is also happiness ," said Athos. "And it is the duty of any true nobleman."
“But we are talking about the King of another state,” Lord Winter clarified.
“What difference does it make?” asked Athos. “And besides, isn’t his wife, Queen Henrietta, the sister of our late King Louis XIII ? As a true French nobleman, I have the opportunity to die for the King’s sister, also a Queen! Besides, I hope that things are not yet so dire, and perhaps we have a great feat ahead with a great result? Perhaps we will save his life? Or, in any case, we must be there to prevent an attack on his honor! I am convinced that the King’s honor is more important than his life, and that it is put to the greatest test when the King is surrounded by a crowd of rebellious subjects. If the executioner’s axe touches the King against his will, he will lose his life, but not his honor. If someone else’s hand touches his face, the loss will be far greater, for it will be an attack on his honor!” To protect themselves from such attacks, any monarch must have loyal men at their side. Isn't that exactly what you're proposing?
"Yes, that's exactly it, but it's not me who's proposing it, it's Queen Henrietta," Lord Winter replied. "If you're prepared to accept this offer, I suggest you accompany me to the Queen tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, who will personally ask you for this favor."
“Or rather, she will allow us to take upon ourselves the honor of fulfilling this noble mission,” Athos clarified.
"You've referred to yourself in the plural twice," Lord Winter clarified. "May I trust that you're referring to three of your friends who will also be able to join us?"
"Only one thing, but that will be enough," Athos replied. "I hope to engage Aramis in this matter. Our other two friends are currently occupied with other matters."
"Well, there will be three of us, and that's three times better than me alone!" agreed Lord Winter. "See you tomorrow, Count!"
"See you tomorrow!" Athos replied, heading towards me to offer me a spot on this crazy trip.

Chapter 146

Athos's letter asked me to meet him at the Charlemagne Inn in the morning. He didn't mention a sword, so I rightly assumed it wasn't a duel. When I saw Lord Winter with Athos, I assumed the meeting had something to do with Mordaunt. Indeed, it did, though neither of us suspected it at the time.
Lord Winter brought us to Queen Henrietta.
It is hardly necessary to recount the conversation with this Queen in Exile, since I have already devoted attention to describing the strange situation in which she found herself.
The Queen's furnishings weren't as luxurious as those at Mazarin's, which I visited several times, but they weren't so poor compared to Queen Anne's own that I genuinely lamented their meagerness, so any remarks on that score were invented by the fantasist Grimaud. Besides, I knew that, however modest, the furnishings were entirely financed by the French treasury, which, in my view, wasn't necessary. However, I seem to have noticed that the Queen was slightly embarrassed by the lack of luxury in her apartments, so perhaps I dropped a phrase expressing sympathy for Her Majesty; I don't recall exactly now.
In response, the Queen informed me that she had heard much about my supposed exploits. I attribute these words entirely to a desire to please those you send to their deaths, unable to pay or command them to perform this difficult and risky labor. Therefore, I don't even want to recall these flattering and undeserved words. These compliments made me wary. I sensed that this would involve extraordinary favors, and I was right.
Lord Winter, in the presence of the Queen, added fuel to the fire, praising in every way the courage and selflessness of Athos and me, which was already beginning to irritate me somewhat, since I was almost convinced that we were being manipulated.
After this artillery preparation, women's sighs and tears came into play.
The heart of Athos, this stern man, constantly trying to prove to everyone that women meant nothing to him, melted like butter in a frying pan. This sentimentality, of course, was compounded by his admiration for the royal regalia. Had the Queen ordered him to pierce his heart with a dagger here and now, he probably would have done so. In fact, something similar happened. The Queen appealed to us with a plea to save her unfortunate husband, King Charles.
Athos answered for himself and for me.
"If the lives of the three nobles standing before you can dry your tears, Your Majesty, dispose of them as you see fit!" he said delightedly.
I nearly died laughing at this spectacle. But I respected and loved Athos, and I couldn't refuse his request. Although I must admit, there was no request at all. He vouched for me, which meant, as usual, he disregarded my opinion and my wishes. That's Athos for you. When an opportunity to do something great and noble presents itself, he believes that every true nobleman is eager to sacrifice his life to seize it. By offering to let me die for the King of England, he sincerely believed he was doing me a favor.
These three had set a trap for me. Neither Lord Winter nor Athos told me why we were going to Queen Henrietta. As a former soldier and musketeer, I'm used to the idea that I won't necessarily be alive tomorrow, or the day after. I don't fear death. But I swore an oath to my King; I was obligated to serve my captain of the King's Musketeers, Monsieur Jean de Peyret de Tr;ville. I'm hardly obligated to serve any royal personage with such zeal, especially the queen of another state with which we recently waged war. Her relationship to our King changes nothing in this matter. After all, even in France itself, the French were often forced to kill each other in those damned civil wars, where brother could turn on brother, father on son, and son on father, with one side defending the side of one group of the King's relatives, and the other the side of another group of his relatives. These wars brought devastation and death, after which the King's kin would make peace, leaving the subjects to bury and mourn their kin. That the princes themselves sometimes perished in such wars is small consolation to the people, and such a thing has rarely happened in my memory.
And the wars between states were no better. After all, it wasn't France that fought against Spain; it was the Queen of France that fought against her brother, the King of Spain. This didn't stop her from subsequently making peace with him, reconciling so completely that she even betrothed his daughter to her son, further linking the ruling families of France and Spain through dynastic marriages. While this peace did bring about peace, it was short-lived, fragile, and somewhat ruinous, since the portion of the money collected in taxes that wasn't consumed by the war was swallowed up by wedding celebrations, bribes, and gifts to finally make this marriage happen. I have nothing against dynastic marriages, for a bad peace is better than a good quarrel. Today, these dynastic marriages reconcile parties on the brink of war, but tomorrow, as a result of these marriages, disputed rights to some inheritance between both sides will arise, leading to a new war, even more brutal and bloody.
So, I've fallen into yet another trap, driven into it by Lord Winter, who calls me a friend, and Athos, who is one. How could a former musketeer answer no to the question of whether he's ready to give his life for the Queen, asked in her presence? Of course not! Besides, there's no such thing as a former musketeer.
“Do us the favor, Your Majesty, by showing me and Monsieur d’Herblay how we can serve you, and we will fulfill your order even at the cost of our lives and die with your name on our lips ,” said Athos.
If there had been milk nearby, it would have soured from this bombast. At least, that's what I was sure of at the time.
"And what do you say, Monsieur d'Herblay?" asked the Queen.
"And I, Your Majesty, will always follow the Count wherever he goes, even to his death, without a single question," I replied. "But if it comes to serving Your Majesty, I will try to outstrip the Count."
What else could I tell her in this situation? If you're forced to lie about your desires, at least lie beautifully and convincingly. This principle is familiar to any priest and any married man, as well as to a man with a mistress.
Thus we found ourselves embroiled in this adventure. I knew in advance the futility of this undertaking and that we would fail even in saving Charles I's life, not to mention restoring his throne, but I promised myself I would do everything possible to save this foolish King for the sake of this tactless Queen, who had decided she had run out of compatriots for such matters, despite the fact that two dozen idlers were hanging around her small court in exile, including her eldest son, who was at the age when d'Artagnan was not afraid to appear in three duels in one day—with me, with Porthos, and with Athos. This thought made me despise the English, the best of whom were Lord Winter and Buckingham, one of whom had failed to restrain his daughter-in-law, and the other to lock her up tightly enough to prevent her from pointing a fanatic's dagger at his chest. Apparently, due to the foggy weather and damp climate, the souls of the English are equally foggy and moldy.
After exchanging a few more promises and compliments, we parted ways with the Queen, and Lord Winter also left us at the threshold of her reception room after we had agreed on a time to meet. There was no need to arrange a place, as Lord Winter and Athos were staying at the same inn, where the meeting before departure had been scheduled.

"Well, what do you say about this matter, dear Count?" I asked Athos after Lord Winter had left.
"It's a bad business," Athos replied. "There's no chance of success, and the chances of dying are very high."
“But you took it on with fervor ,” I said.
"As always, I would take up any noble cause, my dear d'Herblay," replied Athos. "Kings are strong through their nobility, and nobles are strong under their kings. This imposes mutual obligations on us. Let us therefore support royal power, knowing that in doing so we support ourselves."
It would have been worth reminding Athos of this phrase ten years later, when he broke his sword in the presence of Louis XIV . But then, of course, I didn't yet know how much Athos himself would later disprove this motto with his own behavior.
"It sounds beautiful ," I said with a grin. "And as with anything that sounds too beautiful, it contains more bombast than truth. You agreed to this adventure only because refusing the Queen's request in person was absolutely impossible. If Lord Winter had asked you in her absence what you thought of this undertaking, your answer might perhaps have been different?"
"He asked me about it yesterday, in the Queen's absence, and my answer was positive," Athos replied. "By the way, I vouched for you then, Aramis."
"Excellent!" I exclaimed. "But what if he had put his request in writing and asked for an answer within three days?"
“I would answer immediately, so as not to leave myself time to think,” Athos replied hotly.
“They’ll kill us there ,” I said. “Say what you want, think about it, bring up whatever arguments you like, but they’ll kill us there. It doesn’t matter, since I’ve already agreed, but they’ll kill us there. And we won’t save that ridiculous English King. I hate the English, they’re as rude as all people who breathe fog, call clouds sky, heather flowers, mutton meat, and drink barley beer. They’ve gone completely mad from island life, believing that grains can be used to make table alcoholic drinks, and that a piece of bacon fried with an egg is the best breakfast in the world.
"Then England is the most suitable place to be killed," replied Athos. "After all, in the land of fog, rain, and beer, parting with life is not at all a pity!"
"You know how to comfort, Athos!" I laughed and hugged my friend.
"Listen, Aramis ," Athos said seriously. "Don't think of me as suicidal. Ever since I had Raoul, I've fallen in love with life again. But it seems to me that if we stay here in France, we risk being sent to the Bastille for aiding the escape of the Duc de Beaufort, which is little better than death."
“That is if the Duke does not force the Cardinal to take him into account or does not make peace with the Cardinal,” I replied.
"Don't you think the price of reconciliation might be the surrender of accomplices?" asked Athos.
“So should we leave France forever?” I asked.
"Not forever, but only until Beaufort is pardoned," Athos replied. "The main thing is to avoid being the subject of a bargaining chip while the bargaining is going on. And to do that, you need to be out of reach, or, even better, be where no one would think to look for you. In this case, no one will look for us in England, and even if someone knew where we were, they wouldn't find us there. We'll return to France quietly, without unnecessary fuss, when Beaufort kneels before the King."
"So you don't believe he'll win?" I asked. "Then why did you so enthusiastically join the cause for his release?"
"Because the grandson of Henry IV should not languish in prison," replied Athos. "Besides, I don't like Mazarin, and I was pleased to think that you and I had caused him great trouble."
"Should we seduce d'Artagnan and Porthos?" I asked.
"Our journey is not official," Athos replied. "We've been entrusted with a secret that doesn't belong to us. We can't divulge it even to our best friends. Besides, they've already entered Mazarin's service, and therefore aren't free. So they won't be able to join us. But I haven't asked you, Aramis, if you're free?"
"Better late than never?" I joked. "Since I made a promise, that means I'm willing to neglect other things I won't have time to do in the rest of today."
"What is this?" Athos asked seriously.
"First, I planned a duel to the death with Fran;ois Marcillac, and then to deliver a painful sword thrust to Coadjutor Paul de Gondi ," I said. "Marciillac attempted my life, and the Coadjutor is shielding me, and doing it deliberately. I believe his jealousy is the cause."
"Or, more accurately, your jealousy," Athos replied with a smile. "Come on, Aramis! You've already taken your revenge on Marsillac by thwarting his assassination attempt, so be more careful in the future. We're no longer so young as to fight duels for the favors of ladies. These two are crossing your path, tell them frankly. As for the coadjutor, a duel between clergymen is bad form! And between allies in our common political cause, no less!"
"Gondi irritates me. Sometimes I think some women confuse me with him, and him with me, because we have similar figures and the same preferences," I replied. "Or, more likely, he sometimes confuses himself with me. As soon as a woman catches my eye, the very next day I see him next to her! I'm sick of it!"
"You simply have the same tastes," Athos objected. "Come on, Aramis, there are enough noble beauties in France for everyone."
“There aren’t that many pretty duchesses,” I sighed.
“In that case, be content with the marquises, or aim for the princesses ,” Athos said with a disarming smile.
“I’ll think about the second part of your offer when and if we return from England alive,” I replied.
"What is the second case?" asked Athos.
“Oh, to complete this task, an evening will be enough for me, or, at the very least, half a night,” I answered.
"You see for yourself, Aramis, that the Duchesses are not finished yet ," Athos said with a grin. "If you spend the whole night on this matter, you'll have to sleep on the run. Wouldn't it be better to put it off until you return?"
“I’ll get some sleep on the ship,” I replied.
“And I need to write several letters ,” said Athos.
“Me too,” I replied. “And that was the third thing I’ll do right now.”
So, I had to refuse a duel with Prince Fran;ois Marcillac, the same La Rochefoucauld, because he tried to kill me with his mercenaries, and with Paul de Gondi because he might try the same thing for the same reasons. The assignment to study the fate of Charles of England probably saved two of the greatest memoirists of our time. Well, I was right in saying that we are very similar. After all, I, too, became the author of memoirs! Those who misbehave in youth, slander in old age.

Chapter 147

I visited my dear Ange and informed her that I might not return, and I begged her not to attribute my disappearance to my infidelity. To reassure her, I said that the only reason for my disappearance could be my own death, and that is precisely what I mean when I say that my return might be delayed for a long time, if not forever.
Instead of rejoicing at my unwavering love and fidelity, she suddenly burst into tears. In my frustration, I asked her what had happened, whether she was pregnant, to which I received an affirmative answer, followed by such caresses that I proved two things. First, that I was apparently the father of the unborn child, and second, that she was extremely cautious about the gates of paradise through which she had been filled with the joy of expecting this child. However, her caresses were such and delivered in such a way that I lost nothing, and perhaps even gained some advantages that night, which tradition attributes to the method of communication between lovers, common precisely in our country, a fact I neither undertake to confirm nor dispute. These caresses were of such a nature that I felt my love for her even more strongly.
For a few minutes I even felt embarrassed that before this I had written about two dozen letters to my most devoted parishioners, that I was disappearing on business for an indefinite period, and that they should not interpret my disappearance as a consequence of cooling and infidelity, but only as a mortally dangerous assignment from an extremely high-ranking person.
I imagine all these parishioners were pleased and reassured by my letters. Fortunately, I didn't spend much time writing them, as I didn't have to invent the text; I simply wrote the first letter and ordered Bazin, who had mastered my handwriting perfectly from such assignments, to rewrite the text of it twenty-four more times, changing only the salutation in the opening lines. I addressed the envelopes myself, then instructed Bazin to mail the letters only after I left Paris. I didn't want to receive tearful replies before I left for England, and I didn't want a line of desperate visitors to form at my humble monastery.
Let all this happen in my absence.

Athos wrote to d'Artagnan that we were leaving on important business, that we had no time to say goodbye, and that d'Artagnan should send his greetings and friendly embraces to Porthos, and also take care of Raoul if anything happened.
This note about Raoul explained everything to d'Artagnan.
Just an hour later, Athos received a letter from him by messenger, wishing him good luck and containing fifty louis d'or for our travel expenses. He apologized for not being able to send more and said we could accept them with a light heart. If pride prevented us from accepting them as a gift, we could borrow them and repay them whenever we chose, even if it took a hundred years.
I received two hundred pistoles from Porthos along with a letter in which he asked me not to mention the money to d'Artagnan, so as not to embarrass me, and suggested dividing it with Athos and using it for travel expenses. Porthos also informed me that I could consider the money a gift, but if Athos considered it improper to accept such gifts, I was to tell him that he had lent it to him for an indefinite period.
So, we could have reached England without selling Queen Henrietta's family jewels. I must say, this is not the first time that common nobles have borne the costs of the affairs of Kings and Queens, although it has probably happened even more often that the expenses of common nobles have been paid by peasants, townspeople, or shopkeepers, which no longer surprises anyone here, which has become somewhat the norm. But I fear that when all these peasants, townspeople, and shopkeepers calculate how much the affairs of the nobles who rule them, and especially the King and Queen, cost them, they might start something worse than the Fronde and present the King with a bill that can only be paid in blood.
At this thought, I prayed to God that if this were to happen in France, it would happen after I had already departed for a better world. I had no idea that I would witness similar events in the very near future in another country, namely, London.
The louis d'or coins sent to us, the "golden Louis", Louis d' or , all bearing a portrait of Louis XIII , there were fifty of them. This represented ten ounces of pure gold. Porthos's two hundred pistoles were in Spanish coins and constituted another forty ounces of gold.
Even after dividing the money between us, we began to resemble moneybags with pockets stuffed with gold. Traveling to England with such a burden was impossible, so Athos exchanged most of the gold for two diamond rings, one for himself and one for him, leaving only a tenth of the gold, enough for the journey to England and the initial stay.
As we approached Boulogne, Lord Winter suggested that we split up so that we could arrive at the city separately.
“He’s afraid that Mordaunt, Milady’s son, will see us together with him,” Athos whispered in my ear.
"What a strange superstition!" I replied.
"He cares for us, preferring to risk only himself," Athos explained to me. "Let's try to keep an eye on him, so that we can come to his aid if necessary."
"It won't be possible to do this unnoticed," I objected. "Besides, Lord Winter has two armed servants."
"You are right, my dear friend," Athos agreed. "But they are only lackeys. They will not protect him. Well, in that case, I will order Grimaud to keep a discreet eye on him and protect him from Mordaunt. This is all the more reasonable since Grimaud knows him by sight, whereas we have never seen him."
That's what he did.
We stayed at the Great Henry's Swords Hotel, where we rested in order to arrive at the pier at the appointed time.
As we reached the dam, we noticed a ship preparing to sail, and Athos suggested that it was on this ship that we would be sailing to England.
At this time a pale young man approached us and asked us if we had come from Paris.
“Yes, we are from Paris, sir,” replied Athos. “How can we be of service?”
“Would you be so kind as to tell me, sir,” continued the young man, “is it true that Cardinal Mazarin is no longer a minister?”
"That's a strange question," I thought. "What does it matter to him?"
"When we left, he was still First Minister," Athos replied. "But the situation may be different now. Half of Paris is begging the Queen to fire him, while the other half is hoping he'll bribe her with some concessions or benefits. The Parisian nobility is divided roughly in the same proportions."
“Thank you for the valuable information, gentlemen,” the young man replied and bowed as he walked away from us.
"Athos, are you completely fed up with your life?" I quietly asked the Count. "For such talk you could end up in the Bastille, and that wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen!"
"Who's going to put me away, them or those?" Athos asked with a smile. "That half of Paris that you and I have so far considered our allies won't put me away, and as for Mazarin, he couldn't care less what they're saying about him in Boulogne! What matters more to him is what the Parisians want to do with him! Besides, we're leaving! So even if he's an informer, he won't have time to tell anyone about us."
"And yet I would ask you to watch what you say and to whom," I objected. "It seemed to me that this young man had been listening to our words and had been following us for some time. Certain words in our conversation particularly interested him. If you are so eager to discuss the political situation in France with a stranger, at least wait until we set out to sea on any of the ships moored here."
"You see a spy in every stranger," Athos replied with a hint of condescension. "We are not such important persons that Mazarin would spend money on keeping an eye on us."
"Who knows, my dear Count!" I objected. "The former ambassador of the French court to the English government is leaving for England! The people who prepared and carried out the escape of the Duke de Beaufort are leaving France. If you find these circumstances insignificant for Cardinal Mazarin, I will remain silent."
"You're right, dear Aramis, I'll be more careful," Athos agreed. "Especially since..."
“What?” I asked.
"Didn't it strike you that this young man resembles a certain person we know?" asked Athos.
"Our friend, or our foe?" I asked, and suddenly stopped short. "My lady! You mean My lady?"
“Then I wasn’t imagining things,” Athos replied with some relief.
"Are you glad that this is probably him?" I asked.
“I’m glad that I’m not the only one who thought so, and that means I haven’t gone mad with my suspicions yet,” Athos replied.
"Your suspicions are truly remarkable!" I retorted sarcastically. "The Count is discussing sensitive political issues with the first person he meets, for which he could face far worse treatment than Beaufort!"
"But my suspicions aren't directed at Mazarin, but at this very Mordaunt!" Athos objected. "Understand me correctly, he saw Raoul; he could have killed him if he'd known whose son he was."
“Then don’t mention his name, at least not here in Boulogne, just in case we’re not mistaken,” I replied, and Athos nodded in agreement.

At that moment we saw Lord Winter heading towards us.
“A boat will come for us soon and we will go aboard that ship over there,” he said, pointing to the ship that Athos and I had noticed.
“We have all our things with us,” Athos answered.
"And your servant Grimaud?" asked Lord Winter.
"He'll be right there," said Athos. "There he is, see, back where you came from?"
Lord Winter looked in the direction Athos was pointing and suddenly turned pale.
"Damn this bastard!" he exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" asked Athos, who, like me, knew English perfectly.
"It's him!" said Lord Winter despairingly. "Wherever I go, he's after me. That scoundrel Mordaunt seems to have tracked not only me, but you too!"
“To hell with it, we’ll leave now,” Athos waved it off.
"You think he won't follow us?" asked Lord Winter.
"Something's still keeping him here," I replied. "He was asking if Mazarin was still the first minister of France."
"So he's here on some mission for Cromwell, since he's his lieutenant!" exclaimed Lord Winter. "This scoundrel is not only our enemy, but he's also the King's enemy."
"So much the worse for him," I said coldly. "This circumstance gives us another reason to crush him like a poisonous spider."
Meanwhile, the boat from the ship arrived, Lord Winter ordered that first the weapons and his luggage be transferred into it, then all of us and our servants got into it.
The rowers sat down at the oars, and the boat began to move quickly towards our ship.
"Monk!" Grimaud exclaimed, pointing to the figure of a man standing next to the beacon that illuminated our path.
We looked where Grimaud was pointing.
"Mordaunt!" cried Lord Winter.
“Then we were not mistaken, Aramis,” said Athos.
"Yes, it's me, Uncle!" he cried. "I, the son of your sister-in-law, whom you vilely executed! The hour of reckoning is approaching! Now I know your two French companions! When will you introduce me to the other two?"
“We’ll put an end to this farce now,” I said, taking out my pistol and aiming at Mordaunt.
"What are you doing?" Athos exclaimed. "Are you going to shoot an unarmed man?"
"Shoot," said Grimaud. "Count, let the next bullet go to me if you do not forgive my disobedience, but the first one goes to him!"
Athos turned pale.
Another second and I would have fired, but Athos grabbed the barrel of the pistol with his hand and pulled it aside.
"You didn't dare shoot me!" Mordaunt exclaimed, and burst out laughing. "You should have! You'll regret it, and very soon!"
With these words, Mordaunt disappeared behind the lighthouse.
"We'll regret this," I said, looking pointedly into Athos's face. "Why did you stop me from shooting?"
“He was unarmed,” Athos replied.
“Just like Katie, whom he shot twice, mistaking her for the Duchess de Chevreuse, and whom he killed, treacherously, vilely, from an ambush,” I said firmly.
"Forgive me, Aramis," said Athos. "Perhaps I was wrong to prevent you from shooting, but I do not regret it. When my mind and heart are at odds, I listen to my heart."
" I know," I replied with a wry smile. "Dear Athos, understand that you are dealing with a scoundrel, a criminal who deserves the noose."
“In any case, he was unarmed, so your shot would not have been an act of self-defense,” Athos objected.
“My shot would have been an act of just retribution,” I objected.
"He's not as simple as he seems," Lord Winter said grimly. "I think he was sure we wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, otherwise he wouldn't have revealed himself to us, but would have fired at us from ambush. He was provoking us to make sure you were two of the four Frenchmen responsible for his mother's death. And he'll keep an eye on us all until he knows the names of all four."
"In that case, he will never learn the names of Porthos and d'Artagnan, at least not from us," said Athos. "Which means that until then, we are relatively safe."
"I wouldn't count on it too much," I countered. "Besides, he deserves death by both human and divine law. He vilely murdered the executioner of Lille, shot the innocent Kitty from an ambush, attempted to kill the Duchess de Chevreuse, and now threatens to treacherously kill us all. He's no better than Milady, and unlike her, he's a man."
“Then what we need to solve this problem is not a pistol, but a sword in a fair duel,” Athos replied.
"Dear Athos! You forget that this scoundrel is only pretending to be a nobleman, which he is in no way!" I reminded him. "Therefore, a duel with him is an undeserved honor for him. This reptile should be dealt with not according to the rules of honor, but according to the rules of hunting a poisonous creature!"
“It is you, dear Aramis, who forget that he was raised as a nobleman by Lord Winter, that formally he is the son of a nobleman, since he was born in lawful marriage.
“My brother is not his father, that has been irrefutably proven,” Lord Winter objected.
"That's why I used the word 'formally,'" Athos replied. "Besides, he is an officer in the English army and therefore has the right to cross swords with any of us."
"An officer in the rebel army, appointed to this position by the main rebel, whose plans we intend to thwart by any means necessary, which is why we are heading to England," I reminded him. "Athos, when we took La Rochelle, you fired at our opponents without a moment's heed to the right to life of the man at whom your weapon was aimed! Yet these were our fellow citizens, whose only crime was living by the rules and in accordance with the rights granted them by the Edict of Nantes! And here before you was an enemy, a criminal, and, may Lord Winter forgive me, not one of our compatriots. It seems to me that this man has no country at all; at any rate, he is neither French nor English. Here in France, he is immune from prosecution for complicity in crimes committed in England, and upon his return to England, he will be immune from prosecution for murders committed in France. He takes advantage of this and finds patrons depending on the circumstances." He who has two fatherlands has none. Truly, if you had not removed my hand, Athos, this scoundrel would now be fish food, and that is where he belongs!
“Count, I have always admired and will continue to admire your nobility, but in this case, perhaps, you made a mistake in interfering,” said Lord Winter.
"Perhaps you're right," Athos said sadly. "It seems I shouldn't have gotten involved in this matter."
"There's nothing we can do about it now," I replied. "But next time, don't bother me. Say whatever you want, curse me, but don't grab my gun. Let me decide for myself what to do in such a matter, and I'll gladly take this sin upon my soul."
Athos patted my hand gently, and in that pat I read regret, apology for his inappropriate sensitivity, and approval for a future undertaking that did not bode well for us.
I thought Athos had spent too long as a diplomat in England, which had affected his views. While he was just a musketeer, he wasn't so scrupulous. I'm certain that the Athos I met now would never have allowed us to treat Milady as we did. For twenty years, he tormented himself for this joint action, which we undertook in complete agreement, without a shadow of a doubt. But we didn't act hastily, but after mature deliberation; at the time, we simply had no other choice.
I also thought Athos had become too accustomed to being the leader of our foursome. When he insisted on something, we obeyed him without question. The episode when he demanded that I break my sword further convinced him that he could and should remain the leader, that he bore moral responsibility for all of us. His paternal tone confirmed this position, as it were, above the three of us. I thought that a significant reason for his attitude toward us was that he was a count, while we were of very low rank compared to a count "as noble as Dondolo." If Athos had not concealed his pedigree as a count during his service as musketeers, I think we would not have been able to become friends without ceremony or rank. After our dismissal from de Tr;ville's company, Athos served for a time under d'Artagnan, but you can imagine how easy it was for d'Artagnan to command the Comte de la F;re, who was more noble, more experienced, and older than his captain. Especially since the commission of lieutenant of musketeers came to him after all three of us had refused it in turn. This is a small detail, easy for all of us to forget, but not easy for d'Artagnan himself. He never considered himself our superior and was simply incapable of it. It was easy for us to be friends while reporting to de Tr;ville, but it was difficult for Athos to be friends with d'Artagnan while reporting to him, just as it was difficult for d'Artagnan to be friends with Athos and be his commander. It's no wonder Athos soon left the service. In Blois, he was the seigneur, the supreme authority. No one stood above him, no one nearby who was higher in rank. If he'd at least been married, he would have learned that no matter how much power you wield, there's power over you. But he was single. So he wasn't used to having his opinion or decision challenged.
Athos commanded, we obeyed. I don't know why. Of course, we shouldn't have gotten involved in saving Charles of England. Just as we shouldn't have gotten involved in the Fronde. Moreover, I don't think we should have assisted the Duke of Beaufort's escape. But if we hadn't done all that, our lives would have been dull and empty, and I would have nothing to remember now. Thus youth commits those follies that maturity laughs ironically at, and which old age would dream of repeating if it were possible. After all, if you think about it, saving Anne of Austria's honor was a futile undertaking, and the attempt to warn Buckingham, that conceited arrogant man who started a war with us merely to once again attract our Queen's attention, in the hope that he would be entrusted with negotiating peace, allowing him to propose his attacks on her honor—that undertaking was utterly futile. Cardinal Richelieu, with Milady's assistance, pointed John Felton's dagger at the chest of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. What does any of this matter to us?
Anyway, we sailed to England, and Mordaunt remained in France, safe and sound, thanks to the generosity of the Count de La Fere.

Chapter 148

Meanwhile, events were taking place at Queen Anne's court that were bringing Parisian discontent to a stage known as the Fronde. The arrest of the Brussels councilor greatly inflamed the Parisians, who saw him as their protector—something he certainly fancied himself to be, but which he certainly wasn't. The desire to stand out by openly proclaiming oneself as a defender of the interests of the common people is common to many; it's been called populism since ancient times, but how many true defenders of the interests of the common people have history known? Personally, I know of no one except Christ. However, even He protected few in this world, but He merely gave us hope for protection in the next world, the existence of which I, the one who should have convinced the whole world of this fact, have begun to doubt in my old age. They say that it's impossible to be more Catholic than the Pope. If only they knew that even the Pope can sometimes doubt the existence of the Savior! However, this is lyricism.
I simply wanted to say that Brussels almost considered himself a saint because of the sacrifice he had to make for the Parisians, although for now his only sacrifice consisted of meekly allowing himself to be arrested, which for a few days made him a martyr for the citizens of France. At the same time, Mazarin also arrested Charton and Blancmesnil, but it was Brussels' arrest that caused such a stir, proving to be the drop that broke the camel's back.
The spontaneously erected barricades gave citizens the deceptive appearance of some kind of protection, independence, and freedom. Just as a dog, behind a strong fence, barks boldly at passersby, feeling protected not only by its owner but also by all the buildings on his property, so too did the Parisians dare to raise their voices of discontent, erecting barricades that were no easy task to overcome. Let me point out that this was only difficult for a sovereign like Queen Anne, who would never have turned cannons against barricades. Mazarin was the same under her. After all, had these barricades been torn down, the people of Paris would have been like a dog who suddenly discovered that the fence from behind which he had been barking had vanished, leaving him alone against the very object of his rage. In this situation, she is affected by all factors, including the sense of danger threatening from all sides, along with her own complete vulnerability. Where, then, does the evil grin, the furious gaze, and the belligerent posture, culminating in a proudly raised tail, disappear?
However, the organization and courage of a mob can be substituted for its numbers. A hundred brave soldiers can easily withstand a hundred rioters, but they are unlikely to cope with even a thousand relatively poorly organized citizens, and they would be unable to withstand tens of thousands under any circumstances. If the army defending the sovereign's peace were to grow to the size necessary to suppress an entire city, it would mean the beginning of a civil war—the kind of war that had already passed its peak in England and ended with King Charles losing all real power.
The example of England forced the Queen and the Cardinal to act prudently, carefully and deliberately, although the Queen often lost patience and was ready to lose her temper, but Mazarin always showed great restraint and prudence.
Deputies representing the rebellious Parisians demanded the release of three members of Parliament. The Queen was offended, but Mazarin gently persuaded her, pointing to the example of England and saying that one should not quarrel with Parliament and one's own citizens over trifles. He whispered that he would do everything in his power to split this rebellious Parisian majority, after which all concessions made under this pressure could be gradually reversed.
Mazarin was a persuasive man. If only he were allowed to speak his mind, he could convince many, and he always managed to convince the Queen, at least in person. Only in letters did he sometimes fail, and then only temporarily.
I recall only one occasion when the Queen was forced to agree to his exile. Although she wrote him in coded letters that it was a temporary measure, as he himself had taught her, recalling the incident with the arrest of Brussels, Mazarin could not calm down. He bombarded her with letters begging her to rescind the decree, claiming that it humiliated him in the eyes of France, in the eyes of history, made him a criminal, ruining not only his life but also everything he had managed to create in the field of public administration. But this happened much later; now all that was required was the release of the members of Parliament.
Contrary to expectations, the agreement to their release did not calm the Parisians; rather, it only inflamed them. They felt their strength, and their appetites were whetted. Coadjutor Paul de Gondi played a significant role in this, as did Beaufort, acting through his prot;g;s and friends, who had not yet dared to appear in Paris in person.
The Cardinal suggested that the Queen abandon Paris, then surround it with an army, as if it were an enemy city, and force its surrender. Her father-in-law, Henry IV , had already done something similar. Warring against one's own cities was nothing new. The clemency Henry IV showed to defeated Paris made him a favorite of France. This clemency was so lacking in Louis XIII's treatment of defeated La Rochelle, demonstrating to the French that sometimes a monarch's best character traits are not passed on to his son. This more than fair idea is especially true in this example, for Henry IV himself , who so zealously and fruitfully demonstrated his gallantry to many beautiful ladies of his kingdom, showed less zeal than he should have toward his consort—and, as the saying goes, a holy place abhors a vacuum. Therefore, we owe it to the gallantry of the Italian nobility who accompanied Marie de' Medici to France that we didn't have to wait long for the Dauphin to appear. But I seem to have digressed.
Gradually, the majority of the nobility took up arms against Mazarin, not just in words but by forming a military coalition. It included Cond;, Conti, Retz, d'Elbeuf, Longueville, Chevreuse, Montbazon, Beaufort, as well as Mademoiselle's eldest daughter, Anne-Marie-Louise d'Orl;ans, Duchess of Montpensier, daughter of Louis XIII's brother , Gaston d'Orl;ans, and thus cousin of King Louis XIV . Such is the truth of life: where else but in your own family can you always find an enemy? Alas!
Gaston d'Orl;ans himself was still biding his time and demonstrating loyalty to his daughter-in-law and royal nephew, but everyone understood, knowing his character, that this was only a temporary agreement that would be interrupted as soon as he felt that switching sides promised him greater benefits than loyalty.
I knew something of the events that were taking place from the informants who kept me informed, and I would have even regretted having taken part in the liberation of the Duke de Beaufort, but since this commission came from the Order, and since participation in this event brought me closer to the Duchess de Longueville, my regrets flashed through my mind only as a slight haze, which immediately dissipated, and I remained an ardent Frondeur and an inveterate opponent of Mazarin.
It was bitter for me to realize that my best friend d'Artagnan would forever remain a Mazarinist. Contrary to the legend he himself later told me, which claimed that Mazarin had discovered him by chance and only recruited him for special service after the Fronde had begun, I later learned that his special service to the Cardinal had begun much earlier. Back when the victor at Rocroi, the Duke of Enghien—that is, Louis II of Bourbon, later Prince of Cond;, the "Great Cond;"—was besieging Courtrai with the King's uncle, Gaston d'Orl;ans, Mazarin dispatched d'Artagnan to them on a special mission. This mission consisted of keeping him informed of developments, especially in the event that these two finest commanders in France were to conspire against the King. In that event, d'Artagnan was to try to cause a quarrel between them, if possible, or at least urgently notify the Cardinal. Knowing the cunning mind of this Gascon, I'm sure he acted even more cunningly and did more than his assignment, which, of course, he didn't fail to report to his patron. I don't know exactly how, but he certainly managed to create a rift between these two commanders, and they couldn't stand each other for a long time after this military campaign. It's unlikely that he himself was involved in this matter. He probably manipulated certain commanders, instilling such thoughts in them, as a result of which the Duke of Enghien's subordinates excessively praised Monsieur, and Monsieur's subordinates admired the Duke of Enghien's military talents. I'll bet that d'Artagnan himself remained aloof and maintained excellent relations with both, displaying discreet respect and deference to both of them and showing no obvious preference for either. As the Cardinal's envoy, such behavior came naturally and easily to him.
For this reason, the Cardinal's trust in d'Artagnan was supreme. He entrusted him with his most precious possessions—his life, his riches, and, of course, the Queen and the young King, who were the guarantee of his life and future power, and were therefore no less valuable to him than his own lives.
By placing his complete trust in d'Artagnan and acting according to his plan, the Cardinal was able to bring out the Queen with the King and Little Monsieur, his brother, and also leave Paris himself, so that their departure became known only when they were all already far beyond Paris, in the Ch;teau Saint-Germain.
It was especially dangerous to take Mazarin out, but d'Artagnan managed this too, and later he boasted that for this purpose he had stolen the carriage of the coadjutor himself.
Following the Queen and the King, the entire court arrived in Saint-Germain, except, of course, those who openly joined the rebellious Parisians.
Saint-Germain was not prepared to receive such a huge number of guests, because in those days even Kings carried furniture with them when moving from one palace to another, and during this flight, nothing of the sort was simply impossible.
There was room in the castle only for the King, the Queen and Monsieur, and Monsieur Gaston d'Orl;ans calmly went to bed without even asking how Madame, his wife, would arrange her overnight stay.
Everyone else had to sleep on straw, and I heard that a bundle of straw was worth up to two louis d'or that night! Someone made a pretty penny out of it!

Meanwhile, we arrived in England. Immediately upon arrival, I wrote to Porthos that if he encountered a young man named Mordaunt anywhere, with a hoarse voice, fair hair, and thin lips reminiscent of Milady's, he should immediately wring his neck, without even engaging in conversation. However, I didn't object to him running him through with a sword, but not less than three times.
I also wrote a similar letter to d'Artagnan, explaining that Mordaunt was Kitty's murderer. But at the last moment, I took pity on my friend and didn't want to upset him with this news. Since there was no way to rewrite the letter, I sent my message only to Porthos.

Chapter 149

In the one hundred and twenty-fourth chapter I have already told how King Charles suffered his last defeat in that last battle in which he still led his troops as King of England.
After this the King was escorted to Oxford, from where he managed to leave unnoticed, without a retinue, but free.
At that moment, he was faced with a choice: to save his freedom and life, or to try to regain his lost rights and privileges, risking his life and freedom.
He did not hesitate for long, since in his understanding the struggle for rights and privileges was also a struggle to save honor, while the salvation of freedom and life seemed to him possible only at the cost of losing royal dignity.
Perhaps he recalled a letter from King Francis I of France , who wrote to his mother, "Everything is lost except honor." This absurd, pompous phrase said nothing about life, but it wasn't lost yet! But Francis went on to write: "No, that's it, even honor is lost. And what honor is there if there's nothing to eat?"
King Charles should have remembered that after this letter, King Francis's life was spared, which subsequently allowed him to regain his honor, power, and privileges. But he who loses his life can never regain either honor or power.
The truth is, however, that King Charles was not the kind of politician who could rise from a fall and regain everything, even if he possessed a clear plan of action, a firm will, a flexible mind, and strength of character. Charles had none of these, including any plan of action. He simply resisted what he considered unworthy of his inflated grandeur, refused to accept what he considered humiliating, even if inevitable, and, consequently, refused to compromise with others, although he seemed to compromise with his own conscience easily and without hesitation.
The king headed north without any goal or plan, changing his attire daily, and then settling into a roadside tavern like an ordinary traveler. But he made no secrets, observing no secrecy, so his whereabouts were eventually revealed, and Lord Winter sent a messenger with the news that the Scots had agreed to receive him in their camp.
King Charles placed himself under the protection of the Scottish general Alexander Leven. Officers and soldiers showed him the respect befitting his royal status, as he was also the hereditary King of Scotland. A guard was posted at his door, which Charles considered an honor.
The deference and formal honors bestowed upon the King misled him. He imagined that the Scottish army had accepted him as its legitimate leader and that they would fight for him, not sparing their lives. The situation was quite different. The Scots had invited him merely to remain among them, not considering themselves obligated to obey him, but rather believing they could control his fate, as that of a hostage held by them, in order to resolve the misunderstandings that had arisen with London, Parliament, and the generals of the English army.
Charles, who did not understand this, summoned General Lieven to him, intending to set another password, as he did in his army when he commanded it.
"Forgive me, my lord," General Lieven replied coldly. "I am the senior officer here; setting the password for my subordinates is my responsibility. Allow me to continue to carry out my duties; I don't need anyone's instructions on this matter."
Karl was dumbfounded by the address “my lord” instead of “Your Majesty”, and even more so by the fact that he was not even allowed to perform such a formality as setting a password.
"What are my rights then?" he asked, barely containing his anger.
"In any case, you may set the time of your dinner, choose those who will have the honor of sharing it with you, if you wish to dine with others, and also select dishes from the menu our chef will bring you this very moment," General Lieven replied. "Your Majesty, please forgive the limited selection of dishes; we are under martial law."
This "Your Majesty," uttered by Lieven when discussing the terms of the dinner but not when discussing matters of army order, further demonstrated to the King the scope of his authority, but he deemed it best not to resist such an address, as he stood alone against all the Scottish soldiers and officers surrounding him. He decided to wait, hoping that gradually the Scots would realize that their King was in their midst, to whom they therefore owed obedience.
Thus, the rejected lover still hopes to attract her former boyfriend with her charms, believing he will be succumb to them, while he has already formed an opinion of her and the price to be paid for intimacy with her, and has decided to end this painful relationship, either for reasons of calculation or because he has become convinced of his girlfriend's malicious nature, which negates all her physical virtues. A king who has lost the trust of his people is a tragic figure, but if this king does not understand his situation, he can only evoke pity, which has nothing to do with sublime tragedy.
Such was the position of King Charles. Men like Athos bowed not to the King's person, but to his formerly lofty title; they were willing to serve not so much this man as the idea that the King stood above his nation, above any criticism, above any law.
This opinion in all of England was probably by this time shared by only two people - King Charles and the Count de La Fere.
We arrived at the Scots camp, myself, Athos, and Lord Winter. The Scots did not object to our meeting with the King, as they knew Lord Winter as one of his friends, and he had introduced us to them.
They were certain that even if we tried to rescue the King from them, we would fail, since there were only three of us, not counting the servants. The King had his valet, who followed him everywhere out of loyalty. If he wasn't allowed to, he simply waited until he was allowed to serve his master again, and, as a rule, this waiting produced the desired result.
We brought the King terrible news. On our way to him, we learned that Parliament had decided to pay the Scots half of the money owed them by King Charles on the condition that they hand over their hostage, the King, to the Parliamentary troops. The remaining half of the debt was promised to them with the stipulation "at the first opportunity, if such should present itself."
The Scots reasoned that any subsequent offer would likely be worse than the current one, as they were running low on provisions, and camping and waiting for Charles's promised pay carried a significant risk of nothing. With Charles as a hostage in their camp, they hoped to negotiate with Parliament, but bargaining always involves mutual concessions. Their acceptance of the terms offered allowed Athos to dismiss them as far better traders than warriors. Athos remained convinced that all Scots should fight as one for their King and under his leadership.
I watched this scene with sadness, I felt sorry for the King, sorry for Athos, and sorry for myself that, out of a sense of false honor, I allowed myself to be drawn into this enterprise.
And yet, I'm not accustomed to failure. If we came to rescue King Charles, we had to do so even at the cost of our lives, if such a sacrifice would help achieve it. I still believe this, with the caveat that, of course, we didn't need to and shouldn't have sacrificed our lives without hope of success. I thought the same way then, and fortunately, Athos has already adopted similar views. I fear that if I hadn't tried to influence him somehow during our sea voyage, he simply wouldn't have agreed to spare his life in any way, and then we wouldn't have returned to France if we hadn't succeeded in saving the King.
The king slept, but his sleep was light. As soon as we entered his tent, he opened his eyes. Since he had slept fully dressed, as if on a military campaign, he immediately jumped to his feet.
“I am glad to see you, Count de La F;re!” he exclaimed.
Athos had already told me that he had been ambassador to the English court for some time, so it did not surprise me that the King knew him.
"Allow me, Your Majesty, to present to you my friend, the Chevalier d'Herblay, who, like myself, has come here to serve you with all his heart ," he said . "You may dispose of us as you please; you may command us to die for you if necessary."
"Thank you, gentlemen!" exclaimed the King. "This is a most valuable addition to my troops!"
"Your Majesty, I fear you are mistaken about your troops ," said Athos. "The Scots, whom you consider your army, do not consider themselves your soldiers at all. We learned this from reliable sources on our way to you, so I fear that besides us three, you have no army left."
"What reliable sources are you talking about?" the King asked incredulously.
"Your Majesty, there are people in your country who are members of the same Holy Catholic Union as I am ," I said. "In this Union, it is customary to supply fellow believers with reliable information that is essential to the common cause. Believe me, our sources of information are the most reliable."
"I have known the Chevalier d'Herblay for a quarter of a century ," said Athos. "In that time, he has rarely said 'I know,' but when he says he knows something, believe me, there is no doubting his words; his information is always accurate and reliable."
"My Scots will hand me over to London, you say?" asked the King with doubt mingled with chagrin.
"Two hundred thousand pounds sterling will soon be brought here ," I said. "That is half the wages you owe them for all the troubles in your kingdom."
"Absolutely correct!" exclaimed Karl. "How do you know the size of this debt?"
"I know more than that, Your Majesty ," I said. "I've been informed that a lieutenant from France recently arrived in London, conveying to Cromwell and his associates the advice that the English Parliament offer the Scots half the debt. Mazarin claimed that the Scots would agree to hand you over to Parliament for that sum. Parliament immediately considered the matter and approved the expenditure by a majority vote. The advice proved effective; the Scots indeed agreed to accept half the debt as payment for this exchange."
"My Scots sold me out!?" Charles exclaimed. "They sold their King? Is it even conceivable to sell a King like a thing?"
"Remember the Savior," I prompted. "He was sold, too."
"Yes, you're right!" the King agreed. "If the Savior was sold for thirty pieces of silver, why should I complain that I was sold for two hundred thousand pounds sterling? And who is this Judas who, in the name of all my Scots, concluded this shameful deal?"
"General Lieven is in charge here," Athos replied. "He represents the opinion of the entire Scots army. This vile bargaining was conducted with him; he personally agreed to this deal, in his own name and that of the Scots under his command."
"General Lieven!" Karl exclaimed. "While feigning deference and respect, while displaying outward devotion, he basely betrayed me, Judas! May the curse of God be upon his head!"
I don’t know in what actions of General Lieven King Charles saw loyalty, but I did not argue, and, like Athos, I bowed respectfully before Charles, expressing with my whole appearance my condemnation of General Lieven and regret for what had happened.
"What should I do?" the King finally asked after he had calmed down a bit and started to think logically.
"In the eyes of the Scots, Your Majesty, you are a guarantee of their promised money. The money has not yet arrived, so now the Scots are guarding you ," said Athos. "They guard you not as servants of their master, not as soldiers of their general, but as merchants guard their goods, as a jealous husband his wife. For them, you are the embodiment of the money whose arrival they are awaiting. As soon as the deal is concluded, the Parliamentary troops will guard you. The Scots do not hate you; the Parliamentary troops, perhaps, do. I believe there is no time to waste. Escaping the hands of the Scots will not be easy, but if that fails, escaping the hands of General Cromwell's army will be simply impossible."
"Are you suggesting we try to leave the camp right now?" the King asked. "With whom? Lord Winter, can your regiment be relied upon?"
"My regiment is long gone, Your Majesty," Lord Winter replied. "There aren't even a company of warriors loyal to me, and therefore to you, and perhaps even fewer."
"How many people do you have whom you trust as completely as yourself?" asked the King.
"I have none," Lord Winter replied. "If I did, would I have traveled to France to persuade these two noblemen to join me? The three of us are all I can offer you, Your Majesty."
"Then we'll be breaking through as a foursome," Athos concluded. "We still have a couple of servants, and you, Your Majesty, have a valet."
"Seven men, three of whom have no military experience!" the King replied with a sigh.
"No matter how many of us there are, we must act," I replied. "Salvation will not come on its own."
"Mount your horse, Your Majesty, and come with us," said Athos. "We will cross the Tyne, reach Scotland, and be safe."
"Do you share the same opinion, Winter?" asked the king.
“Yes, your Majesty,” Winter replied.
"And you, d'Herblay?" he turned to me.
“The same, your majesty,” I replied.
"One of us will don your cloak and cockade and mount your horse ," said Athos. "You must take our cloak and one of the horses we arrived on. If the Scots dare shoot, they will be deceived."
"My dear Count," I objected, "Their Majesty is their only means of securing their money. They won't shoot a King they sold alive."
— Unless Cromwell told them he would pay as much, or even more, for the dead King.
"From what I've heard, Cromwell isn't like that," I replied. "He won't hire the King's assassins, and he won't pay for his death. Besides, Parliament wouldn't approve."
“How do you know?” asked Lord Winter.
Athos looked at him eloquently.
“Ah, yes, you said,” he agreed. “From your sources.”
"In that case, changing clothes is out of the question ," said Athos. "Your Majesty, your retinue will be taking more risks than you. That suits us. Let us leave no later than this evening, as soon as it begins to get dark, although I would prefer to leave immediately."
"As you wish," the King agreed. "Lord Winter, I ask you to reconnoiter the situation and have the servants bring our horses and hold them as close to the tent exit as possible."
Lord Winter emerged from the King's tent.
"If d'Artagnan had been in his place, he wouldn't have hesitated a second, and he would have managed to break through even several hundred soldiers," I thought. "This King thinks a lot, deliberates for a long time, and acts very slowly . And the results of his deliberations are such that it would have been far better to act without thinking at all."
"Sire, our horses, as well as those of our friends, are ready," said Lord Winter. "All we have to do is leave the tent and mount as quickly as possible. We'll ride north along the road."
We left the tent and were about to mount our horses when Athos stopped us.
"It's too late, gentlemen!" he said. "Look in the direction we were planning to break through."
Along the road leading north, the troops of the London Parliament were approaching us.
"Let's go in the opposite direction!" the King exclaimed.
"Do you see that haze across the horizon, Your Majesty?" asked Athos. "The Parliament's troops are approaching from all sides. We are surrounded. Someone has warned them that you might try to escape."
"Perhaps the same lieutenant who brought Mazarin's advice from France?" the King asked with disdain.
“Mordaunt…” Lord Winter whispered.
"Let's return to my tent ," said the King. "This is the last piece of land in my kingdom that still belongs to me. But, as it turns out, soon I won't have even that."

Chapter 150

"Your Majesty," Athos said to the King, "we won't be able to break through all these ranks of soldiers now, during the day, but perhaps we can do so later."
"Are you suggesting that we run away in disgrace?" asked the King.
"At all times, escaping from a vile ambush through enemy lines with arms in hand is called an attack, not a flight," Athos countered. "If we were to succeed in rescuing you and freeing you from the protection of the Parliamentary army, into whose hands you seem certain to fall in the very near future, where should we direct our course? Is there any safe haven left for you in England?"
"Alas, no," replied the King. "On June 10th, I wrote to all the fortress commanders who still remained loyal to me, asking them to surrender their fortresses to the parliamentary troops."
"What made you do this, my King?!" Lord Winter exclaimed.
"I tried to stop the bloodshed and hoped to reach an agreement with Parliament," the King replied. "I appealed to Parliament demanding that they send me the terms of my return to London with the restoration of all my rights as soon as possible. To achieve agreement and peace, I even promised to cease negotiations with the Irish."
"And you stopped them, Your Majesty?" asked Lord Winter.
“I told Lord Ormond to stop them,” the King answered evasively.
"Because they found another way to continue them and another person more suited to the task?" Lord Winter suggested, trying to soften the essence of the reproach with a gentle tone.
"I trust no one anymore and prefer to negotiate in person," the King replied. "With the Irish, with the Scots, with the English, with Parliament—what difference does it really make? I've become convinced that those I entrust to negotiate on my behalf seem to promise more than I entrusted them with, or perhaps they misunderstand the rights on which my demands are based. These people lack flexibility on issues where concessions could be made, but they yield where concessions are absolutely impossible."
“In other words, none of your trusted people understands all your demands and wishes with sufficient clarity,” Lord Winter prompted, looking at Athos and me.
Athos and I exchanged glances, letting each other know that the King probably didn't even know what he was trying to achieve by negotiating with everyone and achieving nothing with anyone involved.
"Perhaps His Highness the Prince of Wales could conduct the negotiations better?" asked Athos.
"After he surrendered Bristol, I don't trust him," Karl snapped. "It would have been better for him to die defending this city."
“But this is your son and heir,” Athos said softly.
"All the more reason for him to be worthy of this high position, as well as the title of Generalissimo I conferred upon him," the King replied. "Besides, he could have been taken hostage to dictate terms to me. It would be better for him to remain outside England."
"Now that's really better ," I said. "So, there are no reliable fortresses left on English soil for Your Majesty. All that remains is to leave. Where to?"
"I would like to reunite with my family," Charles replied. "Since the Queen is in France, my choice is obvious."
“I am afraid that Mazarin will hand you over to the English Parliament, just as the Scots have promised to do, and as they will do immediately upon the arrival of the Parliamentary army and money.
"Mazarin?" the King was indignant. "What does Mazarin have to do with this? I'm going to visit my family, my wife, and her brother's widow!"
"Unfortunately, France's policy is still determined by its prime minister, Cardinal Mazarin," I replied. "He dislikes your august wife's presence in Paris, but he tolerates it because she is in her homeland, the country of her birth, where the King is her nephew, and the Queen Regent, as you rightly noted, is her brother's widow. But you are the sovereign of another kingdom, and if Parliament, which in your absence will constitute the supreme and sole authority in the country, demands your extradition, Mazarin will grant it."
"Do you think he's capable of entering into negotiations with the rebels and satisfying their illegal demands?" Karl exclaimed.
“If you leave your country secretly, it will remain a monarchy without a monarch, Parliament will declare you an outlaw, and then this very Parliament will become the legitimate authority in England.
"So, a monarchy remains a monarchy only as long as there's a monarch?" the King said thoughtfully. "And I can't gather troops and go to war against the rebels to restore my legitimate authority?"
"You can, if you can raise those troops," I replied. "And in that case, you will need to defeat your own people, drown the country in blood, exterminating any rebellious tendencies. And then the monarchy will be reborn."
"But I have already fought against the army of the English Parliament with the help of the Scottish army, and also with the support of the Irish!" the King objected.
"Your troops have not won, Your Majesty," Athos replied softly. "And the remnants of those troops, as you see, do not consider you their commander, although, fortunately, they still recognize you as their King. But a King without power, a King who must obey Parliament."
"Why don't you, Your Majesty, issue a decree dissolving your parliament?" I asked.
"You see, Chevalier d'Herblay, in that case I would have to admit that all my attempts to establish an understanding with this Parliament were a mistake ," said the King. "And I would also have to admit that all my sacrifices were in vain. We would have to elect a new Parliament, and who knows what it would be like? Wouldn't it be worse than the one we have?"
“You would have gained time, and besides, he could have become more loyal to Your Majesty, because the country is tired of the civil war ,” I said.
The King jumped up from his camp chair in impatience, and we, who had been standing nearby all this time, were forced by this gesture to adopt even more respectful poses.
The king meanwhile turned to the window of his tent.
"Aramis, you're tiring the King with your questions," Athos whispered to me. "Nothing can be demanded of a monarch, and even asking him questions is an unforgivable lack of tact."
I shrugged and also looked out the window.
"It seems they have arrived at last, " said the King. "Now there will be some certainty, which is in any case no worse than complete uncertainty."
"I'd prefer if they stayed until morning," I whispered to Athos. "Then we'd have the night to ourselves, and then, who knows, maybe we could outwit the guards, or even kill them."
“Before I am arrested, I would like to do one more thing, gentlemen ,” said the King.
He took the Order of the Holy Spirit from his neck and placed it on Lord Winter's neck.
After this, he took two ribbons of the Order of the Garter from his box and approached Athos.
"Count de la F;re, I thank you for the service you have rendered to me and for the loyalty I find in you," he said solemnly. "I knight you and bestow upon you this Order."
"We have done nothing for you yet, Your Majesty," Athos countered. "Besides, these awards may only be bestowed upon persons of royal rank."
"You forget that I am still the King, and the King can make any man a duke, a peer, or a prince," Charles countered. "The nobility of your hearts, the nobility of your intentions, your loyalty when no one else has remained faithful—all this gives me grounds for this decision. Moreover, it is possible that I will never have another opportunity to thank you until you prove your devotion not only by your willingness to sacrifice your life for me, but also by fulfilling for me what no other Englishman, with the exception of Lord Winter here present, is prepared to do even with the merest intention. In short, this is what I want, this is what I have decided, and I will not accept refusal."
Athos reverently knelt down and kissed the hem of the King's robe as he placed the Order of the Garter around his neck.
After that, the same procedure was repeated with me.
"That's all ," said the King. "Having only three loyal friends before me, I have managed to thank each of them, so I have no more important business left for today."
At that moment, the tent doors swung open and a British officer entered, accompanied by six other officers, likely of lower rank, as was evident at first glance by their obsequious behavior toward him. Through the canvas doors, it was clear that a significant number of soldiers and officers remained outside the tent walls.
“Your Majesty, please follow us to London,” said the officer.
The King nodded silently and left the tent, accompanied by this convoy that had arrived from London.
"Who is this man?" Athos asked Lord Winter.
“General Oliver Cromwell,” Lord Winter replied.
"What will happen to us?" I asked Athos.
"We have not yet been informed that we are prisoners, so I believe we may go where we wish," replied Lord Winter. "And I wish to follow my King, and if possible, save him, and if not, share his fate."
With these words, Lord Winter left the tent.
At that very moment a pistol shot rang out, and Lord Winter fell as if he had been mown down.
Athos and I, who were about to follow him, instinctively ducked and looked in the direction from which the shot came.
"Mordaunt," I whispered to Athos. "Mordaunt again. The fiend of Hell. What a pity you didn't let me kill him, dear Athos. But never mind, I'll fix that mistake."
"Wait, Aramis," Athos objected. "If you kill their lieutenant, we'll be torn to pieces, and we'll be no longer able to help the King we came here to save!"
"If we had killed him earlier, perhaps we wouldn't have had to save the King," I objected. "As you wish, Athos, but I'll shoot this scoundrel!"
I raised my pistol again to take aim from a sitting position, but at the very moment I was about to fire, or rather, a second earlier, an officer of the French Guard entered the tent.
"Gentlemen officers! You are under arrest, I declare you our prisoners!" he said loudly in English, and I immediately recognized the familiar voice of d'Artagnan. "Athos, Aramis, surrender, damn you, or they will kill you!" he added in French.
Porthos followed him into the tent.
"We surrender!" Athos said loudly in English, handing the sword to d'Artagnan.
"We surrender to you, gentlemen!" I said the same thing, handing over my sword and both our pistols to Porthos.
"Gentlemen!" cried d'Artagnan, addressing the officers around the tent. "These two noblemen are our prisoners; by the laws of war, they belong to us, and us alone. Moreover, they are our fellow countrymen. We intend to ransom them, so I ask you to spare their lives and health. We will look after them ourselves."
At this moment Mordaunt approached us.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, I respect your rank as envoy to the First Minister of France, and I find your demands fair and entirely justified ," he said. "Will you yield your prisoners to me? I guarantee you a reward worthy of yours, perhaps even greater than what you could obtain for their ransom."
"Thank you, Monsieur Mordaunt, but I am not accustomed to receiving what is not my due, and life has taught me not to let go of what is mine in pursuit of something greater," d'Artagnan retorted. "You may notice that these men are extremely noble, for each wears the Order of the Garter on his chest. Allow me to doubt that you will be able to offer us the ransom that Monsieur du Valon and I intend to obtain for them in our homeland. Therefore, we are forced to decline your flattering offer, and I repeat, these men are our prisoners, and I will allow no one to attempt on their lives or limbs. I am not joking: if any of them receives even a single scratch, I will challenge the culprit to a duel, and my sword has never known defeat in a duel!"
"You require cash instead of an officer's word ," Mordaunt said, his thin lips stretching into a nasty smile. "Very well, I'll give you cash, not a promise. You'll just have to wait a little while."
“And Monsieur du Valon and I are in no hurry, Monsieur Mordaunt,” replied d’Artagnan and bowed politely to the lieutenant.
In impotent rage, Mordaunt turned and walked towards his general.
"Listen, d'Artagnan, this is Milady's son!" I whispered.
“I know,” he replied.
"I'll definitely wring his neck," Porthos added. "But a little later."
"They're right ," Athos said. "If we kill him here and now, we're lost. And our mission will fail."
"What the hell mission?" d'Artagnan exclaimed.
“To save King Charles,” Athos answered modestly.
"Seriously?" d'Artagnan was surprised. "And you crossed the English Channel for this? So that's the trip you wrote about in that letter!"
“It is the duty of every nobleman to support the King ,” said Athos.
"I understand," replied d'Artagnan. "Don't go on. Tell me, instead, how exactly were you planning to save him, the two of you, without us, in this vile, foggy England?"
“We hoped that chance would suggest a way to us,” I answered calmly.
“Well, chance, in the person of me and in the person of Monsieur Porthos, stands here before you, and it cannot suggest anything useful to you ,” said d’Artagnan.
  “That’s because our business has not yet become your business ,” said Athos.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear friend,” replied d’Artagnan. “Ever since that famous, failed duel, our cause has always been our cause. One for all, and all for one, have you forgotten? I’ll be pleased to save the King, if only because Mordaunt passionately desires his death. Let us avenge Lord Winter’s death and all his vile deeds! By the way, poor Winter deserves a Christian burial. This rabble won’t do it. I see Grimaud and Blaisois are with you; Mousqueton will be of no use. Let Grimaud and Blaisois bury him.”
"And let Mousqueton take and keep for the King the Order of the Holy Spirit, which the King took from his neck half an hour ago ," said Athos. "If we fail to return it to the King, we will give it to the Queen, or the Prince of Wales."
After this, Athos ordered Grimaud and Blaisois to help Lord Winter's servants bury him, and to give the money found on him to these servants so that, after deducting their wages, they would hand over the remaining amount to the first church they came across for a funeral service for the soul of the unfortunate Lord Winter, killed by the treacherous shot of his own ward, who was listed as his nephew but was far from being one in reality.

Chapter 151

“The General invites you to dine with him ,” said Mordaunt, returning from his conversation with Cromwell.
“Convey to him our deepest gratitude, but we prefer to guard our prisoners and dine with them,” replied d’Artagnan.
"You may leave them in the care of my men," Mordaunt replied. "I will give you such a guard that they will not be able to escape."
“Thank you again, Lieutenant, but we prefer to do our own work,” d’Artagnan replied, rewarding Mordaunt with a dazzling smile.
"I swear on my honor, I will ransom these two prisoners from you at any price!" Mordaunt exclaimed.
"I beg the lieutenant to save his honor for a more convenient occasion, for we are not at all inclined to resolve this matter as you propose," d'Artagnan replied with an even more dazzling smile, revealing almost all of his strong Gascon teeth. "You must admit that we have the right to dispose of our prisoners as we please."
After this, he gave a moderately polite bow, turned around and left, making further negotiations on this topic impossible.
Entering the tent where we were all waiting for him, he gave vent to his feelings.
"Damn that brat!" he exclaimed. "That brat wants to get his hands on you at all costs!"
"Your prisoners belong to you, don't they?" I clarified.
"That's true, but there are two things," d'Artagnan objected. "First, this Mordaunt isn't just a lieutenant, but, it seems, General Cromwell's adjutant, and certainly his favorite. And Cromwell is in charge here."
“This is unpleasant,” Athos noted.
“Secondly, we received an order from Cardinal Mazarin to obey this Mordaunt in everything, and it’s in writing, and this little snake knows about it,” d’Artagnan continued.
“Then you must give us to him, if that is what he wants,” replied Athos.
"Athos! I beg you!" replied d'Artagnan. "Don't be such a child, honestly! Your nobility would embarrass even a young woman from a boarding school for noblewomen! We are friends first and foremost, and you shouldn't suggest that we betray our friendship like Christ voluntarily going to the cross. No, really. If you were Christ, you'd carry not only the cross, but also the nails and the hammer, and perhaps even help nail your own feet to it! You can't constantly exude this treacle of nobility when it's high time for real men to discuss the situation, no matter how bitter it may be! Sometimes your nobility makes my jaw ache; it's disgusting, like honey and sugar!"
“Really, Athos, we are prisoners here only for show, for these damned Englishmen ,” I said.
“That’s the thing, Aramis,” agreed d’Artagnan.
"Excellent!" exclaimed Porthos. "The four of us are together again, d'Artagnan will think of something, and we will leave this damned England!"
“But first let us try to save the King,” added Athos.
"That'll be as it turns out," replied d'Artagnan. "But first, we'll definitely strangle Mordaunt."
“It will happen as it happens, but the King is the priority,” Athos objected.
"Damn it! How quickly you've forgotten that you're our prisoners, Athos!" d'Artagnan burst out laughing. "Well, I prefer that! Better to command us than to suggest we commit a vile act against you."
“You are our commander, d’Artagnan, this is not up for discussion, it has been decided once and for all, and for a long time,” Athos smiled and hugged the hot Gascon.
"Mordaunt must answer for Lord Winter's death," d'Artagnan snapped. "We must somehow explain to Mazarin why we left England!"
“He has other crimes to his credit that are no less serious ,” I said.
“I remember,” d’Artagnan answered and turned pale.
I saw tears in the corners of his eyes and looked at his hands. His fingers dug into his palms so tightly that their tips had turned white. After all, he loved Katie dearly! What a sensitive soul!
“Athos, if d’Artagnan decides that Mordaunt’s business is more urgent, we must not argue with him ,” I said.
"First of all, we must think of saving your lives, friends, and ours too ," said d'Artagnan. "I bet Mordaunt will soon come to us with a written order from Cromwell to hand you over to him."
"What should we do?" asked Porthos.
“I don’t care what his papers say, but he’ll bring a guard with him that will be difficult for us to handle, even with four of us ,” said d’Artagnan. “We must flee right now; every delay will only complicate matters. I’ll leave the tent now and reconnoiter the situation. If I manage to prepare the horses, then as soon as I cry ‘My God!’ all three of you are to run out of the tent and run forward, where you will find the horses. Mount them immediately, and we will gallop in the direction I choose. The servants will catch up with us later; I will arrange a meeting place with them. If the entrance to the tent is blocked, I will cry ‘Jesus Christ!’ In that case, cut the back wall of the tent with your daggers and run there; you will also find the horses there. Is everything clear? Let’s repeat.” I scream, "Oh my God!" and then you run out the door of the tent, I scream, "Oh, Jesus Christ!" and then you cut through the back wall and run there.
"What if it's easiest to cut through the side wall of the tent?" Porthos asked.
“It’s too complicated, we’ll get confused,” d’Artagnan replied. “Two versions of our plan are enough. We’re wasting time. I’m leaving. Oh, and one more thing. If you hear explosions or gunshots, ignore them. The signal to flee is my shout.”
Athos nodded and clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder. We nodded in agreement and began arming ourselves, while d'Artagnan hurried out of the tent.

After a while we heard an explosion from the exit and the loud neighing of a dozen horses.
"Catch the horses!" d'Artagnan's voice reached us. "Look, their carriage is on fire, and they're racing toward the powder magazine! They must be stopped immediately! Lord Jesus!"
Porthos, with a mighty swing of his dagger, cut the back wall of the tent so that four men could pass through the resulting opening in a row.
We ran out of the tent and saw seven fine horses, three of which were already mount by Grimaud, Blaisois, and Mousqueton, and d'Artagnan was jumping onto the fourth. We didn't keep them waiting; we leaped headlong into the saddles and galloped off in the direction the agile Gascon had indicated. In the confusion d'Artagnan had created, no one even gave chase. Only after we had dashed through the camp and past the sentries did the English realize something was wrong with our escape. They fired halfheartedly after us, not expecting to catch up.
We rode on without looking back until the English camp was left far behind.
"Let's break into a light trot!" d'Artagnan shouted. "Otherwise we'll wear our horses out, and on foot we'll be easily caught tomorrow after dawn."
He was right as always, we broke into a trot.
"What were those explosions?" asked Athos.
"I drove a cart of hay to the powder magazine and lit the hay with a fuse and a small keg of gunpowder," d'Artagnan replied. "Very small, but dense. The explosion frightened the horses, and they bolted. The performance went off without a hitch."
"I can only imagine how furious Mordaunt will be when he finds out we've given him the slip!" I exclaimed.
"But he has one consolation ," said Athos. "He was looking for four Frenchmen involved in the Armentieres affair. He knew only two names, mine and Aramis's. Now he knows all four."
"Damn it, I'm ready to tell him my name and say that I took part in the Armentiette affair, and I don't regret it!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
“And I regret that we did not find her bastard and wring his neck ,” said Porthos.
"Porthos, would you raise your hand against a child?" asked Athos. "You are slandering yourself."
"No, of course, I wouldn't have dared to do that," replied Porthos. "But that doesn't stop me from regretting that we didn't! Just think, so many misfortunes wouldn't have happened then! If Lord Winter were still alive! If she were still alive..."
I took Porthos by the hand.
“Don’t go on, Porthos, you’re right ,” I said. “But we couldn’t have imagined that her son would grow up to be such a monster!”
- Monstra pariunt monstra, - gloomily said d' Artagnan .
"D'Artagnan, do you know Latin?" I asked.
"I think he said, 'Monsters beget monsters,'" Porthos said.
"And you, Porthos?" I asked, even more surprised.
"But wasn't it Spanish?" Porthos asked. "I've heard Spanish spoken before, more than once."
"It sounds a little different in Spanish," I replied. "Los monstruos dan a luz a monstruos."
“I don’t see the difference,” Porthos answered philosophically.
 
Chapter 152

I must slightly refute Grimaud's claims in his romantic memoirs about things that never happened. I must say, I enjoyed reading his fantasies, but they bear no relation to reality.
Readers have likely already noticed that Grimaud's book, entitled "Twenty Years After," describes the supposed betrayal of the Scots, who "sold" their King. Grimaud didn't understand the twists and turns. He merely saw that the Scots were delivered two hundred pounds sterling, and it was impossible to conceal this, as it was delivered in a whole train of wagons. Since Parliament paid this sum in silver rather than gold, the money actually weighed two hundred thousand pounds and was delivered in boxes. The boxes were opened and the money was distributed according to payrolls. Each person receiving their pay signed their name, or placed an inked finger on it, while others simply made a cross next to their name.
The treasurers and guards who arrived with this money were forbidden from making even the slightest disparaging remarks about the Scottish soldiers; Parliament desired peace with them. The English soldiers, whose pay had also been withheld, were naturally offended to see that the Scots had been paid, albeit only half their wages. Of course, they whispered among themselves about the injustice done to them—after all, they were the ones fighting, and the victories over the King should be attributed to them—but Parliament decided to settle accounts with the Scots first. They didn't care what the English soldiers decided. For them, the most important thing was that the Scottish troops should be withdrawn back to Scotland as quickly as possible, and their hostage, King Charles, should be escorted to London to prevent him from raising another army and continuing the war he had started, or declaring a new one.
The justification and reasonableness of the government's actions never consoled those who felt themselves wronged by these actions.
The accusation that the Scots had betrayed their King was never made except by Charles himself, who already had little understanding of what was happening around him. The accusation could also have come from Athos, who had neither understood nor wanted to understand the situation, and I was the last person in the world to challenge him or dissuade him of it.
Grimaud describes the situation as if we remained for a long time with the army, which also included Mordaunt as a lieutenant, while the King was being taken to London. In his account, we left this army long after the King, which gave us the opportunity to join the convoy escorting the King to London. He also describes our attempt to kidnap the King on the way to the capital.
The truth is that Mordaunt's primary purpose in joining the Parliamentary army was revenge against King Charles. He couldn't have remained in the place where the King had been handed over to the Parliamentary army, even after the convoy had carried him away. What he most desired was the sight of a captured Charles; he trusted no one but himself; he would not leave that convoy under any circumstances. This young man was no fool; he understood that in his game, King Charles was the greatest stake. Indeed, if Charles had regained his power, Mordaunt would not have had such ample opportunity to seek us out and pursue his vengeance as he would have had Charles been executed, or at least completely and finally stripped of power. Having dealt with the King, Mordaunt would have gained even greater influence over Oliver Cromwell, while Oliver Cromwell's own power would also have grown significantly. This gave him almost unlimited opportunities to search for us all over England and deal with us according to his taste, since he had a whole company under his command.
Moreover, Mordaunt had already realized that Athos and I's presence in England was explained by our intention to rescue the King. Thus, in the King, Mordaunt had bait with which to catch Athos and me, as well as d'Artagnan and Porthos, once he was convinced that we were bound by friendship and, therefore, by common goals.
Mordaunt, therefore, intended to deal with us immediately and then escort Charles to London. When he learned of our escape, he joined the convoy for two reasons: first, to personally ensure that the King did not escape and to prevent his escape during any attempt to free him; second, he knew that if he were lucky enough to meet us, it would be precisely where King Charles would be.
Therefore, a situation could not have arisen in which the four of us could have followed the convoy carrying King Charles while Mordaunt was somewhere else. This, of course, did not happen.
Incidentally, Grimaud writes that d'Artagnan objected to being taught English. He had no need to learn it, since he knew it. After visiting London as Queen Anne's envoy, he realized that his knowledge of the language could still be useful, although in Buckingham's time, all the nobles in the capital knew French, as our language was considered the lingua franca of the nobility. In the times I'm writing about, many older nobles also knew French, but the younger generation had already given up learning our language, so our knowledge was quite helpful. Of all of us, only Porthos didn't know English, but he knew a smattering of Spanish, apparently hoping that the Queen would someday do him the honor of conversing with him, and she would certainly be pleased to hear the few hundred words he'd managed to learn while bored at his estate.
The only thing we managed to do was secretly follow the convoy.
Grimaud writes that our friends, d'Artagnan and Porthos, have decided to pose as Cromwell's allies who have captured us, while we, in his opinion, are posing as their prisoners, handing over our swords. This precaution would have been unsuccessful, since in the eyes of the local population we were all foreigners. No one informed them that somewhere on the roads of England there were two good Frenchmen who had captured two bad Frenchmen. That would have been absurd. If Mordaunt had ordered notices about us and our friends, he would certainly have thought to include in them that four French noblemen and three servants were wanted, he would have included our description, and he would have added that two of these noblemen might try to pose as allies of the Parliamentary army, while the other two were passing off as their prisoners, and that this notion should not be trusted.
As for the convoy that accompanied the King to prevent his escape, the entire Parliamentary army sent to rescue him from the Scots had no other objective than delivering Charles to the capital, so the entire army constituted a convoy. For four such prominent foreigners as ourselves to disappear into the crowd within this convoy was utterly unthinkable. Even if we had been lost in this army for a few hours, we would have been immediately reported to General Cromwell, who would have immediately informed Mordaunt of our presence.
Well, reading the chapters describing our journey all the way to London with the convoy that accompanied Karl amused me a lot, and nothing more.
My memoirs do not contain fiction, so I do not intend to describe anything like that in them.
We were to make our way to London by circuitous routes, altering our appearance as radically as possible. We would have to abandon our swords, retaining only small pistols, which we would conceal in our clothes. We couldn't pretend to be peasants or bourgeois; no one would believe us. We would also be quickly exposed if we tried to impersonate English nobles. Of all of us, only Athos spoke English without an accent, and he alone could pass for a local nobleman. We were extremely reluctant to part with our swords, but we saw no other choice.
D'Artagnan came up with a brilliant plan that allowed us all to reach London safely and even keep our swords.
Having cast a critical glance at us all, and not making an exception for himself, having for this purpose a dim mirror of one of the taverns where we stopped for the night, he said that our appearance would give us away completely no later than the next day.
"My friends, we all look extremely suspicious," he concluded. "We must radically change our appearance. We resemble nothing more than a bunch of comedians, and that's exactly what we'll be portraying. Athos will be the eccentric gentleman who decided to bring his personal theater to London and show it to the local population in the hopes of making a fortune from some performances. Porthos, of course, will be our Hercules, demonstrating strength exercises. Anyone who doubts that we're a troupe of actors or acrobats will be dispelled by his strength performances. You, Aramis, will be the hero-lover in the dramas of that—what's-his-name—"
Here d'Artagnan pulled from his bag a tattered book he'd found in the cart we'd rented. Several names were listed on the cover, and the first one he was trying to remember was the one listed.
"William Chaquespe!" said d'Artagnan.
“William Shakespeare,” Athos corrected.
"All the more so!" d'Artagnan agreed. "It says here that these plays have rightfully been the English's favorites for thirty years now. Since the book was published twenty years ago, one could say the English have loved their Shakespeare for half a century. You should learn at least one play closely to the text. At least a couple of acts. Athos, you're more knowledgeable about this; choose a tragedy or a comedy, according to your taste."
"If 'Hamlet, Prince of Denmark' is in there, I'll choose that one," Athos said. "I won't even have to memorize it, since I know almost the entire play very closely. Besides, there are only two female roles in this play, and in English theater, women are played by men. But these scenes could simply be omitted from the tragedy without any detriment to its theatrical quality."
"Wonderful!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Then you'll be not just an eccentric nobleman who adores the theater, but also someone who enjoys participating in theatrical productions himself! Everyone else will have to learn this drama."
"We could say we've only recently begun staging this play and use a prompter," Athos clarified. "Let Blaisois be our prompter."
"What does this position mean?" asked d'Artagnan.
“This man hides in front of the stage and prompts the actors with their lines,” said Athos.
"Well, we need to buy a carriage and costumes, and we'll be a troupe of traveling actors!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
"I will never agree to pretend to be a circus or theater actor," said Porthos. "It is humiliating for a nobleman."
"Do you know, Porthos, that the King himself took part in theatrical performances as an actor?" I asked Porthos.
"It can't be!" exclaimed Porthos. "Our young King Louis XIV ?"
"I can't vouch for him, although I think that when he grows up and starts courting young ladies-in-waiting, he won't give up this method of winning their favor. But King Louis XIII practiced it. And even the great Cardinal Richelieu himself wrote plays for him!"
"You have convinced me, Aramis," said Porthos. "What is not shameful for a King is not shameful for a worthy nobleman."
We assigned the roles, which gave us plenty of opportunities for laughter and mutual jokes. No one wanted to play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Even Grimaud, Blaisois, and Mousqueton flatly refused.
“Let’s remove the scenes with these scoundrels,” replied d’Artagnan.
“But there are still more roles in this drama than there are of us,” said Athos.
"Then our performance will be called 'Shakespeare. Hamlet. Selected Scenes,'" d'Artagnan resolved the problem. "We'll present only the most exciting scenes. And by the way, there's a sword fight at the end! Hamlet duels his friend Laertes. Gentlemen, we'll keep our swords, but from now on they're called theatrical props. We need them for the final scene!"
“Bravo, d’Artagnan, but in the final scene there are only two fighting, so that would explain the presence of two swords, but not four,” said Athos.
"Don't be picky, Athos!" d'Artagnan dismissed. "We're inexperienced actors, we haven't really learned how to handle swords yet. You, as the theater owner, have two spares just in case. What's so suspicious about that? Besides, you're a nobleman! One of the swords, or even both, could be yours by right. And by the way, remember, you're such an eccentric theatergoer that you'd never agree to use practice rapiers. You insist on real swords being used in this performance. That's your eccentricity."
"I'm already into character," Athos laughed. "Theatrical art demands realism! No practice rapiers! Only real swords! William Shakespeare wouldn't have allowed his greatest tragic hero, Prince Hamlet, to be slain with a wooden sword! And don't try to talk me into it!"
"Excellent!" d'Artagnan exclaimed admiringly. "I believe you, Athos. By the way, think of some names for us all."
Athos gave us names we were expected to learn and respond to. Since no one knew our servants by name, we didn't change theirs, but only ours. Athos himself became Monsieur Atwood, I became Arnold, Porthos became Porter, and d'Artagnan became Darrick. We had no trouble learning these names, as Athos made sure they sounded vaguely like our old French names.
“Listen, friends,” said Athos after we’d tried a short skit. “Your English isn’t suitable for the stage. We mustn’t hide the fact that we’re foreigners; it won’t work. But since Mordaunt’s hounds are looking for four French noblemen, we’ll pretend to be Italians. And instead of staging Shakespeare, we’ll stage scenes without any words. In Italy, there’s a form of performance called pantomime. The actors merely mime the action, using gestures instead of words. This will be clear to any audience; we won’t be suspected of deception. There are a couple of Italian comedies in this little book. We’ll stage those, but with fewer words, more action and gestures. We only need to hold out until London. We may never have to stage a play, but if Cromwell’s hounds find us, it would be better to be ready to show them our theatrical art.”
Athos's idea was brilliant. The English weren't yet familiar with Italian pantomime, but their first encounter with it came as a result of our trip to London. Our roles were Pierrot, Harlequin, and Pantaloon.
Athos had to play Pantaloon, an old and greedy Venetian merchant who fusses over his money and courts young women. Blaisois played a girl named Columbine. I played Doctor Balandosone, a dry old man, a pseudo-educated lawyer, stupid and arrogant, eager to lecture others. D'Artagnan played the captain, a boastful military man who talks of his victories but flees from the slightest danger. Porthos played the sad Pierrot, who only pines for unrequited love. Grimaud played the clever, cheerful, and gluttonous servant Harlequin, plotting all sorts of intrigues. Mousqueton played Pulcinella, a Neapolitan rebel and cynic, lazy with a caustic sense of humor.
I must say, we reached London with some adventures. But these adventures had nothing to do with valor, heroism, or glory. We had to perform scenes from our play twice: the first time, without makeup, to an officer who intended to arrest us. Athos briskly explained his concept of Italian theater and ordered us to perform a couple of scenes right then and there. The officer liked it and asked when we planned to give the performance.
"We intended to give the performance only in London itself, where we are heading for that purpose," Athos replied. "We are only rehearsing on the road. Besides, a performance requires a suitable venue."
" Don't worry about that, I'll arrange everything," the officer replied. "This evening you'll be able to rehearse on a real stage, and my soldiers will be your spectators. I won't take no for an answer."
We actually had to become comedians of Italian comedy without words, pantomime, for a while.
But I don't want to recall the details of that event. After all, it was a tragicomic epic, overshadowed by the tragic reflection that perhaps this was not only our last journey together, but quite possibly even our last days on this earth, since we were determined to free the King and were prepared to die bringing that plan to fruition.
Besides, this time it wasn’t us who were laughing, but the audience was laughing at us.
But we wrote our own page in the history of theatrical art, and since then and to this day it is believed that Italian pantomime was first shown in England in 1649 by real Italians, although it was we, the purest French.
Needless to say, we forbade our servants to tell anyone about this adventure. Athos told Grimaud outright that if Raoul learned from him that the Comte de la F;re had performed an Italian pantomime on the English stage, he would personally cut off both Grimaud's ears and force him to eat them.
Of course, these were merely empty threats. Athos loved his faithful servant and would never have harmed him, he wouldn't have raised a hand against him, and Grimaud was no chatterbox. But such threats did occasionally emanate from Athos; they were a form of communication that Grimaud himself perceived as proof of his master's nobility. I believe this fully explains why, in his notes entitled "Twenty Years Later," Grimaud depicted our trip to London as full of absurd, impossible, and fantastical episodes that simply couldn't have happened.

Chapter 153

Grimaud reported that Athos had said he knew London perfectly well and could walk around it with his eyes closed. But he forgot to reveal the reason for this, which was that he had served as ambassador to King Charles's court for several years, as I have already mentioned.
Grimaud writes that we stopped at the Bedford Inn. Perhaps that's what happened. I don't remember the details anymore, as we had other things to do at the time.
Reading that muddlehead Grimaud, one gets the impression that the King was barely brought to London before he was almost immediately sentenced to death; literally the next day, as he writes, the trial took place. He's mistaken, of course.
This process of Parliament deciding the fate of its King took an extremely long time. And by the time the King arrived, no one yet knew how exactly it would end, although, of course, we were haunted by the most apprehensive feeling about his fate. We breathed in fog, soaked in the English dampness, ate tasteless food, and washed it down with an even more disgusting swill, which they called beer.
Meanwhile, Parliament drafted a treaty with the King, which stipulated his voluntary removal from all government for twenty years, the permanent abolition of the Anglican Episcopal Church, and the recognition of the Presbyterian Church, in accordance with the treaty between the English and Scots. He was obligated to prohibit the practice of Catholic rites anywhere in the empire, including at court, despite the Queen being Catholic. For twenty years, the treaty deprived the King of the right to be commander-in-chief and to appoint generals and officers to leadership positions. These powers were to be delegated to Parliament. Parliament was to receive control of the land and naval armies; Parliament excluded the right of amnesty for seventy-one of the King's supporters, which would condemn them to whatever punishment Parliament would decide. Anyone who took up arms on the King's side was prohibited from holding public office and government positions.
A deputation of two lords and four members of the lower house went to the King with this draft treaty.
If Charles had read this treaty and rejected some of its clauses, it would have at least been some kind of negotiation with those who held his life in their hands and were already beginning to realize it. I would have understood the King if he had rejected this treaty after reading it.
But the King acted differently. Just as one of the lords was about to read the draft treaty to the King, the King haughtily interrupted him.
"Before I begin to listen to what you are about to read to me, I should like to know what it is, on what grounds you are going to read it to me, and whether you have any legal authority to enter into any contracts or agreements with me that would limit my rights ," he said. "Can you cite any article of the laws of England that gives you the right to enter into an agreement with me?"
Lord Pembroke glanced at the other delegates.
"No, sir ," he said. "I'm afraid we can't cite the specific statute under which we're acting, but given the circumstances that currently exist..."
"With all due respect to each of you," the King interrupted, "it would be imprudent of me to enter into negotiations with a committee that has no legal authority to do so. No matter who you're trying to represent here, your entire esteemed delegation could be replaced by any trumpeter."
"We have come here to read out the text of this proposal ," said Lord Pembroke, trying to keep his composure and continue speaking respectfully but firmly. "We will read this document and then excuse Your Majesty from our presence."
"Well, as you can see, I don't have any urgent matters to attend to right now ," said Karl. "If your task is to entertain me with some reading, I won't object, but I'm not promising anything."
After that, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and closed his eyes, making it unclear whether he was listening or just thinking about something of his own.
Lord Pembroke read a document that was, of course, insulting to the King, who still considered himself the monarch of his own state, but it was a perfectly reasonable course of action for someone who could adequately assess the situation. Unfortunately, the King was not.
"I hope you don't expect an immediate answer to what I was forced to hear?" asked the King. "I won't detain you any longer, gentlemen."
"We cannot give you more than ten days to respond," Lord Pembroke said firmly. "If we do not receive Your Majesty's reply within that time, we will be forced to assume that your answer is negative on all counts."
“Okay, you will receive an answer within this time frame,” Karl replied.
He didn't realize that this was his last chance not only to save his life but also to retain his status as King, even if he was stripped of the right to direct politics for twenty years. But even twenty years pass eventually. In any case, such an agreement would also preserve his right to pass the royal title on to his eldest son—that is, the eldest living son, since his firstborn died on the day he was born.
It seems to me that at that moment the King was least concerned with the question of passing the throne to his son. Was he really expecting military assistance from anyone? From whom? The English, Irish, Scots, and Spanish had turned their backs on him. Did he expect help from France? At that very moment, the French ambassador received instructions from the Queen, dictated, of course, by Mazarin. The French ambassador, who had previously promised military support on behalf of France, now advised, on behalf of the Queen, the Prime Minister, and himself, to accept the situation and reconcile with Parliament.
But the King refused to understand; he heard but didn't listen; he waited for a miracle, or believed in his fate. Let me remind you that Lord Winter had managed to convey to the King a letter from his wife, Queen Henrietta, who begged him to think of them and save his life if he couldn't save everything else. He seemed to have forgotten this request, too.
Meanwhile, the King sent a letter to Ireland calling on the Irish to rally to his banner to restore order in the country, promising them any benefits in return. This letter was made public in Parliament.
At this time, various circles in England were still far from unanimous. The army and its generals hoped to reach an agreement with the King, Parliament also hoped for a compromise. There was no real force committed to the physical elimination of the monarch. But after a series of Charles's actions, almost everyone realized one simple fact: no negotiations with the King would lead to anything. No agreements would be reached, he would not compromise, and he would not keep any promises.
At a regular parliamentary session, Member of Parliament Thomas Roth, who had previously been extremely silent, asked to speak.
"My Lord Chairman, our King has recently demonstrated by his entire behavior that the only worthy place for him to reside is Bedlam ," he said. "I most humbly request that you cease discussing and composing any and all appeals to him containing any proposals whatsoever."
"The Emperor has proven to us that he expects only homage and obedience from us," Ayrton continued. "But he fails to fulfill the task of governing the state, so it falls to all of us."
"But to refuse to agree with the King would mean destroying Parliament!" exclaimed one of the members.
"We must at least do something," Ayrton objected. "Parliament's inaction will destroy it even faster than its lack of agreement with the King."
"And what if he issues a decree dissolving parliament?" the same voice asked.
"Who's going to listen to him?" asked Thomas Roth. "Now, after everything that's happened!"
Thomas Roth's proposal was put to a vote and won by one hundred and forty votes to ninety-two. Parliament thus declared its alienation from the King; it declared its rejection of him.
The king, as a criminal, was escorted to Hurst Castle by order of Parliament, and in this unwelcome place, he first sensed his doom. The arrogant monarch, who had previously seen no one in his own retinue, now began to converse with his jailers, attempting to win them over to his side.
“There are no laws by which a sovereign can be brought to trial by his subjects ,” he told them.
Technically he was right, but the guards were just guards.
For some time, passions raged between the army leadership and parliament, and the fate of the King was still not decided.
Finally, the King was transported to Windsor. This move made him think he was once again a figure of respect. But it was an illusion. He was transported there only to be taken to court.
The Lower House tried the King in his absence and declared him a culprit of the civil war, an ally of the rebellious Scots, and the instigator of the Irish rebellion against the Kingdom of England. It also proposed creating a Supreme Court of Justice to try him.
This decree condemned despotism as a system of government, but continued to recognize royal authority as legitimate. The monarch was thus brought to trial as a private individual who had abused his legitimate power.
This resolution was sent to the House of Lords, which had to accept it or reject it.
Usually no more than six lords attended the meeting, but this time all sixteen came.
"Only His Majesty has the right to summon or dissolve Parliament ," said Lord Manchester. "Therefore, it is absurd to accuse him of treason against Parliament. How can the one who creates Parliament betray Parliament? There is no Parliament without the King; only the King is the source of Parliament's existence. There is not, and cannot be, any responsibility of the King to Parliament, and, of course, the King cannot be a criminal against Parliament."
The reason for this intercession was that the lords began to feel that they too might be brought to trial following the King.
All sixteen Lords unanimously rejected this resolution of the lower house.
Almost two and a half hundred members of the Lower House thus felt that their decision meant nothing if sixteen Lords overruled it. Two weeks later, the Lower House resolved that the decisions of the Upper House were of no consequence, and that henceforth, after God, the people alone were the sole source of legitimate authority in the country, and therefore supreme power belonged to the Lower House, elected by the English people. Its decisions required no approval from any other authority.
A force has emerged in the country that is ready to take responsibility for the fate of the King.

Chapter 154

"After a long and bloody civil war, England was still a kingdom," Athos said. "But yesterday, without any bloodshed, England became a republic. A tenth of the lower house usurped power in this house, and in its name, usurped the power of the entire parliament, abolishing the upper house. This new structure has arbitrarily placed itself above the King. Now anything is possible."
“They call themselves the people’s representatives,” said d’Artagnan.
"That's a lie," Athos replied. "They're merely the chosen few of the propertied classes, if it comes down to it. The middle class has risen to power. I heard that even Cromwell was horrified by what happened. Here's what he said: 'Whoever intends to depose the King and deprive his heirs of the throne is the greatest rebel and traitor.'"
"But his other statement is that he's prepared to do everything he can to save the King, but he's not going to sacrifice his life or even his position for him," d'Artagnan added. "He's either a monarchist pretending to be a republican when it suits him, or a republican pretending to be a monarchist when it's dangerous. And most likely, he hasn't yet decided which he is."
"He has Mordaunt as his aide-de-camp and adviser, and he is an obvious republican!" said Athos.
"He simply hates King Charles," I clarified. "That doesn't mean he's seeking to hand over power to the people or any collegial structure. He wouldn't object to Oliver Cromwell becoming the new King, or anyone who would listen to at least some of his advice."
"It's disgusting when scorpions like Mordaunt are given the opportunity to influence the fate of the state!" grumbled Porthos. "Only a country as rotten as England can allow itself to be governed by such scoundrels."
"My dear Porthos, you don't know history well!" I objected. "Any scoundrel has a thousand times better chance of reaching the heights of power than a decent man. That's why history abounds with examples of scoundrels in power, while examples of good and decent monarchs are found only in children's fairy tales."
"Have you read children's fairy tales?" asked Athos.
"Some documents, chronicles, and memoirs considered historically reliable should also be classified as children's fairy tales," I replied. "If not all."
"Absolutely," d'Artagnan confirmed. "But let's return to our business. The King will be tried tomorrow. There will be a large crowd, and the guards are certainly sufficient to prevent any attempts to free him. But we should try to infiltrate this gathering, if only to keep abreast of further developments, and also to perhaps track down Mordaunt, who will undoubtedly be there. It's dangerous, damn it, but if we don't undertake such forays, then why are we rotting in this musty, foggy city and this damp, cold country?"
"You're right, d'Artagnan, but we shouldn't show up there dressed as Italian actors!" said Athos. "We should look like ordinary English townspeople."
"Well, that's true, because if we're recognized there but manage to escape, we can transform back into Italian actors," d'Artagnan replied. "We need clothes that can be easily removed and discarded, if necessary, to confuse our pursuers. Some kind of cloak, or something like that."
"Did you know, gentlemen, that amazing things are happening in London?" I asked. "According to my information, almost all the lords, most of the nobles, and almost all the lawyers have left the city. They are all probably afraid to take part in this trial of their own King, realizing that history could turn against them in the very near future."
"Or maybe they're simply disgusted by the idea of participating in this crime?" Athos asked.
"It may be so," I agreed. "One doesn't exclude the other."
"Well, that's an idea," said d'Artagnan. "Then we must try to ensure that all the executioners disappear from London as well, in the event that this unjust court does sentence the King to death."
"Do you really allow such blasphemy?" exclaimed Athos.
"I would be happy to think better of people than they are, as you do, Athos," d'Artagnan replied. "But simple prudence demands otherwise. And life experience tells me that sometimes it's better to think worse of people than they deserve. At least in difficult situations like the one we find ourselves in."
"How many executioners are there in London?" asked Athos. "Can we eliminate them all, including their henchmen? And for heaven's sake, don't kill them!"
"We must find out as quickly as possible how many there are, and how many assistants and deputies they might have," d'Artagnan replied. "I had no intention of killing the executioners. For a country as dismal as England seems to me, executioners are, apparently, a very important component of their social structure. Sooner or later, this republic, created yesterday, will fall apart. And then these executioners will be in great demand. So we'll just tie them up gently and store them in a cellar somewhere."
"It wouldn't be a bad idea for them to settle down in a cellar full of wine, sausages, and hams!" Porthos exclaimed, winking at me.
"Well, Grimaud and I spent over a week in that cellar, and we're not tormented by regrets for wasted days!" Athos said with a laugh. "In those years of our youth, it was an exceptional opportunity to sample such a variety of pickles, smoked meats, and wines! Some of the wines I've never tried since. If I ever pass by that inn, I'll probably give the innkeeper another five or six pistoles in memory of his hospitality."
"It was forced upon us, and the vile innkeeper who dared to claim your pistols were counterfeit has paid for his baseness and vileness!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "Besides, I have paid all his expenses for your stay in his storerooms. Instead, give these pistols to those who can tell us how many executioners there are in London and where to look for them."
“I continue to believe that Parliament, even in its most truncated form, will not dare to sentence the King to death,” said Athos.
"Read the accusations against the King, written in the leaflets posted all over London!" said d'Artagnan. "And who on earth thought up this idea of spreading slander against the defendants even before the trial begins?! This trial will be under the weight of public opinion; they won't dare acquit the King, fearing the people's wrath. Those who would vote for his acquittal simply won't dare appear in court."
“Or they won’t be allowed in there,” I said, and, unfortunately, I was right.
We didn't know then that this method of distributing leaflets was invented and first used by Mordaunt. And we didn't know that the texts of the leaflets, one of which d'Artagnan read, were compiled by Cromwell with Mordaunt's active assistance.
Copies of hundreds of different pamphlets were passed from hand to hand in London. Some of them insistently demanded the King's trial and execution. Others called for his acquittal. I personally composed some of these pamphlets demanding the King's acquittal, passing them on to an acquaintance of mine, a member of the Order. The Order certainly had an interest in preserving the King's life, since, whatever his fate, he was the last bastion of true religion in England. The Order does not support the monarchy as such, but it does support Catholicism, and in England, the main bulwark of Catholicism was Queen Henrietta and her wayward husband, King Charles. I, too, would have wished to save this worthless monarch. Despite my surprise at the King's somewhat illogical behavior, I remained his supporter, for he was my co-religionist, the husband of my King's sister—in other words, he was as sympathetic to me as any ally, whether in glory and power or in ignominy and insignificance. I honestly exerted every effort to save him, and would have done so even if I hadn't been bound by the promise I made to his wife, Queen Henrietta, and even if I hadn't been compelled to do so, among other things, by Athos's unconditional opinion on the matter.
My pamphlets, I hope, were bold, witty, and persuasive. They probably prompted some of the lords to leave London. Poor things! They should have had the courage to attend this unjust trial and express their opinion. Perhaps then the verdict would have been different? But such self-sacrifice was not to be expected from the English lords, of course. The character of the English nobility was eloquently exemplified by Elizabeth Stuart, James I , Charles I , and Buckingham, as well as all those Darnleys, Ruthvens, and other scoundrels. Only Suffolk and Lord Winter evoked sympathy, but with the latter, I couldn't quite understand where his unfortunate brother's inheritance had gone, and why this scrupulous man, having taken upon himself the task of caring for Milady's descendant, had failed to find suitable tutors for him and protect him from the scoundrel whose influence had frustrated all attempts to make a man out of him. If Lord Winter had taken a more responsible approach to the guardianship of this orphan, he might have grown up not to be a snake, surpassing his unworthy mother in treachery, but at least an ordinary spendthrift, finding pleasure in barley swill called "beer" or "ale" and in fried lard with oatmeal, and considering a piece of cold, sticky semolina porridge with sugar and raisins a perfectly tolerable dessert called "pudding."
It was for these fog-eaters that I wrote my pamphlets, ridiculing Cromwell and defending the bungler Charles. In any case, the result of my literary labors was that even Thomas Fairfax and Henry Wen openly spoke out against the King's trial. As for Oliver Cromwell, he trusted in God to guide them to the right decision. Well, in that case, the King should have been tried not by Parliament, but by a commission of church leaders, shouldn't he? After all, the Catholic Church was rejected by the English people, and one couldn't expect leniency toward a Catholic King from a gathering of Protestants.
So, like d'Artagnan, I expected the worst.

The tribunal's session began with a prayer service in which Protestant priests asked the Lord to guide Parliament on the true path and to show mercy and justice to all.
Not a bad performance, steeped in hypocrisy and lies!
As soon as the service was over, the officer on duty reported that the King would soon be brought to Westminster.
Cromwell addressed those present.
"We need to decide how we will answer the question of by whose authority are we judging him, by whose powers?" he said.
“In the name of the lower house, representing the whole parliament, that is, in the name of the whole people of England,” answered Henry Marten.
Silence reigned. No one supported the proposal, but no one objected either. Everyone was terrified by the responsibility they had taken on.
Presiding Judge John Bradshaw, dressed in his judicial robe, solemnly entered the courtroom. Ahead of him were carried a sword and staff, symbolizing justice and punishment. These symbols, already evoking a sense of foreboding, were ceremoniously laid upon a table covered with an expensive Turkish carpet, matching Judge Bradshaw's chair, upholstered in blood-red velvet. The clerk sat on a bench next to the judge's dais. The members of the tribunal sat on benches covered in cloth of the same blood-red hue. The sense of impending bloodshed was palpable. I even thought the entire courtroom was permeated with the scent of blood, so familiar to any soldier.
The spectators surged into the hall, eager to secure the best seats, but as soon as they entered the room, they immediately felt timid, fell silent, and tried to move to their seats as quietly as possible. An ominous silence hung over the hall, the kind one might hear at a funeral service. Although the King was not yet dead, it seemed as if he no longer belonged to this world, and that the ominous hand of death had entered the hall before him.
As soon as the spectators had taken their seats, rows of soldiers entered the hall to ensure order and prevent any excesses.
Then the King was brought in.
Although short in stature, he held himself so erect that he seemed taller. His entire demeanor betrayed his disdain for everyone present. He was dressed entirely in black, with only a silver lace trim adorning his collar and cuffs. In his hand, he held an expensive ivory cane, its round knob adorned with diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the slightest ray of light. On his head was a black hat with a silver braid and a small but luxurious black feather. He was the very embodiment of elegance, condescending to sink into a pool of blood and hatred. He sat in a red velvet chair, identical to the one occupied by the judge, but as a sign of his royal dignity, he kept his hat on. His chair was just one step away from that of the chief prosecutor, John Cook.
Bradshaw began the jury roll call. There were one hundred and thirty-five people on the list.
The first to be named was Thomas Fairfax.
A woman in a mask shouted:
- He's smart enough not to come here!
“This is Lady Fairfax, Thomas Fairfax’s wife,” Athos whispered in my ear.
Bradshaw started and looked at this brave lady, but, probably out of fear that the worst might happen, he pretended that nothing special had happened.
He continued calling jurors from the list as if nothing had happened, in a flat, dispassionate voice. Only sixty-seven were present, less than half the list.
The tribunal should have been declared unauthorized due to lack of a quorum, but Bradshaw pretended everything was fine. Having finished the list of those present, he stood and looked at the King.
"Charles the Steward, King of England!" he addressed him, while Charles didn't even bat an eye, continuing to examine the knob of his cane and admire the play of light on it. "The Commons of England, represented in Parliament, deeply moved by the misfortunes to which the English people have been subjected, believing you to be the chief culprit, have resolved to prosecute these crimes. To this end, they have established this supreme court, before which you now appear. You will now hear the charges brought against you."
There was a pause. The king was not going to answer.
Bradshaw sat down in his chair with an air of importance. As the pause continued, Bradshaw motioned to Attorney General John Cook to read the indictment.
John Cook made to stand up, but at that moment the King pulled out his cane and gently touched his shoulder.
“Be quiet,” he said quietly.
The prosecutor, without having time to say a word, sat back down, thinking that the King wanted to say something.
At this moment, the head of the cane suddenly fell off and fell to the floor.
The King waited for someone present to lift it and hand it to him, but no one dared to oblige, no one moved. At his feet lay a diamond ball, worth at least two hundred thousand livres. But the King cared nothing about its value; it was his favorite cane. He intended to gaze at the play of light on these diamonds throughout the trial; he drew both his courage and his carelessness from their beauty. Now the ball lay at his feet, but the King considered it beneath his dignity to pick it up. However, no one dared hand it to him, at least not among those seated in the front rows.
I thought that if Charles had ordered this knob sold or pawned and paid the Scots wages from the proceeds, he would have remained free and still had a chance to regain his crown, power, and wealth, which he could have used, among other things, to buy back this knob or commission a new, even better one. Like a foolish child, he was unwilling to part with his trinkets even when it was necessary and would have meant his salvation! Should such a foolish man be allowed to rule such a vast state as England? But what can be done if the very structure of monarchy presupposes the transfer of power by birthright, not by intelligence or other merit? At that moment, the thought occurred to me that perhaps the very institution of hereditary monarchy should be dismantled, since it brings to power such infantile and incompetent princes, destroyers of both themselves and their kingdoms, bringing harm to absolutely everyone they encounter and incapable of bringing any benefit to themselves or others. This incompetent prince should have voluntarily retired from state governance, leaving it to a more capable man, as our Louis XIII did , ceding the reins of power to Cardinal Richelieu. But Charles lacked the intelligence to even recognize his own incompetence.
While I was thinking thus, Athos rushed forward, apparently intending to hand Charles the knob of his cane, but d'Artagnan and I seized him by the arms and sat him down again.
“Are you crazy?” I whispered in his ear.
"Forgive me," Athos whispered back. "My God, what a shame! Will no one do him this favor?"
The King didn't miss the movement of someone in the second row to oblige him. He looked at Athos, then at me, and without a doubt, he recognized us. His face lit up.
He bent down and picked up the knob of his cane himself, but this gesture of resignation affected his subsequent behavior. He became embarrassed, abandoned the idea of forbidding the Prosecutor General to speak, and merely slowly screwed the knob back onto his cane.
John Cooke turned his gaze to Charles, and since the King was no longer paying him any attention, he looked into the eyes of the presiding judge, who encouraged him to read the indictment. Then John Cooke, coughing slightly and taking a sip of water, read the indictment, which listed Charles Stuart's crimes in the eyes of the tribunal. He declared Charles guilty of lawlessness and tyranny, organizing an intervention, unleashing a civil war, tyranny, violating treaties, and so on. After this, Cooke demanded that the King be brought to trial as a tyrant, a state criminal, and a murderer.
The King seemed greatly amused by this last word. He was prepared to be called a tyrant, a state criminal, but the word "murderer" simply didn't apply to him. He might be indirectly responsible for the deaths of his subjects, but a murderer is usually defined as the direct perpetrator of crimes. It seems that even when leading his army, King Charles never personally killed anyone.
A contemptuous smile appeared on the King's face, and he even laughed silently in response to this ridiculous accusation.
Bradshaw turned to the King.
"My Lord, have you heard what the Commons of England accuse you of?" he asked. "The court awaits your answer."
It was probably at this point that Charles realized he should have dissolved Parliament, as Lord Winter and I had advised. He had the right to do so. But he had no right to call upon the Scots, Irish, or French for help, thereby unleashing civil war in his own kingdom. Just as he had no right, earlier, to send English troops against Scotland. He probably recognized this guilt, but only before his conscience and before God, since even at that moment he considered no one to have the right to judge him, since they were all his subjects and therefore owed him absolute and unconditional obedience. That was how he had been raised.
"I would like to know by what authority I have been summoned here?" he said, forgetting that even before the charges had been read, he had been told who this tribunal represented.
One could agree with this or disagree, but the answer was given to him even before he asked the question.
"Just recently, I negotiated peace terms with parliament, and we've almost reached agreement on everything," he continued. "Why have these negotiations led nowhere? And what kind of new tribunal is this that you think I'm obligated to answer questions that, in my opinion, only my conscience and God have the right to ask?"
"Your Majesty has probably forgotten that you have already been told whose authority we represent here and on what grounds," Bradshaw replied. "Then I repeat that we represent the authority of the people of England, who elected you King, and we therefore judge in their name."
"The people of England did not elect me King, but received me as such by right of inheritance of royal power," the King retorted. "You see? You confuse events, muddle legal concepts, and trample on the laws of the land in which you reside! When I asked by what right you demand an answer from me, I meant a legitimate right, one that is legally indisputable. I acknowledge that power can be not only legitimate but also illegitimate. Such is the power of force, the power of thieves and robbers, the power of those who have seized their lawful ruler by force of arms and are preparing to hold him in judgment. But I asked you not about this form of power, but about power that is legitimate according to the laws of England, where we have the honor of residing.
“As I have already said, the power of the tribunal is legitimate, since the tribunal was created by Parliament, elected by the people of England,” Bradshaw repeated.
"I object!" the King replied. "Parliament must be approved by the King; without that, it is not a parliament. Therefore, Parliament is obligated to obey the King in everything; its function is merely to give advice and prepare proposals that the King may or may not accept. Therefore, the King is under no circumstances subordinate to Parliament, and Parliament may under no circumstances create any tribunal or court that would have the right to judge the King."
After these words, Karl again began to examine the knob of his cane.
"If you don't accept the legitimacy of this tribunal, then the tribunal will proceed against you," Bradshaw replied. "You were given the opportunity to respond to the charges and defend yourself, but you failed to take that opportunity. The tribunal interprets this to mean you have no defense to the charges brought against you."
“I have something to object to,” replied the King. “But before I object to the specific accusations, I object to your right to make them, and even to formulate them against me for anyone to read. England has never been an elective Kingdom. You have perhaps confused it with the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, or some other country? England has been a hereditary Kingdom for a thousand years. My right is transmitted to me by my birth, and I am your King, for which I owe neither you nor the people of England. By what authority have I been summoned here, if not the power of your soldiers, who, for some reason, obey you and not me? By what authority has the Lower House declared itself independent of the decisions of the Upper House? Only I, your King, can reform the structure of state power. Only I alone can issue a decree according to which the decisions of the Lower House are not to be supported by the Upper House, and come into force even in the absence of such approval.” I alone can authorize you to make decisions even when less than half of your roster is actually present. I alone can condemn myself, and I alone can pardon any criminal in England, including myself. If even your unlawful assembly should have the audacity to pass any sentence on me, I need only the stroke of a pen to annul it, to pardon myself, whether you like it or not.
I glanced at Athos's face and saw a tear in the corner of his eye. Well, that's exactly what I expected from our romantic friend.
Bradshaw understood that the King was technically right. But he also understood that if he agreed with him, it would mean a death sentence for himself, the Attorney General, and perhaps even for everyone gathered here to judge the King. After all, if the King's power were recognized as legitimate, which it was, then this entire trial against him would become illegal. They were all state criminals, which dictated how they should be dealt with. So Bradshaw had no choice but to stand his ground.
"Very well, sir," he said. "If that is all you wish to say in your defense, the court will take your opinion into account. The court has heard you; your further presence in court is not required. Remove the prisoner. The court is adjourned until Monday; I declare the court session closed."
The King emerged, escorted by his escort. His face reflected serenity. He likely thought that his arguments, so compelling in the eyes of Athos, and perhaps equally compelling in the eyes of those lawyers and lords who had hastened to leave London, were equally convincing to the members of the tribunal who had heard him.
He didn't realize he was confronting them with a fateful choice. From now on, they could either declare him right and themselves criminals of the state, or declare him a criminal of the state and themselves a legitimate tribunal. He gave them no opportunity to acquit him without thereby condemning themselves. It seemed to him that they must acknowledge the incontrovertibility of his arguments, the correctness of his logic, even if it meant sending themselves to the gallows. How little he understood human souls, this unfortunate King Charles! If, even here, at this meeting, he had offered them a compromise in which they could spare his life, but not at the cost of their own, they would probably have accepted it. But by offering them a choice between their lives and his, he predetermined their sentence. Unhappy, unhappy King Charles!

Chapter 155

We returned to the tavern in a depressed state of mind.
"To tell the truth," said d'Artagnan, "if frivolity and imprudence must be punished, then this unfortunate King deserves some kind of punishment. But the punishment he was subjected to today is already harsh enough, especially for a man accustomed from birth to command and to regard all citizens of his country first as his future subjects, and then as such in fact."
“In any case,” I replied, “it is not the King who should be punished, but his ministers, since the first law of the English constitution states: ‘The King cannot make mistakes.’”
“And according to this law, all members of today’s tribunal must be punished in the most severe manner,” added Athos.
"As for me ," said Porthos, "I would be ready to strangle that judge and his prosecutor. If you weren't with me, and such an act threatened punishment only for me, by God, I would do it, after which I would crush two or three more foolish heads among the King's opponents, and try to arrange his escape."
"Sounds splendid, my dear Porthos," d'Artagnan replied. "But his escape is hopeless unless it looks like a disappearance. Half of London will rush to search for him or catch up with him, making it impossible for him to escape. If we're going to arrange his escape, we'll have to do it in such a way that he'll have at least a couple of hours to disappear, to disappear into the London fog. That's what we need, my friends, a tunnel or something of the sort."
“The verdict has not yet been passed, and I continue to believe that they will come to their senses ,” said Athos.
"That's all very well, dear Athos, faith gives strength in times of despair ," said d'Artagnan. "But those who rely solely on blind faith risk great disappointment when their faith is not justified."
"D'Artagnan, don't waste your time going to that shameful tribunal ," I said. "It would be better if you spent all your time thinking about how we could plan our actions. We all have faith in you."
"Well, I don't want to visit that circus with a tragic ending myself," d'Artagnan replied. "First the clowns perform, and then the predators are brought into the arena. But we must be aware of what's going on."
"It's enough that Aramis and I will be forced to drink this bitter cup to the dregs ," Athos said. "Porthos, too, should not attend the remaining meetings. Even I could hardly restrain myself from doing what our mighty friend suggested. Together, we will commit foolish acts that will not save the unfortunate King and will close off any chance of further attempts."
"What should I do?" asked Porthos.
“You need to stay in shape, my dear Porthos ,” said d’Artagnan. “You haven’t trained for a long time. Why don’t you go to a dockworkers’ duel and break a few noses or jaws? I’ve heard that a tradition of fistfighting is emerging in England, which they adopted from the Irish. It will allow you to let off some steam; your hands, as I see, are shaking with anger. And try to make some acquaintances, or better yet, admirers. We’ll need this to find out how many executioners there are in London and where they live. Say that you are a circus strongman from Calais, a great friend of the English. And take Grimaud with you as an interpreter.”
 "I like to break a few English jaws ," said Porthos.
"But don't kill them, or we'll have problems," d'Artagnan added. "In this backward England, if any fight, even the most noble, ends in death, an investigation is launched to find and punish the culprits. And if no one is found, they won't rest until someone, at least the witnesses, is punished. And don't fight anywhere except in designated areas. That should be somewhere near the port, because that's where the longshoremen hang out, having adopted this Irish tradition."
So, only Athos and I went to the next meeting.
This lawless trial dragged on for several days. The prosecutor read the King a long list of charges, and the King replied that he did not recognize the prosecutors' right to bring them. Bradshaw repeated the same phrase about the tribunal's powers, which everyone present had already memorized.
For the most part, the King was forced to sit and listen to the barrage of accusations. At first, he refused to defend himself, explaining the reasons for his actions. Finally, he realized it would be better to answer all the charges, but no one wanted to listen to him anymore, as the accusers expected him to repeat his assertion that the King was not subject to this tribunal, and the truth of this assertion only irritated everyone present except Athos and me, and perhaps a few others who didn't share the general hatred of the King.
Speaking out in defense of the King was dangerous, but it wouldn't stop Athos. The tribunal's procedure did not allow for the presence of those present to speak; only members of the tribunal could. So the King received no support from anyone. Everyone turned against him, realizing that his victory would be their decisive and final defeat.
At the fifth meeting, the King finally asked to speak.
"I'm asking permission to make an important statement that I hope will set the record straight ," he said. "I'll try to be brief, to the point, and not give anyone a reason to interrupt."
"You will be allowed to speak when it is your turn, in accordance with procedure," the chairman replied. "First, you must hear all the charges."
"But who came up with this procedure?" asked the King. "I won't be able to remember all the accusations brought against me! Wouldn't it be better if I answered them as they were made?"
"I ask you to show respect for the court," Bradshaw replied, ringing the bell. "You have already been given your answer; you will be heard in due course, later."
Bradshaw then went to court.
“My Lords, it is well known to all that Charles Stuart, who stands here before you, accused of numerous state crimes and high treason, has already been brought to court several times to answer the charges brought against him, brought in the name of the entire English people…
"Lies!" a woman's cry rang out, and I recognized the unforgettable voice of Lady Fairfax. "Not even half the members of the tribunal are here! Where do you see the people? You haven't consulted the people! Half the people of England don't share your convictions!"
Bradshaw rang the bell and then pointed her out to the soldiers.
"Take her!" said one of the officers.
"Shame!" Athos exclaimed. "You intend to fight a woman with weapons in your hands just because she told you what you already know!?"
I was forced to clamp my hand over Athos's mouth and force him back into his seat. Fortunately, the hall was so noisy and tumultuous that none of the soldiers heard Athos's exclamation, or at least were aware of who had said it.
“It’s time to put an end to this circus,” John Cook whispered and pushed a piece of paper towards Bradshaw.
"My Lords, I have before me a document which contains the opinion of all present here ," said Bradshaw. "It is the verdict of the tribunal."
"When did you manage to vote?" the King asked in surprise.
“My Lords, I beg you to rise for the pronouncement of sentence,” Bradshaw continued, as if nothing had happened.
Everyone stood up except the King.
“I ask everyone present to rise,” Bradshaw repeated, emphasizing the word “everyone,” and looking pointedly at the King, who pretended that this could not apply to him.
"Read it already!" John Cook whispered.
Bradshaw read out the wording, which no one listened to until the final sentences, which constituted the essence of the verdict, were heard.
"Find Charles Stuart guilty on all charges brought against him and impose the death penalty by beheading," Bradshaw concluded, breaking into a sweat.
After this he fell down on the chair, exhausted.
“Please everyone sit down ,” said the secretary.
All eyes were on the King.
"Sir, would you like to hear me out?" he asked, turning to the chairman.
"Sir, you will not be allowed to speak after the verdict has been read," Bradshaw replied. "You cannot speak."
“But you just said that I would still be given the floor, didn’t you?” the King was surprised. “I cannot speak? But I wish to speak! As you wish, sir, you may pronounce the sentence, or you may ignore me, but I wish to speak, and I can speak! How is this possible? I was not allowed to speak to answer the charges, and now I am not allowed to speak after the sentence has been passed! When will they let me speak? What kind of justice is this? What awaits the others then?”
Bradshaw rang the bell.
"The meeting is adjourned ," he said. "I declare the meeting closed. I ask everyone to leave the room."

Chapter 156

The description of the King's escape plan, which d'Artagnan drew up, and which we almost carried out, is a fiction of the dreamer Grimaud.
There's little truth in this jumble of fantasies. Yes, we did kidnap the executioner to buy time, but at that time there was not just one executioner in London, but two, and each had an assistant, meaning we had to kidnap four.
Mordaunt, who agreed to perform the dirty work, not only participated in the execution, but also persuaded Groslow to assist. We did not help build the execution platform. And it wasn't just that none of us had carpentry skills, which was perfectly natural. Carpentry isn't like Italian pantomime; desire and enthusiasm aren't enough. None of us had ever held a carpenter's tool, so we would have been easily exposed, and besides, we wouldn't have been able to construct anything comparable to what was required. Furthermore, we would never have stooped to participating in the construction of the scaffold, even if we were completely convinced it would be of no use. It wasn't an activity for which we were prepared, either physically or mentally. And how could Athos have looked Queen Henrietta in the eye if he had personally contributed to the construction of the scaffold for her royal consort? Even I, who could cope with this moral problem, would feel extremely uncomfortable.
It was impossible to tunnel silently. The King was guarded like the apple of his eye. Any such work would have been immediately discovered. Our plan was for the King to exchange clothes with the confessor and escape.
Grimaud is also mistaken in thinking I was the priest. Poor Grimaud decided that who else could impersonate the priest but me, a man close to the church, an abbot? But I was an abbot of the Catholic Church. Not only was I ignorant of the rites of the Anglican Church, but I might even have given myself away by mistake. Moreover, my knowledge of English wasn't perfect; my accent would have immediately identified me. Add to this the fact that Father Jackson was the same height and build as Athos, not me. Charles was somewhat shorter, but we had prepared shoes with padded soles, so if the King had changed his shoes and concealed them under his robe, it might well have worked.
Besides, Athos would never have entrusted me with a mortally dangerous mission without participating. If only one of us had the chance to sacrifice their life to save the King, it would have to be Athos, and he wouldn't have accepted anyone's objections, and arguing with him was pointless. After all, it's pretty clear what awaited anyone who dared, disguised as a bishop, infiltrate the King's presence, and allow him to escape by exchanging clothes with him.
So the truth is that we kidnapped the four executioners and tried to arrange the King's escape using this disguise.
Unfortunately, the King was under constant surveillance; two guards were present during the conversation with the confessor, though out of tact, they retreated to the far end of the room, right by the door. Athos managed to speak with the King, and it was then that he received information about the hidden treasure.
"Your Majesty!" Athos whispered in amazement. "If you had a million pounds, why didn't you use it to hire new troops? Why didn't you pay the Scots, to whom you owed only four hundred thousand? Surely they would have remained loyal to you then! Even half that sum would have satisfied them! And why, finally, didn't you dissolve Parliament at least a day before that shameful tribunal?"
"Alas, Count, I have done many foolish things, and left much untouched that should have been done, but is it worth speaking of now?" said the King. "I am accustomed to listening to many advisers before making a decision. The wise ones abandoned me, and I refused to listen to the foolish ones. But now there is no point in discussing mistakes; it is time to speak of my sins and prepare to stand before the Creator."
“But, alas, I am not a priest,” said Athos.
“That is of no importance,” the King replied. “The Lord hears all who speak to Him. True repentance does not consist of confessing one’s sins to a cleric, but of confessing them before God, and for this any interlocutor is suitable, even none at all. Let me tell you that if I am guilty of anything, I still do not understand what, but I regret all my actions that led to such a tragic end. Most of all, I regret that I failed to give my family the attention, love, and care they deserved. Tell my son that I was wrong when I said I would prefer him to die than to give up the city. I am happy that he is alive, and I hope that in due time he will be able to inherit the real power that I lost through my carelessness. He will become king very soon, the moment the executioner’s axe touches my neck.”
“Sire, I wanted to offer you to exchange clothes with me and leave this inhospitable house and this harsh city,” Athos whispered fervently.
"Impossible, Count," replied the King. "You see that we are not alone."
“I have two daggers, and we can kill them easily,” said Athos.
"By no means!" Karl exclaimed. "I was called a murderer, and the injustice of that accusation was, it seemed, clear to everyone present. So am I really going to become a real murderer just to make one more attempt to save my life, an attempt that will most likely be futile? I will not give them the satisfaction of accusing me of this crime as well. I consider all their accusations baseless, but if I kill a guard with my own hands, or allow you to do so in my presence, even if only to save myself, I will be the first to call myself a murderer. That will not happen, Count."
With these words, the King placed his hand so decisively on Athos's right hand and shook it, that the Count had no choice but to fall on one knee and kiss it, washing it with tears.
“Stand up, Count, don’t forget that you are a priest, and it is not fitting for you to kneel before me,” the King whispered.
Luckily, the guards did not pay attention to this episode and did not suspect anything.
"Tell my wife, the Queen, that I ask her to forgive me for all I have done wrong," Charles continued. "Also convey my repentance to my children. I have been a bad King, a bad husband, and a bad father, but let them forgive me, for it is not a lack of desire, but a lack of skill and an evil fate that is to blame. Now leave me, Count. I have only God to speak to, and neither the guards, nor the parliament, nor the cruel members of the tribunal can take that right from me."
Athos, deeply saddened, bowed before the King again and, ignoring his protest, kissed his hand again. At that moment, the King placed something in Athos's hand.
"Give this to Queen Henrietta as my last and farewell greeting," said the King.
Athos tried to say something, but couldn't, so he bowed slowly and deeply, then stood up and left.

Porthos had collected quite a comprehensive account of the executioners. It must be said that the ports were frequented not only by longshoremen, but also by all manner of smugglers, prostitutes, thieves, and other riffraff. Therefore, they were genuinely interested in all facts related to the judicial and enforcement systems, so even Porthos's questions surprised no one, especially after he gained popularity as a wrestler in a new sport.
At first, Porthos took an interest in the amusements of the stevedores, who wrestled jokingly for the amusement of those around them and simply to release their strength and energy when there was no work to unload or load any ship.
"I bet half a pound that the redhead wins!" Porthos said loudly, placing the half pound on an upside-down barrel that stood nearby.
At first, no one understood anything.
"I answer!" Grimaud suddenly replied. "Half a pound for the bearded one."
The people around began to murmur among themselves. Finally, one scoundrel approached the barrel with his half-pound.
"I'll give the big guy a piece of the action," he said, pointing at Porthos. "I'll add my half-pound to the redhead."
And then it began. Within minutes, the bets on both sides had reached forty pounds. The red-haired loader in a greasy striped jacket and the bearded, dark-haired man in a black robe were immediately informed of the bets.
"And what's our reward?" asked the red-haired man.
“The winner gets a tenth of the pot,” answered Porthos.
"I'll get that bearded guy to agree to this in no time!" the red-haired man exclaimed.
"We'll see about that!" the bearded man replied.
The fight went from a joke to the most serious stage of struggle.
In the end, the bearded man won, Porthos parted with his half-pound, but Grimaud won a little more even after paying ten percent to the bearded man, since most of the bet was still placed on the red-haired man.
Thus, a new participant quietly appeared in these friendly brawls: passion. This participant almost immediately became the main player. Two new wrestlers entered the makeshift arena, and the stakes began to climb. The friendly brawls began to take on the appearance of professional fistfights. Bochka became the treasurer of these bets.
After the three couples had finished fighting, Grimaud began to encourage Porthos to take part in the fight.
"Two pounds that you beat that giant over there!" he said to Porthos, pointing to a stevedore who was almost a head taller than Porthos.
“I wouldn’t even think of fighting him,” Porthos replied with feigned indifference.
"That's because he's stronger than you, and he'll win!" someone from the crowd said.
"Okay, I'm tired of this!" Porthos said feigning disapproval. "I think I'll go home."
"I'll bet you three pounds to his two pounds that the giant wins!" said the scoundrel who had been the first to back Porthos's bet to Porthos.
Immediately others began to shout out their bets.
"Oh, really?" Porthos exclaimed. "Well, you asked for it! Let's do it this way. There will be three rounds. After each round, bets can be added, but not removed. The winner is the one who remains standing!"
"Good!" Grimaud exclaimed. "Then I'll add three pounds to my two! Five pounds on you!"
Porthos took off and threw aside his jacket and walked out into the middle of the improvised arena.
I learned that for the first two rounds, Porthos simply avoided the big man's blows, dodging them, and even pretended to take a couple of hits. By the end of the second round, the odds on the big man had risen to ten to one. Almost everyone was confident of the big man's victory. Only Grimaud was increasing his bets for Porthos at the end of the first and second rounds.
The third round began. Porthos calmly approached the big man, ignoring his punches, grabbed him by the waist, and lifted him over his head, then spun him around three times before slamming him to the ground.
"Did you kill him?" Grimaud asked anxiously.
"Who the hell knows," Porthos replied. "I think he'll wake up. But I broke five of his ribs."
"And the head?" asked Grimaud.
"I don't think it cracked," Porthos replied. "But what does he need brains for?"
The scoundrel, who by then had volunteered to be the banker, counted out Grimaud's winnings, gave a tenth of the bet to Porthos, and distributed the remaining crumbs to those who had bet on Porthos in the first round.
There was tension in the air. There were too many losers.
"Listen here, friends," said Porthos. "I'll deduct two pounds from this sum for the torn shirt, and we'll all drink the rest immediately at the nearest tavern. I accept no objections. You're all invited!"
This unexpected move immediately dispelled the tension. The crowd cheered three times in honor of the winner.
"The hell with you!" Grimaud exclaimed, adding his winnings to Porthos's. "Let's have fun! Wine for everyone, courtesy of the winner of the battle and the winner of the bets!"
It must be said that in the last three years, Grimaud hadn't uttered as many words as he did that evening. And he was terribly ashamed of his behavior in front of the Comte de la F;re. Naturally, for this reason, he didn't describe the episode in his book.
Much later, I learned that the tradition of fistfighting among London dockers gradually spread throughout England. In 1685, rules for fighting were developed that excluded many types of blows. That same year, this strange form of combat received an equally strange name, from the English word meaning "box." It seems, if my memory serves me correctly, these fights are now called "boxing," and no one remembers that the founder of these fights was none other than our dear friend Porthos. The phrase "money on a barrel" also firmly entered many languages, thanks to Porthos's influence – " Cash" on the barrel ».
During conversations in the tavern, Porthos casually found out everything that interested him about the London executioners and their place of residence.
After this, say Porthos is a naive and gullible giant. Firstly, he's not such a giant if there's a man a full head taller than him in the London docks. Secondly, he's not so naive and gullible. After all, he deliberately gave in so that the odds would fall on him, and realized in time that it would be much easier to squander the money with everyone else than to take it with him when surrounded by so many duped longshoremen accustomed to playing fast and loose with the rules of honor.
We would never have known about this episode with Grimaud, but Porthos told me everything, and later I was able to verify from other sources that his story was exactly true. Among the stevedores at the London port, oddly enough, there was a Jesuit.
I was glad to be distracted by this memory, since now I have to tell about the execution of the unfortunate King Charles.

Chapter 157

So, we failed to persuade the King to escape by exchanging clothes with Athos.
D'Artagnan proposed the following plan. He proposed crawling under the wooden platform where the execution was to take place and sawing through the floor where the block was to be placed, essentially creating a trapdoor that would open downward. D'Artagnan envisioned this trapdoor remaining in place only thanks to a prop located below, holding it in its original position. This prop was to be knocked out just as the executioner raised his axe over Charles's head. If the trapdoor opened downward, the block would also fall, preventing the executioner from striking. Porthos was initially supposed to be tasked with knocking out the prop with a single blow, but Athos took on this task, fearing that Porthos might hesitate or act a little too early. Both would have been detrimental to our plan. We agreed that as soon as the executioner took hold of the axe, before he even raised it above his head, d'Artagnan and Porthos would shout the word " Remember !" As soon as he heard this word, Athos was to knock out the trapdoor. The block would collapse, delaying the execution, and causing confusion. Meanwhile, I, disguised as a confessor in place of Father Jackson, would be next to the King and attempt to push the executioners aside and drag him through the opened trapdoor.
In this case, we hoped, with the proper influence on the crowd, the assembled Englishmen would conclude that Providence itself was protecting the King, that God himself had interceded for him. An unimaginable roar would arise, the people would rush to their King's defense, and Parliament would hesitate to proceed with the execution.
D' Artagnan and Porthos, from opposite ends of the crowd, were to stir up the throng and rouse them to revolt with cries of "God has interceded for our King." Porthos had memorized the phrase and his pronunciation of it was quite passable. We also prepared a cloak, hat, pistols, and swords beneath the scaffold, so that the King, once below, could don his cloak and arm himself, attempt to escape through the secret door we had made, and, along with Athos and me, try to blend into the crowd. It was, of course, a crazy plan, but we couldn't think of anything better. Sawing through the scaffold floor and creating an exit would take time, but it was entirely possible to do so at night, as the scaffold was unguarded. When I write that we made a trapdoor and a door, I'm simply saying that we hired carpenters for the job, who, once completed, were also placed with the kidnapped executioners to keep them from blabbering. They were all paid handsomely for their work, and to keep them entertained, they were provided with food and drink at our expense. The hole in the floor was skillfully concealed with drapery, which was color-coordinated, but the fabric was so thin that tearing it would have been no problem. The secret door was concealed by folds of the same drapery used to line the scaffold, so that to open it, it wouldn't even be necessary to tear the fabric; simply sliding it aside would have been enough.
Grimaud's fantasy that we were planning to saw through the floor beneath the room where the King was kept remains, of course, just that—it would have been impossible. A reliable guard protected not only the doors of the room where the King was kept, but the entire building, and, of course, no one could penetrate either the rooms below or the rooms above the room where he was confined.
This was all just a backup plan, since we were counting on the fact that in the absence of executioners, perhaps the execution would be postponed indefinitely, and then chance might give us the opportunity to kidnap the King on his way to some other place.
But fate decreed otherwise. Word of the executioners' disappearance quickly reached the tribunal, and Mordaunt learned of it. Disguised as an executioner, he then appeared before the tribunal, offering his services. When they told him two executioners were needed for the execution, he replied that he would bring his assistant. That assistant, as I've already said, was Groslow.
Our hopes that the execution would be postponed the following morning were dashed. So, in desperation, we decided on a backup plan.
By order of Parliament, an opening had been cut into the wall of White Hall's dining hall, with a specially constructed platform leading from it to the scaffold. Charles emerged through this opening and stepped onto the platform when he saw a crowd of fellow citizens, his former subjects, who had come to watch him part with his life, his head severed from his body by the blow of the executioner's axe.
"Well then, my loyal subjects!" he said quietly. "Today I will be the best spectacle for you. I will try not to disappoint you."
Frosty steam billowed from thousands of mouths, but no one felt the cold. I listened to the voices around me. Some were wailing, some were laughing, some were talking about everyday problems like the price of bread and the prospects for the harvest. But when the King appeared in the doorway, everyone fell silent, and only here and there could be heard a whisper: “There he is, look! The King! The King!”
The king was hatless, and his hair, which had turned grey over the last few weeks, fluttered in the wind.
"Put on this hat and tuck your hair under it!" the executioner said in a hoarse voice, and it seemed familiar to me.
The king took the small cap from the executioner's hands and put it on as he was instructed, baring his neck. Then he removed his cloak and looked at the block.
"It seems to me that the block is wobbling ," he said to the executioner. "Couldn't you position it so that it stands more firmly?"
The executioner made a sign to his assistant, and they moved the chopping block a meter forward, closer to the spectators, after which the executioner tried to swing the chopping block with his hand.
"She's standing pretty firmly now ," he said. "You can be sure of that."
Horror gripped me. I suddenly realized our plan had failed. What was the point of opening a hatch where there was no execution block? It wouldn't distract the executioner, it wouldn't anger the people; our plan would have turned into a farce.
I looked at d'Artagnan and then at Porthos, and their faces showed the same disappointment and horror that they probably read on mine.
We could only watch the proceedings. The King said a prayer, then removed the diamond-studded cross from his neck that Lord Winter had given him from the Queen, kissed it, and then handed it to me.
After this, he approached the chopping block, knelt down, laid his head on the chopping block and stretched out his arms to the sides as a sign that he was ready to die.
The executioner immediately raised his axe, the polished metal glinting in the dim rays of the cold English sun. The blow struck, and the head of His Majesty King Charles II of England, separated from his body, lay on the block. The executioner lifted the head and showed it to the people.
"There!" he shouted in a hoarse voice. "There's the head of a state criminal!"
At that moment, I wanted to run the man through and through, but I was dressed in clerical vestments and had no sword. A groan-like roar swept through the crowd. People, pushing each other aside, rushed to the scaffold to soak their handkerchiefs in the blood of their fallen monarch. Since ancient Roman times, the belief has been strong that the blood of slain criminals has healing properties.
The executioner and his assistant lifted the King's body and placed it in a coffin prepared earlier. They also placed his head there. I don't remember how I got off the platform and approached the door behind which Athos was hiding.
"It's all over, Athos, they've moved the block ," I said. "The King himself asked for it to be done."
Since the guards had already lost all interest in the place of execution, Athos came out of his hiding place unhindered, and I caught him with both hands, since, as it seemed to me, there was not a drop of blood in his face.
But his hands and forehead were covered in blood—the King's blood. I wiped it with my handkerchief, as I thought it would be unsafe to walk in such a conspicuous manner. But I was wrong. On the way to the inn, we met many people whose hands were covered in blood. These were the people who had managed to reach the scaffold and soak their handkerchiefs in King Charles's blood.
"Home..." Athos whispered. "Our mission has failed. We were unable to do anything to save His Majesty. But we have no further business here."

Chapter 158

We captured Porthos and headed to the hotel; we did not find d'Artagnan in the crowd where we expected to find him.
“I hope the King will be buried with the honors he deserves ,” said Athos.
"I can tell you that the coffin containing his body will be taken to the family vault, the lid will be nailed shut, and it will be lowered into the pit ," I said. "A simple slab will be erected over the pit with the inscription: 'King Charles, 1649.' There will be no procession. That's what Parliament has ordered."
“They even skimped on what they might not have refused to a dead man ,” said Athos bitterly.
“They are afraid of the undesirable consequences of a crowd of people at a funeral ,” I said.
“Now this country doesn’t even have a nominal head of state,” Athos continued to lament.
“Don’t worry about them, they’ll find someone to fill the vacant spot,” I replied.
"Do you think Cromwell can become King and found a new dynasty?" Athos asked with disdain.
"He's smart enough to handle the job, and prudent enough not to seek it ," I said. "Although many probably expect exactly that outcome. He'll probably be offered something like Lord Protector. Perhaps not now, but a little later. First, they'll have to play their games with the Republic, after which they'll naturally grow tired of them, and then they'll look for a new King."
“But where is our friend d’Artagnan?” asked Athos.
"I thought he was following someone," Porthos replied. "I wanted to catch up with him, but he disappeared from sight too quickly, and I didn't want to fall behind either him or you. There were two of you, so I went to you."
“Don’t worry about d’Artagnan, he won’t get lost in London ,” I said to Athos.
After a while, d'Artagnan appeared at the door. He looked cheerful, as always, but I could tell from subtle signs that he had come a long way and was apparently tired.
"Well, let's commemorate the poor King with a good glass of wine and set off immediately ," said Athos. "I've arranged for a felucca to be hired, which is waiting for us from today. I hoped we would board it with the King, but alas, that was not to be. All that remains is to deliver his final 'Farewell' to the Queen and their children, those of them who have taken refuge in France. And to return these grisly souvenirs—the cross, the order, the ring, and the handkerchief soaked in the King's blood."
"We will certainly do so, however, we still have business to attend to in this cold city," d'Artagnan replied. "First, we have not yet avenged Mordaunt for Lord Winter's death."
“Revenge is not the thing for which one should remain here,” Athos objected.
"That's a pity, because the second case is also of the same nature," d'Artagnan replied. "After all, I wanted to suggest you talk to the man who took on the mission of executioner, despite not being one, and, incidentally, to his henchman."
"My friend!" cried Athos. "Do you think this is possible?"
"Both possible and necessary," replied d'Artagnan. "If it weren't for these two scoundrels, the King would still be alive for at least another day or two, and we might have been able to devise and implement some plan to save him. In any case, we'll be doing a good deed if we rid this country of these two scoundrels. The executioner's work should be done by the executioners, and no one else. By the way, the real executioners and their henchmen can now be released. Blunderbuss! Release them all."
Musketon ordered the executioners and their assistants to leave.
“Wait a minute!” said one of them, the oldest, turning to Athos. “You think we don’t know why you kidnapped us? Don’t think we’re such fools. You wanted to save King Charles. Don’t be afraid, we won’t betray you. I declare on behalf of all of us present here: we are grateful to you for kidnapping us. We would have no wish to be involved in this matter. Believe me, you don’t know the soul of an executioner; you probably think of us all as soulless monsters. But we are not. We simply earn our daily bread by what fate has decreed has become our profession. One way or another, any power needs executioners, and always will. A hundred years will pass, two hundred, maybe a thousand, but executioners will still be needed.”
“What convinces you of this?” I asked.
"I'm a bit interested in history ," said the executioner. "Even the most ancient books speak of executions ordered by rulers or governments. If our profession hasn't disappeared in a few thousand years, why expect it to disappear in a hundred or two? In any case, we'll have enough work to last us a lifetime. We're like doctors who sever a rotten limb to save the life of the entire organism. Only our instruments cut off diseased limbs not from individuals, but from society. If you ask me, without our work, crime would overwhelm the country."
“I won’t say that I agree with you completely ,” I said, “but I won’t say that I disagree with you on everything either.”
“Well, everyone has their own point of view on any subject,” the executioner concluded philosophically.
"And tell me, my dear sir, why would you not wish to take part in the execution, which, as you understand, is being discussed?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Because such intervention isn't healing society, it's murdering it," the executioner replied. "If a man's arm or leg is rotting away, it's better to cut it off, saving him. But if he has a tumor on his head, and you cut off his head, you won't save him; you'll kill him. The king was the sick part of our society, but he was its head. Cutting off a sick head is bad treatment. This is a case where the cure is worse than the disease."
"Thank you for your opinion!" Athos exclaimed, quickly shaking the executioner's hand.
We all looked at Athos in surprise.
"Don't be surprised, my friends ," said Athos. "By the will of Providence, we have already linked our fates with that of an executioner. Life has taught me to treat men of this profession with due respect. Provided, of course, that they act in accordance with the verdict of a just court. The tribunal that carried out its shameful trial of the King was unjust, and the executioner who carried out that sentence would have stained his hands as a murderer and ruined his soul. I am glad that these men understand the disaster from which we have saved them."
“We think we’ll go ,” said the executioner.
His colleagues nodded in approval of everything he said.
"What kind of country is this where executioners behave like nobles, and some nobles voluntarily take on the job of executioner?" asked d'Artagnan.
"England," Porthos replied gloomily. "What do you expect from them? If we drink beer instead of wine for another week, we'll turn into God knows what ourselves."
“So, Athos, you will not stay to search for Mordaunt, and I do not understand or support you in this leniency, but you agree to stay to punish the voluntary executioners ,” said d’Artagnan.
“It will be difficult to find them, and even, I’m afraid, impossible ,” said Athos.
"It would have been impossible if I hadn't tracked them down," d'Artagnan clarified. "Why don't you ask where Grimaud has gone? He's been guarding them faithfully! The poor fellow is probably freezing; I should take him some chicken and a bottle of wine."
"Come on, let's go quickly!" cried Athos, grabbing his sword.
"I wish it had happened long ago!" d'Artagnan agreed.
Blazois had already stuffed a chicken, not the fattest, and a half-empty bottle of wine into the bag, obeying the order he had heard, since by this time even he had realized that any of us should obey equally.
"You can eat this chicken yourself," Mousqueton retorted. "And for my friend Grimaud, who's selflessly freezing in the snow, give me that fattest, crispiest one over there. And here's this unopened bottle of Burgundy."
Athos nodded and we all went out to where d'Artagnan had led us.
"By the way, if these executioners disperse, or simply leave, how will we know?" asked Athos. "After all, Grimaud will have to follow them."
"If they disperse, he must follow the leader," d'Artagnan replied. "And so that we know where to go, he has two assistants. They are the King's valet, named Paris, and his brother. Grimaud met them among the spectators and drew them into our noble cause."
"A fine name!" exclaimed Porthos. "A very fine name indeed for an Englishman."
“He’s Scottish,” d’Artagnan corrected.
"So much the better!" Porthos rejoiced. "I hope his brother is also named something like that, after another French city? Boulogne? Dijon? Angers?"
At the word "Ange" I involuntarily shuddered.
“To be honest, I didn’t have time to find out,” d’Artagnan replied.

D'Artagnan led us to a fairly large stone building on the outskirts of town. It wasn't quite the size of a castle, but it wasn't a house either, something in between.
"How many doors does this house have?" asked Athos.
"There are only two doors, and the windows are barred on both the first and second floors, so they won't be able to escape. Grimaud guards one door, the Scottish brothers guard the other."
"But here is the front door, and I don't see anyone here!" exclaimed Porthos.
"I'm here!" Grimaud's voice rang out.
A moment later he appeared next to us.
"Where have you been hiding?" Porthos asked.
"A hollow!" answered Grimaud, pointing to a thick tree, which, indeed, had a rather large hollow in it, in which Grimaud could warm himself while keeping a watchful eye on the door.
Athos nodded approvingly to Grimaud, and Mousqueton handed him a bag containing the best chicken and the best wine.
“The Count gives you permission to rest and refresh yourself ,” I said to Grimaud, and Athos nodded again.
Grimaud broke off a chicken leg and took a few sips of wine, after which he returned it all to Mousqueton.
"Scots," he said.
"Indeed!" cried d'Artagnan. "I had not thought of them!"
“They’ll have enough,” Mousqueton grumbled, breaking off a second chicken leg and handing it to Grimaud. “Eat, my friend. You need it more. All Englishmen eat four times a day, so they’ve probably already had three meals today. And you’re so thin; if you don’t eat, you’ll catch a cold. You know, while the fat one is wasting away, the thin one will die! I, for example, can go for a long time without eating.
"Seriously?" Grimaud asked doubtfully.
"I can, yes," Musketon answered proudly. "I can, but I don't want to. Why should I starve when there's food? I prefer to eat my fill so I don't die immediately after the food runs out, but only a little later."
"Do you see, Athos, what the cold English republican spirit is doing to our servants?" asked Porthos. "They've been imbued with the republican air and have begun to chatter about anything and everything in the presence of their masters. Let's get home quickly, I can't wait to wring the neck of this vile executioner."
"No one came out?" Athos asked Grimaud.
“No, no one came out, but another one came in,” answered Grimaud.
"Then there should be three of them," I replied. "It's a shame there aren't four. It would be nice to fight on equal terms."
We noticed light shining through some of the shutters. This gave us a chance to peer inside to find out exactly where the executioners were, what they were doing, and how many there were. After all, it's possible there were already enough people in the house before they arrived to make our task more difficult. Of course, we wouldn't have retreated even if there had been a dozen armed soldiers, but knowing the disposition is half the battle.
So, we took turns peering through every crack in the window until we saw three men in one of the rooms. One of them was sitting facing the window, and we recognized him as General Oliver Cromwell. The other two had their backs turned, but occasionally turned their heads, so we soon recognized them too. They were Captain Groslow and Mordaunt.
"There is a God!" whispered d'Artagnan. "I thought I could only take revenge on the executioner, and Mordaunt would escape punishment. But it turns out that this executioner is Mordaunt! Will he answer for all his crimes?"
"Fate!" Athos whispered.

Chapter 159

I can't recount Oliver Cromwell's conversation with Mordaunt and Groslow, as we couldn't hear them. They spoke rather quietly, the windows were tightly closed, and we could only glimpse those present through the cracks between the shutters.
I wish I knew the source of inspiration for the vivid description of Cromwell and Mordaunt's conversation. I can only say that it is a figment of Grimaud's imagination, and that the description of this dialogue misrepresents General Cromwell's actual situation at the time, as well as his attitude toward the entire affair.
Cromwell believed in divine providence. If all the executioners had disappeared, perhaps he would have taken it as a sign and sought to postpone the executions or even cancel them. He would have "sought" because Cromwell wasn't a monarch and didn't make any political decisions on his own, nor was he even the chief military commander. Lord Fairfax commanded the troops alongside him, and Cromwell only led the cavalry, and not always even then. "Leadership," in this case, meant directing the cavalry where Parliament directed him. Within Parliament itself, he was merely one of its members, and not even the most active one.
Grimaud places all responsibility for the felucca ruse on Cromwell.
Don't think.
He is not the kind of person to plan such a thing.
D'Artagnan suggested waiting for Cromwell to leave and only then attack the two executioners.
"We're not going to take revenge on the general for the sentence passed by parliament!" he said. "We're only punishing the false nobles who committed an act unworthy of a nobleman."
Athos agreed with him.
"The executioner said the country has lost its head ," he said. "If it also loses what should replace it, such chaos will reign that the present state of affairs will seem like a golden age. Furthermore, the general's execution could be considered the work of the King's relatives, suspicion would fall on them all, and innocent princes and princesses could suffer."
"Perhaps that is precisely what I meant to say," d'Artagnan said with some surprise. "But I could not have explained my motives as simply and convincingly as Athos did. Bravo, Athos, you know England better than any of us, of course, and your opinion on this matter is indisputable to us."
Cromwell, as we could see, soon said goodbye and left the room. We moved away from the door so he wouldn't notice us and hid in the shadows of the bushes and trees.
As it turned out, the general had four guards, who apparently were all this time in another room or in the corridor, where there are no windows.
When the general and his guards were out of sight, d'Artagnan was the first to emerge from the gloom.
“Well, we have to assume that there are other people in the house besides the two we saw through the window ,” he said.
You propped the back door shut with a log found nearby and reinforced the structure with large boulders that Porthos easily uprooted. The door was securely fastened, so we could all rush in through the front door without fear of escape from those inside the house. And so we did.
The doors gave way under the pressure of Porthos, who simply knocked them inward with the help of another log, which he used as a battering ram.
A crash was evidently heard in the house, and Mordaunt appeared in the doorway that opened to us, sword in hand.
Obviously, Groslow had formed Cromwell's guard, so we missed him, but we did not regret it too much, since it was Mordaunt who took on all the duties of the executioner, and ultimately it was he who was responsible for the death of the King, and it was he who we needed.
"Let's go into the house, Lieutenant ," said d'Artagnan. "We have an important conversation ahead of us, which, I hope, won't take up too much of our time."
Mordaunt looked at us with a hunted expression and moved deeper into the house without objection. We followed him.
Mordaunt dramatically threw his sword on the table.
“As I understand it, you’ve come to kill me ,” he said. “I’ve already noticed, gentlemen, that you don’t have the tradition of fair duels. It took six of you against one of you to kill my mother. Fortunately, I managed to get even with at least two of you. The executioner from Lille and my uncle got theirs. It’s a shame there wasn’t enough time to get even with each of you. Well, the force is on your side. Kill me, I’m waiting.”
"You have too low an opinion of us, as of all people in general, it seems," Athos retorted. "We didn't attack your criminal mother six at a time, and we don't intend to do the same to you. We couldn't challenge a woman to a duel, but with you, the matter is much simpler! Only one of us will fight you, and if you defeat him, you'll be free to go wherever you please."
"Oh, indeed!" Mordaunt rejoiced, quickly picking up his sword. "In that case, I choose you, Count de La Fere."
"I didn't tell you you'd be allowed to choose," Athos objected. "We'd be doing you too much honor if we agreed to that. Every decision you make is evil, as we've seen many times before, so the choice will be made for us all by lot. We'll write our names on scraps of paper, and you'll draw the name of your opponent."
“Well, that’s fair ,” said Porthos.
There was paper and a pen on the table. I wrote our names on identical scraps of paper. We rolled the pieces of paper into tubes, dropped them into the hat, and passed Mordaunt's hat.
"Pull, sir!" I said.
"Lord, send him a lot with my name on it!" said d'Artagnan, kissing the hilt of his sword as if it were a crucifix.
Mordaunt pulled out a tiny roll and tossed it contemptuously onto the table. Athos took it, unrolled it, and read it.
“My friend, the Lord has heard you ,” he said to d’Artagnan.
"Thank you!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
We moved the table and furniture, and the spacious room had enough space for a sword duel.
"Sir, defend yourself!" cried d'Artagnan, and the duel began.
Despite Mordaunt's longer sword, d'Artagnan certainly reaffirmed his reputation as an unrivaled swordsman. Less than three minutes later, he struck Mordaunt in the left shoulder.
"This is for the executioner of Lille!" he exclaimed.
Five minutes later he pierced Mordaunt's left arm above the elbow.
"This is for Lord Winter!" he exclaimed.
Almost immediately he wounded Mordaunt in the left arm, close to the wrist.
"This is for the King!" he exclaimed.
"Wait!" Mordaunt croaked. "Give me a break!"
"I'm not finished with you yet, little snake!" said d'Artagnan. "You may have noticed that I only attacked your left arm, shoulder, and ear! Now there's the final blow—to the heart. And rightly so, since you struck my heart when you killed Katie!"
"I understand," Mordaunt croaked. "I'm not refusing to continue the fight. I'm only asking for a break. I'm asking you to bandage my wounds."
“That is fair ,” said Athos.
"Athos, with your notions of nobility you always create unnecessary obstacles to such simple matters!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.
"You're getting too excited, my son," Athos said gently. "Calm down. If you don't bandage him, he'll fall exhausted, and you won't have the honor of this victory."
I wanted to point out that the wounds, while horrific to look at and painful, didn't in any way deprive Mordaunt of the ability to continue the fight. I understood that d'Artagnan was deliberately inflicting the same wounds he had inflicted on Rochefort. I could see that Porthos thought the same.
"It's time to finish him off ," said Porthos. "If he won't fight, I'll strangle him with my bare hands."
"Damn it!" replied d'Artagnan. "Athos, you know my weak points. When you call me 'my son,' I cannot refuse you. Bandage him if you like, but be careful he doesn't stab you in the heart while you're busy with the bandages."
"Thank you, I will bandage myself ," said Mordaunt. "But I don't trust you, gentlemen. I'm afraid that while I'm busy bandaging, one of you will kill me. Could you please leave the room, so that I won't have to fear a treacherous blow while I'm unarmed?"
"You impudent fellow!" cried d'Artagnan.
"Leave it," Athos objected softly. "Let's fulfill his request. He won't go anywhere. There's only one door in this room, the windows are barred, the shutters are locked from the outside. He won't escape."
"Very well," said d'Artagnan. "Only out of respect for you, Athos..."
"Do you have any bandages?" Athos asked kindly.
"I'll tear a strip off my shirt," Mordaunt replied.
We left the room, leaving Mordaunt alone.
Suddenly we heard some kind of creaking sound.
— Probably pulling out a wardrobe drawer in the hope of finding bandages.
The creaking grew louder.
"There's no wardrobe in the room!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Something's wrong here! Let's go!"
At that moment we heard the sound of a door slamming.
We opened the door. Mordaunt was not in the room. Books lay on the floor next to the bookcase.
"It's not a wardrobe!" cried d'Artagnan. "It's a secret door! He's escaped!"
We spent about a quarter of an hour fiddling with the cabinet, trying to unravel its secret, but nothing came of it.
“It’s too late,” I said. “Even if we open this door, he’s no longer there, he’s gone.”
“Athos, your kindness…” d’Artagnan said and waved his hand.
"Well, we're unlikely to find him now ," I said. "But we shouldn't linger here, as he might return accompanied by several dozen armed soldiers."
“We need to leave,” d’Artagnan agreed.
"The felucca is waiting for us ," said Athos. "Let's go."

Chapter 160

Having instructed Grimaud to pick up Mousqueton and Blaisois from the hotel, our things, and to settle accounts with the owner, the four of us immediately headed to the port, where a felucca hired by Athos was waiting for us.
"Do you think, Athos, that the crew you hired is good enough to take us to France?" I asked.
"The taste of English food and the sight of English women have made the British the finest sailors in history," Athos replied. "Any normal person would try to leave this island as quickly as possible, and the sea is the only escape route. Therefore, every Englishman is a sailor, if not in practice, then certainly in his heart."
"I wish we could get away from this land of fog and grain wine!" Porthos grumbled.

Athos found a felucca and climbed aboard. After a while, he returned, slightly worried.
"We need to be on our guard," he whispered to us. "I don't like all this. I said we're waiting for our servants, and then we'll come aboard. But there's a lot I don't like about this."
“What exactly?” I asked.
"I didn't make the arrangements with this man ," he said. "But he introduced himself as the skipper's brother, claiming that Skipper Rogers had fallen from the mast and broken his leg."
“Perhaps that is what happened ,” said Porthos.
“Porthos, the skipper doesn’t climb the masts, he has sailors for that,” d’Artagnan objected.
“Absolutely right,” Athos agreed.
“Anything else?” I asked.
"There's a small yacht tied to the stern of the felucca, about thirty feet long, see?" he asked, pointing to the yacht's hull, white against the dark water.
“We see,” I answered for everyone.
“The skipper calls it a boat and explained that it will be needed to land us on the French coast, since he does not risk entering the port,” replied Athos.
"Maybe they're smugglers, what does that matter to us?" I asked.
"Even if they're smugglers, even if they're offering us a secret landing, why does he call the yacht a boat?" asked Athos. "After all, a boat is kept on board a ship so it doesn't interfere with traffic, and it would be difficult to lift a small yacht on board."
"Perhaps their crew is too small, for economical reasons, and the felucca is not large enough to have a hoist?" I asked, while d'Artagnan thoughtfully bit his lip and twirled his right mustache with his fingers.
“The yacht has a keel that will prevent it from getting too close to the shore if we have to land in shallow water ,” Athos said.
"Well, let's jump into the water and wade to the shore ," said Porthos. "I'm not afraid of getting my pants wet."
“This is the first time I have seen a small pleasure yacht for five or six people used as a boat for a felucca, which is operated by a crew of four people, not counting the skipper ,” said Athos.
"This is all more than suspicious, you're right, Athos ," d'Artagnan finally said. "But we must get out of this dank country as quickly as possible. We'll keep a close eye on the crew. We won't eat or drink anything they offer us for dinner tonight, and we'll warn the servants to do the same. If we spot anything suspicious, we'll put the entire crew on this yacht and cut the rope, letting them sail wherever they want. If they resist, we'll simply throw them overboard."
“The plan is good ,” I said. “But how will we get to the shores of France without a crew?”
"Have you forgotten, Aramis, that Athos is a superb sailor?" asked d'Artagnan. "He will be captain, and under his command we will somehow manage this felucca."
"You're right, my friend," Athos agreed. "In my youth, I sailed on various vessels, and I'm well-versed in the sea. We'll manage with this felucca."
"We must inspect the entire felucca carefully ," said d'Artagnan. "Let's do it right now, so as not to waste time. As soon as Grimaud, Mousqueton, and Blaisois arrive, we'll set sail immediately."
We boarded, and Athos informed the skipper of our desire to inspect the ship. There seemed to be nothing on board that would have reinforced our suspicions. The ship was empty, and we inspected every nook and cranny. Besides the skipper, there were four sailors on board, and another was asleep in the captain's cabin, covered with a cloak over his head.
"This is Jones, he'll be in charge of the ship on the night watch while I sleep ," said the skipper. "He's sleeping it off now. Should I wake him up?"
“No need,” Athos replied. “Let him sleep.”
Then he went down into the hold and discovered something like a hatch at the bottom.
“What is this?” he asked, pointing to the hatch.
"That's the hatch to the lower compartment where we store extra cargo, and when there's no cargo, it's where the ballast is," the skipper replied. "Right now, there are barrels of sand in there that Sam and Billy loaded."
“I want to see ,” said Athos.
He opened the hatch and confirmed that there was indeed a cargo hold filled with large barrels.
He lit up these barrels with his torch and, apparently, counted them, calculated something in his mind, after which he closed the hatch.
“Well, let’s wait for our servants and then be on our way ,” he said.
“We have prepared the forward cabin for you, and the stern cabin for your servants ,” said the skipper.
"Where will the crew be stationed?" asked Athos.
"The crew won't be resting, but working, so everyone will be on deck ," said the skipper. "And in case of rain, everyone will take shelter in my cabin."
“Well, in that case, we’ll take the forward cabin ,” said Athos and was the first to enter the indicated room.
As soon as we entered this cabin, Athos put his finger to his lips, calling us to silence.
"I was right, something's not right here ," he said. "Did you notice that the cabin doors have strong latches?"
“Yes, it is somehow strange,” d’Artagnan agreed.
"What's wrong with being able to lock the cabin doors?" Porthos asked.
"Porthos, the bolts are screwed on the outside of the doors," I explained to him. "You can't lock yourself in these cabins, but you can lock anyone in them. Do you understand the difference? You can lock us in from the outside, but you can't lock us in from the inside."
“I suppose these bolts were recently tightened, especially for us, unless they used to transport prisoners or slaves here before ,” said Athos.
“I’ll deal with that,” replied d’Artagnan.
"Besides, the skipper lied to me about the barrels," Athos continued. "He said two sailors stacked them and that they were filled with sand. But if they were filled with sand, then two sailors couldn't have handled such large barrels unless each of them had Porthos's strength."
“What’s in these barrels then?” I asked.
"Didn't you notice how pale the skipper turned when I held the torch up to examine the barrels?" Athos asked.
"There's gunpowder in these barrels!" d'Artagnan guessed.
"Damn it!" I said. "It's a trap!"
“It all fits together ,” said Athos.
"Yes, a thousand devils!" cried d'Artagnan. "They're going to wait until we fall asleep, stick a fuse in one of the barrels, light it, and then climb onto the yacht that's tied to the stern of the felucca!"
“Let’s kill them right now and throw them overboard,” suggested Porthos.
"They might have accomplices in the port," Athos replied. "If we don't like the felucca and abandon it, they might attack us. And we don't know how many there are. If we start fighting them now, they might come to our aid. We'll wait for our servants, head out to sea, and then we'll deal with this crew and their skipper."
"They might fire a shot into the floor in the heat of battle, and we'd all be blown up," d'Artagnan countered. "We won't fight them. We'll feign sleep, then we'll get ahead of them and carry out their plan, with the only difference being that we'll board the yacht and leave them to the mined felucca."
“It might work ,” I said.
"What do you intend to do with the bolt?" asked Athos.
"You'll see!" replied d'Artagnan.
With his dagger, he unscrewed the two screws holding the latch hinge, then inserted the dagger's point into the holes and widened them as much as possible. He then reattached the hinge and secured it with the same screws. While the hinge appeared to be firmly in place, in reality, it could easily be torn out. D'Artagnan did the same with the hinges of the second latch, which was on the doors of the aft hold, where our servants were to spend the night.
"What a magnificent dagger you have!" Athos admired. "A tool for all occasions!"
"Athos, take it for yourself, I have another one exactly like it in my boot ," said d'Artagnan. "Tuck it into your belt, it won't hurt."
Athos did just that.
"Gentlemen! Your servants have arrived!" the skipper called from above. "They will come down to you now. With your permission, gentlemen, we are setting sail. Dinner will be brought to you in half an hour."
"Good!" Athos shouted back.
Grimaud, Blaisois and Mousqueton came down the gangway towards us.
Athos beckoned to Grimaud, showed him the bolts on the doors of both holds, and demonstrated that the hinge could easily be removed from its place.
Grimaud nodded understandingly.
"Don't eat, don't drink, don't sleep ," said Athos. "At our signal, be ready to quickly move to the yacht tied to the stern."
Grimaud, Blaisois and Mousqueton nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, the felucca cast off from the pier, and we set out into the open sea. Half an hour later, one of the sailors brought us a basket with food and three bottles of wine.
Blaisois's eyes lit up at the sight of the wine, but Athos, waiting for the sailor to leave, took one of the bottles, popped the cork, and poured the contents out the porthole. Grimaud did the same with the two remaining bottles. After that, the food from the baskets followed the wine.
"Grimaud, come up on deck a little later and tell the captain you want to admire the sunset ," Athos said. "Walk around the deck for about twenty minutes, then tell him we've probably fallen asleep and you're going to bed too. Mousqueton, Blaisois, stay here in the middle room until Grimaud returns. Wait until one of the crew suggests you go to your cabin to sleep. Only then go there. They'll close the door behind you. Be ready to knock down the latch and come out here immediately."
Grimaud nodded.
"We, friends, will have to pretend to be asleep ," said Athos. "Porthos, please begin to pretend to snore."
“I don’t know how,” Porthos objected.
"What are you saying!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
Athos and I just smiled.
"Are you saying that I snore in my sleep?" Porthos asked.
"You snore, and how!" replied d'Artagnan.
“But I don’t know how it happens, and I can’t make sounds like snoring when I’m not sleeping,” Porthos objected.
"Well then, sleep well ," said Athos. "When the time comes for action, we will wake you."
Porthos did not need to be asked for long.

Chapter 161

"And yet, d'Artagnan, why don't we try to disarm the ship?" I asked.
“Didn’t you notice that the barrels are tied with chains?” he asked. “Many ideas occurred to me. We could try to pull those barrels out and throw the gunpowder out the porthole. It would take a long time, we’d make a noise, they’d attack us. We could try to pierce the bottom of this lower hold, let the water flood the gunpowder, and after the gunpowder soaks, we could plug the breach. It would take a long time, it would be noisy, the chains would rattle. Too much fuss. We could try to kill them all, and then the presence of the gunpowder wouldn’t seem so dangerous. But it’s possible that there’s an infernal machine in the cellar. I’ve considered that possibility.”
“What is an infernal machine?” I asked.
“Anything,” d’Artagnan replied. “Alternatively, it could be a clock mechanism in which the hand, when a certain time is reached, tips over a vessel of acid, or activates the fuse in some other way. There are such tricky substances. I heard that chemists have discovered a metal that ignites on contact with water. Who knows, maybe they put something similar in there? They’ve had plenty of time to prepare. Perhaps they laid a long fuse that we won’t be able to find, and it’s possible that it’s already burning. In any case, I don’t have the skills to defuse such mines, and I have no desire to blow myself up trying to defuse it.”
"You have convinced us, d'Artagnan," said Athos. "We are happy to have such a sensible man as you among us."
“If you, Athos, had not noticed certain oddities, we would all have been doomed,” replied d’Artagnan.
"So, we're going to fight our way through them and onto the yacht, regardless of whether the fuse is lit or not?" I asked.
"On the contrary, we'll light the fuse ourselves, and for that we'll have to make one, or perhaps find one," d'Artagnan countered. "I hope it's in one of those boxes, but if not, we'll have to make one from whatever we have."
"D'Artagnan is right," said Athos. "If we don't blow up the felucca, they'll turn around and crush our yacht like a boar crushes a hen's egg. If we're going to leave the felucca on the yacht, we must light the fuse ourselves."
"Exactly! Look for the fuse, friends!" replied d'Artagnan.
We started opening all the cabinet drawers, but we still didn’t find anything.
“It’s probably already there, among the barrels; they just hid it a little so that it wouldn’t be visible in case we wanted to inspect the yacht,” d’Artagnan guessed.
We opened the hatch cover and he jumped down.
"Shine the light for me, Aramis, but be careful!" he said.
I brought the candle up and held it so that the light would fall where our friend was looking. There was no wick.
“Found it!” d’Artagnan exclaimed. “Well, that’s wonderful! We won’t have to build some infernal machine out of candles and a pile of gunpowder. This fuse is long enough for about twenty minutes, but I don’t know how far it’ll go into the barrel. I’ll push it a little further, just in case. We’ll have fifteen minutes, maybe a little more. That should be enough. As soon as Grimaud returns, we’ll wake Porthos, light the fuse, and break through to the stern. They won’t light the fuse until they’re sure we’re all asleep. They planned to bolt our cabin doors, light the fuse, and sail away on the yacht. We’ve secured the bolts, but that won’t be necessary. We won’t wait for them to come down to close the doors; we’re choosing an offensive tactic.”
"Excellent!" said Athos. "What do you think, d'Artagnan, who mined this felucca and why?"
"You know that very well yourself, my dear Athos," replied d'Artagnan. "And in case you don't know it, I'll tell you my version when we're safe in the yacht that's now tied to the stern of that ill-fated felucca."
"Grimaud isn't coming," I said. "It's time for him to come back."
“We’ll wait,” Athos replied. “It’ll be soon.”
Indeed, a few minutes later Grimaud came down the gangway.
“How is it?” asked Athos.
“Four on watch, one still sleeping,” he replied.
“He’s pretending,” I replied. “So we don’t recognize him.”
D'Artagnan nodded. I went to wake Porthos.
"Damn, I had such a great dream!" the giant muttered.
"Get up quickly if you don't want this to be the last sleep of your life!" I said.
We called the servants, and d'Artagnan instructed them on what to do. Each received a clear assignment. It was clear that d'Artagnan had the entire felucca plan in his mind, as if he'd sketched it out on paper and was now looking at it.
"Well then, everyone's ready, everyone's armed, I'm lighting it up!" he said.
After this he approached the hatch, which had been left open on purpose, lit the fuse and commanded:
"Forward, friends! The gangway is narrow, Aramis and I will go up first, then Athos, Porthos, and the rest. I hope we can remain unnoticed for as long as possible. At least until at least three or four of us are up."
Luckily, the gangway steps didn't creak. We ascended very quietly, and since it was a moonless night, we managed to reach the deck unnoticed.
However, the steps creaked quite loudly under Porthos's feet.
"For France!" cried d'Artagnan, thrusting his sword into the skipper's throat.
I pierced another one, and Porthos simply threw the other overboard.
The rest huddled in the captain's cabin. The way was clear. We rushed to the stern and quickly climbed the rickety gangway from the felucca's stern to the yacht. D'Artagnan cut the rope.
Three shots rang out from the felucca, but none of them reached their targets. At that moment, we heard Mordaunt's familiar, hoarse voice.
"Fools!" he shouted. "You won't get far from us! We'll turn around and crush you like a shell! Hey, guys, let's go on the port tack!"
But as the felucca continued to drift away from us, the likelihood of damage from further shots became less and less. They needed time to reload their pistols, and they also needed to steer the felucca to return for us. So, at worst, we were threatened by one or two shots from Mordaunt into the darkness, almost at random.
Meanwhile, the distance between us was rapidly increasing. In the darkness, we could almost no longer discern the felucca's white sail.
"It's a good thing this isn't a boat, but a yacht," said Athos. "Let's set sail and head for the shores of our native France."
"Don't rush, Athos," said d'Artagnan. "If they've managed to pull the fuse, they might yet return and carry out their threat."
"That's right," Porthos, who had excellent night vision, said calmly. "They're turning around and will be here soon."
"Damn it!" cried d'Artagnan. "It seems like fifteen minutes have passed already, or even a little more! Has the fuse really been extinguished?"
Time seemed to slow down and the felucca's speed increased dramatically.
"To the oars, friends!" cried Athos. "Let's not let them crush us at first, and then we'll see!"
The felucca had come dangerously close to within forty fathoms when a deafening explosion was heard. First, we saw a bright flash and parts of the ship flying in all directions. Afterward, only smoldering wooden fragments remained on the surface, hissing as they died out. Soon, it was dark again and only the splashing of the waves could be heard.
“It’s finished,” said d’Artagnan.
"You guessed, of course, that Mordaunt had set this trap," I said. "You only wanted to discuss this when we were all safe on this very yacht."
"Yes, friends, I did not wish to hasten to discuss this suspicion," d'Artagnan agreed. "One or two ways of rescuing Felucca and capturing all these traitors occurred to me, but I discarded such plans."
“Why?” Athos asked in surprise.
"Because of you, my friend," replied d'Artagnan. "If we had captured Mordaunt, your heart would not have been able to bear it, and I fear you would have allowed him to board his yacht and sail back to England."
"Well, I don't think that would have been such a bad decision," Athos replied, shrugging. "If he was destined to escape, let him escape."
"That's precisely why, Athos, I've abandoned any plans that could have ended this way!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Listen, Athos, your inexplicable weakness for this little snake astonishes me! Why were you so reluctant to fight him? I saw how upset you were when Aramis wrote your name on the piece of paper. What would you have done if he had drawn your name?"
"I hadn't thought about it," Athos replied. "But I admit, it would be difficult for me to fight him. I can't explain it. Perhaps I still feel guilty towards Milady for executing her without a trial. And so I feel that we also feel partly guilty towards him. For his unfortunate fate."
"Come on, Athos!" d'Artagnan objected. "He's a grown man and bears full responsibility for his actions. It's not our fault he grew up a scoundrel and a murderer! Remember Lord Winter, the King, and the executioner of Lille, after all, and let me bear my pain for Katie!"
"It's all true, friends," said Athos. "I'm guilty, but is being lenient towards the sins of others such a great sin?"
"Great Athos, very great, if innocent people die because of this leniency!" continued d'Artagnan.
“If you had let me shoot him, Lord Winter would still be alive, and King Charles probably would be too,” I said.
“Forgive me, friends, I am to blame, but I can’t help myself,” answered Athos.
“Listen, Count de la F;re!” cried d’Artagnan. “I will explain your hesitation and dispel it immediately. You know that Mordaunt is Milady’s son. And you probably think he could be your son? Or even admit that he is your son? Well, I’ll tell you! Lord Winter revealed this secret to me. This is not your son! This is not even the son of Lord Winter’s brother! Milady had this child by a scoundrel, a swordsman, a robber, a drunkard, and a thief. This man is nothing to you. You have no son named Mordaunt!”
Athos was silent.
At this moment, a scream was heard from the direction where the explosion had occurred.
— Help! Save me, I beg you! Count de la F;re! Don't let the son of the woman who was your wife die!
"The devil!" I exclaimed. "That little snake didn't explode along with the felucca and sink with its wreckage!"
"You see!" Athos exclaimed. "Fate is showing him mercy and showing us what we must do! We can save one human life!"
"You can save one tarantula, a scorpion, a poisonous echidna!" Porthos grumbled. "The best service I can do for that little bastard would be to smash his head in with an oar so he won't suffer!"
“You are right, Porthos!” I said.
At these words, Grimaud pulled one of the oars from the rowlock and handed it to Porthos.
"Is there really nothing human left in you?" Athos said in a trembling voice.
"Count de la Fere, have mercy on me! I'm so young!" Mordaunt cried, approaching the yacht. "I haven't lived a single day in this world yet! I grew up an orphan, in the house of an uncle who hated me! You and your friends deprived me of my mother! So show some generosity! Save my life! And I will forgive you for your crime against my mother!"
Tears streamed down Athos's face.
"Come on, Mordaunt!" he said, leaning over the side of the yacht. "Give me your hand! Hold on tight!"
"My God, what is he doing!" cried d'Artagnan, drawing a musket from his belt and cocking it. "The moment he steps aboard our yacht, I'll shoot him in the head, I warn you, Athos!"
“Then kill me first,” replied Athos, firmly grasping Mordaunt’s arm.
"It wasn't in vain that I spent so much effort swimming to you!" Mordaunt exclaimed. "Mother, you can be proud of me! I'll drag your chief killer down with me!"
With these words, he pushed off from the side of the yacht with his feet, pulling Athos into the water with him.
"The devil!" cried d'Artagnan.
We all shouted something similar. Only Porthos, without a word, dived into the water, where Athos had disappeared under the water, pulled along by Mordaunt, who held him tightly by both arms.
"Porthos is a superb swimmer," I said. "He won't drown. But what about Athos?"
To my shame, I couldn't boast of my swimming skills.
At that moment, Porthos's head appeared from the water.
"Fire!" he shouted. "Light!"
He took a deep breath and sank back into the depths of the water.
I found a lantern under the bench and lit it, after which I tried to illuminate the place in the water where Athos, Mordaunt and Porthos had plunged.
Bubbles were rising from under the water, and we feared that our friends had drowned.
Suddenly Porthos's head appeared again.
“Here,” he said. “Hold it.”
He plunged into the water, and now we saw the face and hands of Athos, who was unconscious.
We all grabbed him by the arms and pulled him aboard. Then we all felt the boat tilt slightly. Porthos grabbed the side with his strong hands and climbed onto the yacht.
"We must bring him to his senses!" cried d'Artagnan, and laid Athos on his chest on the bench.
A little water poured out of his mouth, after which Athos began to cough and spit out water.
"You're alive!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.
"Alive, I think! Thank God!" I confirmed, taking off my jacket and throwing it over Athos's shoulders.
Grimaud immediately jumped up and began to rub his master's hands and feet, giving thanks to the Lord.
“Where?” Athos asked through a cough. “Where is he? Mordaunt?”
“He won’t come up again,” Porthos said with a smile and waved towards the water from which he himself had just emerged.
But he was wrong. When we looked where Porthos pointed, we saw Mordaunt's corpse, swaying in the waves. The movement of the water made it seem as if he were still alive and trying to swim. But he was dead. Protruding from his chest, right from his heart, was the very dagger d'Artagnan had given Athos the day before.
"What can I do?" said Athos, as if apologizing to us all. "I'm not ready to die so stupidly. I have a son. I want to live."
"Let's give him a proper naval funeral," said Porthos. "There's no reason for him to be sailing here."
He took the anchor, made a loop out of the rope to which it was attached, threw this loop around Mordaunt's leg, and then threw the anchor overboard.
The weight of the anchor pulled Mordaunt's body deep into the water.
“There will be no wreaths,” said Porthos.
“But we were left without an anchor,” said Muston.
"Why do we need it?" I asked. "This yacht's first and last stop is the coast of France. Athos, raise the sail and give the orders! The wind is fair!"
"I tied a fine sailor's knot," Porthos whispered to me. "Even if Athos's blow didn't finish him off, that little snake won't float."
I patted Porthos's powerful hand approvingly.

Chapter 162

The water was very cold, so Athos, to warm himself, began working the sails himself, with Porthos helping him. Soon they were so hot that their clothes were steaming thickly, and there was no fear for their health. Still, it would have been advisable to splash them with cognac or at least wine as a preventative measure. We looked under the benches and into the yacht's compartments at the bow and stern, known to sailors as "banks." We found many useful things there. Mordaunt had made sure the yacht was stocked with biscuits, crackers, salted pork, wine, fresh water, and a few other provisions, even sugar and salt. So we had plenty to remember his soul with.
It couldn’t be otherwise, because they were planning to make the return journey on it.
True, everything was cold and there was no way to warm the food, but cold food is better than empty stomachs. However, d'Artagnan did joke that if the food ran out, we'd have to catch fish with our bare hands, which made Muston worried that if the food really did run out, we might decide to eat him. It must be said, such a ridiculous idea would never have occurred to us if not for his fears, gleaned from God knows where he'd heard sea stories.
We made fun of the poor guy, but when we realized that he was seriously ready to sacrifice himself to save his master, we were filled with respect for him.
"I wish I had such a servant!" cried d'Artagnan.
“I bequeath it to you, my dear friend,” said Porthos.
"Come on, Porthos! You'll outlive me!" d'Artagnan waved him off. "Look how big you are! Even after swimming in icy water, you're so rosy it's a joy to behold!"
“I wouldn’t want to outlive my master,” Musketon said quietly.
“When we return to Pierrefonds, I will give you a vineyard,” Porthos said to Mousqueton.
The kind fat man burst into tears of happiness.
We soon met a ship heading from Dunkirk to Boulogne. It picked us up, much to our relief, as the short river yacht was not suited for sea travel, and we were already quite seasick.
We had enough to pay for being spared the unpleasant journey, and perhaps even for being rescued, since the sea is always fraught with danger. We still had the money converted into diamonds, but we also had some money left over, as we intended to pay the felucca skipper only after he delivered us to the coast of France. We paid the ship's captain generously for our rescue, giving him our captured yacht as well, so we were well fed until we reached the shores of France. According to maritime custom, a found abandoned vessel belongs to its finder, and we assured the captain that from now on no one could dispute this yacht with him, and we were ready to testify to this in any port in France. A cool morning breeze blew. On the way, we discussed our next steps.
D'Artagnan bluntly suggested that they go their separate ways, since it would be dangerous for all four of them to travel together.
Porthos was quite upset, but Athos agreed that it was reasonable.
"We belong to different political parties, so if we all stay together, meeting with representatives of any armed forces will be dangerous, almost fatal. By splitting up, we have a chance that at least two of us will reach Paris. If disaster befalls the other two, there will be someone to save them."
“But four swords are better than two,” Athos said doubtfully.
"I agree, but four accusations are worse than two," d'Artagnan replied. "We don't even know into whose hands we might fall. If you meet the Frondeurs, they'll welcome you as family. If we meet the Frondeurs, I hope we'll somehow get out of it. At least they won't kill us. If the four of us meet the Frondeurs, you're more likely to lose their trust than we are to gain it. But if we have the joy of meeting the Cardinal's servants..."
“I agree, d’Artagnan, in that case we would be undesirable as companions,” said Athos.
“It will be difficult for all of us to explain the reasons for how and why we ended up together,” d’Artagnan replied.
“The reason is simple – it’s our friendship,” Athos clarified.
"Besides the four of us, it seems no one in France, or even the entire world, knows the true meaning of that word anymore," d'Artagnan countered. "In any case, no one in power would believe such an argument. We're already considered traitors if Mordaunt managed to write and send the letter to Mazarin. So we probably deserve to be hanged, and if they catch the four of us, they'll hang you too."
"Why do you prophesy such a harsh punishment for yourself?" I asked in surprise.
"Listen, Aramis, you're an intelligent man," d'Artagnan said. "You understand that Mazarin didn't send us to be with Mordaunt all the time just to carry out his orders. That's why officers have subordinates, and senior officers have orderlies."
"And why, indeed, did Mazarin order us to be with Mordaunt and obey him?" asked Porthos.
"Mazarin needs a strong ally outside France," d'Artagnan replied. "But he didn't yet know in whose hands England would end up. If the King's party had won, it would have been easy for him to pretend we were assigned to Mordaunt in order to gain Cromwell's trust and help the fallen monarch regain his power."
"Were you completely serious?" asked Athos.
- Yes, and for this case I have an envelope that I should open.
“What is written in it?” I asked.
“Since I was ordered to burn this envelope without opening it in the event that the King was finally overthrown, I did just that,” d’Artagnan replied, and I realized he had lied without batting an eye.
"And what if Parliament and Cromwell win?" I asked.
“For this occasion I had another envelope, which I was supposed to open without reading,” replied d’Artagnan.
“And what was written in it?” I asked.
“Leave it, Aramis, this is his secret, which he must not tell us,” Athos stopped me.
“Now it’s no longer mine and it’s not a secret, because I burned this envelope too,” d’Artagnan lied again.
"Burned? Why?" asked Porthos.
“Because from the moment we helped our friends escape from Cromwell and Mordaunt, we became traitors, and after I raised my sword against Mordaunt, I became a particularly dangerous state criminal,” replied d’Artagnan. “Not to mention that by killing Mordaunt, we…”
"Mordaunt's life was decided by Fate," Athos declared solemnly. "At any rate, you had nothing to do with it."
"I thank you, Athos, for such a valuable observation, but Mazarin won't believe it, and I won't dissuade him," d'Artagnan retorted. "I'm convinced he had other people—frankly, spies—in England besides us. So he'll be aware of our actions by the time we arrive in Paris, and most likely, he's already aware of them. At the very least, he's maintaining correspondence with General Cromwell and will ask him how the two French noblemen he sent are behaving in his presence. The answer will be detailed, I assure you!"
“Where will you go?” I asked.
"Twenty years ago, when I was more hot-headed and less rational, I rushed straight into the jaws of the lion named Cardinal Richelieu," said d'Artagnan. "And the lion did not devour me. Now I, more experienced and less concerned with my life, must enter the lair of a beaten jackal. And what's more, our glorious Porthos will be with me! Surely the two of us will not escape this mess? And besides, if only the two of us are caught, I hope you will remain free and help us, as you helped the Duc de Beaufort!"
"We will, of course, get you out of the Bastille!" Athos exclaimed, without any reason to do so.
“Without a doubt,” I said, having very good grounds for this in the person of the Order, which had already carried out similar affairs.
"Listen, friends," said d'Artagnan. "Believe me, I've been among these courtiers for twenty years now and I observe them from the inside. This whole mess, this entire Fronde, was started and carried out by insolent princes and dukes who think they haven't snatched up a large enough jackpot for themselves after the deaths of Richelieu and Louis XIII . They simply wanted to bargain for lands, positions, or simply money. Each of them considers himself stronger and more worthy than the Queen Mother. And they don't even consider Mazarin as a political force. Now, after a temporary success—no offense, but I consider it temporary—they'll all start bargaining. Yes, friends, almost every politician, including a hereditary monarch, always begins by selling the aspirations of the most influential groups of citizens and ends by selling the remnants of his influence to his successors." And a defeated politician inevitably turns into a trader, trying to reclaim the elusive power he can no longer hold on to, even if only to sell it at a higher price—that's life. But the Queen doesn't know how to bargain, so they'll have to bargain with Mazarin. And only you two, Athos and Aramis, stood up to Mazarin for his idea. Forgive me, Aramis, but I'm not so sure about you. So, if Porthos and I are thrown into the Bastille, you'll have something to ask of the defeated Mazarin! You'll ask him for us! And the Duc de Beaufort, whom you freed, will have to put in a good word for you and support your request.
“That might work,” I said.
“I, like Queen Anne, am no bargainer,” Athos objected.
"Even if it's a matter of our lives or our freedom?" d'Artagnan asked. "Ah, yes! You know how to demand and get what you want. That will do too!"
“You have been making fun of me a lot lately, my son,” said Athos.
"Sons often tease their fathers, and only out of love for them," replied d'Artagnan. "So if you've decided to adopt me, be patient!"
With these words he embraced Athos warmly, and Athos responded in kind.
"What an idyll!" exclaimed Porthos. "I'm about to burst into tears! Let me hug you too!"
"Easy, Porthos!" cried d'Artagnan. "You'll break our ribs!"
"Oh, come on," Porthos said, embarrassed. "I was just..."
"That's a pretty word you use for 'lightly'!" Athos exclaimed, baring his chest and revealing that the King Charles's Cross, which he wore around his neck for safekeeping, had been completely embedded in his skin, leaving deep marks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ,” said Porthos.
How can you be angry with him?

Chapter 163

After landing on the shores of our native France, we split up, as d'Artagnan had suggested, divided the remaining money fairly, and headed toward Paris by separate routes. We agreed to leave some markers along the way in case of any trouble, so that those who remained free could find the others.
"You know, Athos ," I said, "this separation is an act of supreme self-sacrifice on the part of our friends! Even if we are arrested, we face, at most, the Bastille, from which we will quickly escape thanks to the intercession of the Duke de Beaufort, or perhaps our other friends. And even then, for what, exactly? We merely tried to save the King of England as private citizens. That is not punishable! While they are threatened by the Place de Gr;ve, they are traitors."
"If you're right, then shouldn't we go back and catch up with them so we can all move on to Paris together?" Athos exclaimed.
“No need, d’Artagnan is right after all, it will be better for everyone if at least two of us remain free,” I replied.
“But why are they traitors?” asked Athos.
“ They were obliged to obey the envoy of General Cromwell, and not only did they not do this, but they also hindered his affairs in every possible way, and in the end they destroyed him.
“Although d’Artagnan and Porthos, like you, Aramis, very much wanted to kill Mordaunt, ultimately you are innocent of his death, and it was I who killed him,” Athos objected.
"If you hadn't wanted to save him, he would have drowned anyway," I clarified. "Besides, there's no one to tell Cardinal Mazarin these details. I'm coming to the conclusion that all four of us would benefit from Mazarin being removed from power."
"A man like him cannot be removed from power forever," Athos replied. "Even his exile from France will not be final. And no Bastille can guarantee that he will not return to his position with even greater power."
"Are you suggesting we kill him?" I asked.
"In Richelieu's time, all the conspirators understood that this was the only way to remove the cardinal from power forever," Athos replied. "But you and I were never conspirators of that kind. We merely hindered the cardinal from carrying out his very specific plans, which were abhorrent to us. We did not fight him as a man or as a ruler. Those who plotted his assassination paid for it because of their indecision. Today, the main conspirators are the same, and they remain just as indecisive and weak."
"I disagree," I objected. "The current Mazarin is much weaker than the Richelieu of that time. Richelieu had the support of Louis XIII , while Mazarin had only Queen Anne, since Louis XIV was still too young. The current Frondeurs have a much better chance."
"Chances of what? Of victory?" Athos asked. "They don't need it. D'Artagnan was right, there will only be bargaining. Mazarin will give up a lot for the sake of reconciliation, but later he will take it all back, and perhaps even add some of what he didn't give."
"What a sad prospect!" I said with a sigh. "Let's just enjoy a quiet trip through our native France! By God, I miss it so much, I'm sick and tired of this dank England, that even our winters are a hundred times dearer to me than their damp autumns or muddy springs."
While talking like this, we reached the place where we rented horses and headed to Paris.
We left signs on the houses where we stopped for the night, incomprehensible to anyone except d'Artagnan, and noted with pleasure that no one was going to arrest us, so we had every chance of reaching Paris safely.
As we approached Paris, I received several letters through the Order's channels, from which I learned interesting details about the most important events in the country and the balance of power. We had been absent for quite a long time, about two months, and events unfolded rapidly, so that we had effectively returned to a different country.
It would not be amiss to remind my readers, if there are any, and, above all, myself, how the Fronde began and how it developed.
Just recently, Mazarin had been awaiting the outcome of the Battle of Lens with hope, and his expectations were fulfilled. Now the battle had ended in a brilliant victory, once again won by the Duke of Enghien, who had become Prince of Cond; after the death of his father. This victory only increased his popularity, and his status as a prince elevated him even further not only in the eyes of others but, unfortunately, in his own eyes as well, which would later serve him disastrously. All this had happened before our departure, but these events unfolded further.
The Cardinal cleverly played his game, even against the Coadjutor. For example, even when the people were demanding the release of the Brussels councilor, Gondi communicated the Parisian demand to the Queen, thus portraying himself as the herald of the people's will and attempting to assume the role of the people's leader. The Cardinal, who, with some difficulty, managed to persuade the Queen to agree to this demand, suggested that the Coadjutor be the one to inform them that this demand would be met, but he added a Machiavellian caveat. He asked the Coadjutor to convey to the assembled people that Brussels would be liberated "if only the people dispersed first."
This was no longer a simple agreement, but an agreement with a counter-condition. And although the people had previously tacitly promised in their demand to disperse if Councilor Brussels and the other two were released, now it seemed as if the Queen was dictating her own counter-conditions. These conditions concerned not the essence of the final situation, but the sequence of actions. Gondi tried to dissuade himself from this assignment, but Mazarin sweetened the pill, calling him France's best negotiator.
"Who else but you would the Queen have entrusted with this delicate matter?" he said in his soft, ingratiating voice.
"Go, Coadjutor ," said the Queen. "I await news from you that the people have calmed down, and then, of course, we will fulfill our promise."
The coadjutor had no recourse; he had gone too far to retreat. He didn't want to admit to the Queen and the Cardinal that he had no influence over the Parisians, and that his proposal would be rejected. He also didn't want to demonstrate to the Parisians that he was a poor leader and a worthless deputy on their behalf, since, instead of fulfilling the people's demands, the Queen was making counter-conditions. He asked for written confirmation, but Mazarin objected.
"Her Majesty's word is the best guarantee. Can you really demand anything more?" he asked, surprised. "And what could be more than the Empress's word?"
Gondi wanted to object further, but the Queen majestically retired to her bedroom. The Duke of Orleans began to gently nudge Gondi toward the exit with both hands.
"Go, Mr. Coadjutor, you alone can restore peace to the state!" he said.
The Coadjutor emerged from the Palais Royal into the crowd of Parisians.
"The Queen promises to release the Brussels councillor, as well as two other members of parliament, after you go home ," he said.
"Well then, let's go home!" Planchet exclaimed, turning to the other Parisians. "Let's give the Queen time to fulfill her promise. If it isn't fulfilled by evening, we'll gather here again."
The people had already begun to disperse, but Gondi was afraid that the wave of popular indignation would die down forever.
"Wait!" he cried in despair. "I only conveyed the Queen's word to you, but would you like to hear my opinion on this promise?"
“Speak, venerable coadjutor ,” Planchet said for everyone, and the crowd took up his words.
"The coadjutor has the floor!" shouted various people from the crowd. "Let Monsieur de Gondi speak!"
Gondi made a hand signal for silence, and the crowd fell silent.
"You dictate the terms now ," he said. "Your strength lies in unity and determination. If you go home, the ringleaders will be arrested, and the promise made to you will not be fulfilled. You must remain here until you have Brussels and the rest of the city, safe and sound!"
"We'll wait!" Planchet exclaimed.
"Let them bring Brussels here!" someone else from the crowd shouted. "We won't disperse until we see that he's alive and well!"
That evening, Gondi appeared before the Queen and reported that the people refused to disperse until their demands were met. He swore that he had done everything possible to persuade the Parisians to go home.
"Go and rest, sir ," the Queen said dryly. "You have worked hard today."
A frustrated Gondi, who had expected the Queen and the Cardinal to once again resort to his services as a negotiator, was forced to take his leave. He returned to the Parisians, urging them to be even more persistent. His motives were explained by his resentment at the irony the Queen had infused into her words to him over the past two days, as she considered his claims to various favors to be baseless. Another motive was a passionate desire to exert pressure on the Queen and the Cardinal and secure the desired favors in the form of money, estates, and, above all, a cardinal's hat. He had long dreamed of becoming a cardinal, and considered this claim quite justified, citing the achievements of some of his ancestors. It never occurred to him that this would require not so much the merits of his ancestors as his own. However, I am deceiving myself. Ancestors and their merits, family ties and money are still of much greater importance in our time than a person’s personal qualities, and I do not foresee that the situation will change in the next thousand years.
I have described the first day of the Fronde here because the details of those days became known to me from my informants in the Order only after our return from England. I recall them now, describing our return to Paris, a rebellious city rebelling against its legitimate sovereign.
The Queen tried to be firm. She said: "The granddaughter of Charles V fears only God."
The next day, a crowd pelted Chancellor S;guier with stones, accusing him of arresting the Brussels councilor and delaying his release. Several shots were even fired, but fortunately, none of them hit him. He barely managed to reach the Luynes mansion and hide in one of its chambers. Believing his last hour had arrived, S;guier immediately confessed to his brother, the Bishop of Meaux, who was accompanying him. It was only by a miracle that their hiding place was not discovered by the agitated crowd. In retaliation, the crowd plundered the Luynes mansion, which belonged to the son of the Duchess de Chevreuse and her first husband, the Constable de Luynes. The Chancellor and his brother were rescued by Marshal Lameyer;e and the Chief Justice of the Paris Prevostship, who arrived on the scene with two companies of guards.
Within a few hours, Paris was completely dug up, all roads were blocked with barricades, and the number of large walls numbered in the dozens.
Parliament, in its foolishness (common to most parliaments), decided that the uprising in Paris was working to its advantage. Its leaders believed that the Queen would now be more accommodating, and that Parisians would unquestioningly obey any decisions of Parliament. But the genie, once out of the bottle, refused to obey its releaser. The Parisians recognized neither the Coadjutor nor Parliament. Brussels, liberated at the Parisians' demand, also failed to become the leader of the rebellious Paris. Convinced of his freedom, the Parisians forgot about him and his existence; he was merely a pretext for indignation, but his release failed to end the rebellion. Now it was Parliament, unaware that it was sawing off the branch it was sitting on, that was stirring up the Parisians to revolt. The rioting Parisians also directed their anger at members of parliament, so President Mol; almost lost his beard, Mr. de Mem lost a significant part of his expensive suit, and other “fathers of the people” suffered.
It was then that Mazarin proposed that the Queen leave Paris, taking the King and Little Monsieur with her. Our friend d'Artagnan had helped them carry out this plan even before we met him in England, but he didn't tell us about his exploits, so I only learned of them after returning to Paris.
There's no doubt that the crowd was incited by Spanish agents who had infiltrated it, distributing money, leaflets, and shouting slogans. Cond; personally captured a Picard spy named Tagni, who had been bribed by Spain and paid for his subversive activities by a Parisian market trader named Cauchefer, also a Spanish agent. The Paris market was always a hotbed of unrest, and it was not for nothing that Beaufort, who recruited most of his supporters there, was nicknamed the "King of the Market."
The Queen departed for Rueil with the King, explaining to the parliamentarians who arrived that it was a routine trip, intended merely for relaxation. To requests for the King's return to Paris, she replied that Louis XIV had the right to a change of scenery, like any of his subjects. The agreement reached with the Parliament and the Parisians allowed the Queen to decide to return to Paris, but she returned filled with anger and a thirst for revenge, which she carefully concealed under a mask of cordiality. She did not blame Mazarin for her humiliation, understanding that concessions had been forced for political reasons. Mazarin successfully compensated for his defeats on the domestic front with victories on the foreign front. Under the Treaties of Westphalia, the Emperor ceded to us all rights to Alsace and three bishoprics – Toul, Metz, and Verdun. Relative security was achieved on the eastern border. We also received rights to the right bank of the Rhine, Breisach, and Philippsburg. These treaties cemented the political and religious division of Germany. The rulers of approximately three hundred and fifty German states were the sole and absolute masters of their smaller states. Outside Germany, they were granted the right to enter into alliances with each other and other foreign powers, but on the condition that these alliances would not act against either the empire or the emperor. In the long term, the danger posed by the existence of a vast, centralized Habsburg state was eliminated. Mazarin continued the destruction of this monster in order to strengthen France's sovereignty.
This is probably what prompted Spain to step up the activities of its spies and provocateurs in Paris itself.
The result was that the people were restless, the parliament was insolent, the state treasury was empty, a large part of the army was stationed near the outer borders, and the army at the disposal of the Queen was clearly insufficient to keep the people of Paris in subjection.
Every morning, lampoons against Mazarin, known as "mazarinades," would appear on a pillar near the Pont Neuf and in many other places. These were ingenious prose and verse denunciations of Mazarin's sins, real and imagined. I must confess that I wrote some of them. But since our departure, I have had no part in them. It was then that these mazarinades also began to include satires on the Queen, increasingly cruel, malicious, unfair, and mendacious. Some of them were probably authored by La Rochefoucauld, who had once been an ardent admirer of Queen Anne. Others were apparently written by the Duchess de Longueville, who possessed considerable talent in this area. Undoubtedly, the Parisian Coadjutor, Monsieur de Gondi, was among the authors of these libels and mazarinades, which didn't stop him from lamenting in the presence of the Queen's supporters the viciousness of their tongues. The Queen wanted to respond forcefully, but the Cardinal convinced her that for a blow to be powerful, one must first draw back the arm to ensure the proper swing. Therefore, he argued, one should first show compliance and even feign weakness, so that the enemy wouldn't expect the blow and expose his weak points. La Rochefoucauld secretly defected to the Frondeurs. The Duchess de Longueville entered into a political alliance with the Coadjutor, which was entirely logical, but she also entered into an intimate relationship with him and La Rochefoucauld. When I learned of this, I was beside myself.
"Why did I get involved in this stupid Fronde?!" I asked myself. "I wanted to combine feminine love and politics, love and friendship, feelings and calculation. I behaved like a fool. And I dragged Athos into this Fronde scheme, as a result of which he became a rebel, and his rebellion, like mine, was now directed against the Queen herself!"
Truly, I deserve this introspection and self-reproach. Women sometimes claim that men want only one thing from them! Hypocrites! It's just that most women can only give one thing, and one should not expect anything else from them, since such expectations are futile, fraught with the greatest disappointment! I remembered the flighty Chevrette and compared her to the equally flighty Ange. They were not faithful to me!
"What did I expect?!" I asked myself. "After all, I was having affairs with married women! If they gave in to my advances, it means they were flighty enough not to be faithful to their husbands! So what else did I expect from them?"

The more I thought about the Queen's situation, the more sympathy I felt for her. We had come from London, which had rebelled against its sovereign and executed him. The analogy was too obvious to ignore.
Athos expressed concern that the Queen might face the same fate.
"While you and I, my dear friend, were vainly trying to save the King of a neighboring state, the Queen of our own found herself in no less danger ," he said. "This alone compels us to do everything in our power to avert this danger from her."
"But we ourselves are, to a certain extent, the creators of the Fronde!" I exclaimed. "If we had not freed Beaufort, everything would have been much calmer!"
"All the more so, my friend!" replied Athos. "This fact only obligates us to save our Queen. We spared no lives when she was merely the King's consort and his subject, but now she is our rightful sovereign, the reigning Queen Mother, Regent, and head of the Royal Council. Our duty is to obey her."
“And Mazarin?” I asked.
"If the Queen commands us to obey Mazarin, we must obey," Athos replied. "That is the duty of a subject. But I hope no such order will be given to us."

Chapter 164

I will continue the story of what I managed to find out about the events that took place in Paris during our absence.
As the people began to resent not only the Cardinal but the Queen herself, Gaston d'Orl;ans's prestige soared in the eyes of the court clique. Did I write that the people were outraged by the Queen? The people are malleable! It was the authors of libelous and mazarinades who began to express outrage. And the people will eat whatever is served to them by journalists, pamphleteers, orators in the crowd, or hired foreign agents. The people are not accustomed to thinking, reasoning, and making decisions; they follow those who speak most convincingly, that is, more colorfully and vividly. The people are not even capable of analyzing how, at times, rhetoricians entice them with baseless accusations, unrealistic promises, and other nonsense. The people remind me of those elephants I read about in the book d'Artagnan gave me, "Strategems" by Sextus Julius Frontinus. When the general demanded that his war elephants cross a river, the elephants refused to obey, and the leader was equally unwilling to comply. So the general ordered one of his officers to deal painful blows to the leader's trunk, then quickly cross the river in a boat with many oarsmen. The elephant, enraged, chased the offender, and all the other elephants decided that if the leader had swum across the river, they should do the same. This story may be a fabrication, since elephant leaders are not males but females, and among tamed war elephants, the leader is the person who tamed them, but nevertheless, the tale is quite instructive. To motivate a crowd to rush somewhere, perhaps even to certain death, it is enough to incite the leaders of the people. Of course, the agents knew this.
So Gaston, encouraged by the flattery of his courtiers, who felt that if the Queen were perhaps to lose popularity, a coup d';tat might take place in his favor, actually began to believe that he had a chance of taking the throne, or at least of bargaining with the Queen for new concessions.
Gaston's daughter, Mademoiselle, also harbored resentment against the Queen and nurtured her own ambitions. A princess of such rank cannot marry without the King's consent, but this princess had decided on nothing less than marrying Louis XIV himself , despite the age difference, which was unfavorable to her: Anne Marie Louise, Duchess of Montpensier, was eleven years older than Louis. She, of course, had no chance, since the King, while he would have preferred a younger spouse, but certainly not eleven years older than himself, also harbored a profound aversion to her, while Mazarin and the Queen were hatching plans for a profitable dynastic marriage. Political calculations were built on the young King's marriage, as they always had. After all, Louis XIII was married by his mother in the hope of establishing good relations with Spain, and she herself married Henry IV because he needed her money and the support of her clan.
Realizing the impossibility of this marriage, Mademoiselle did not relent, for she realized that at twenty-two, she represented a very advantageous match. From her mother, who died in childbirth, she had inherited a vast fortune and a host of titles. One of her suitors was the Prince of Wales, son of the unfortunate Charles of England, who was living in France at the time, hiding from the revolt of his subjects that had cost his father his head. Mademoiselle, Duchess of Montpensier, considered herself too brilliant a match for this prince in exile and declined. Perhaps, had she known that the Prince of Wales was destined to ascend the English throne as Charles II of England, her answer would have been different. Then she became intrigued by the fact that Queen Anne's sister, Maria Anna of Spain, had died in 1646, leaving Emperor Ferdinand III a widower . She decided to console the royal widower by marrying him. But the Emperor preferred the Archduchess of Tyrol. Her plans for Archduke Leopold, ruler of the Netherlands, also failed. Moreover, these prospective suitors were sworn enemies of France. Therefore, her courtier, Saujon, who attempted to arrange these marriages without the Queen's consent, was simply arrested.
The Queen scolded Mademoiselle for these intrigues, threatening that Saujon could be sent to the chopping block because of her fault.
Then Mademoiselle became imbued with the ideas of the Fronde. The Duchess of Montpensier joined the Fronde not only nominally, but also commanded one of the armies on the side of the princes and even gave orders to the artillery, whose barrels were trained against the Queen's army.
At that time, the Great Cond; still remained on the Queen's side, remembering that his name was Louis de Bourbon, and therefore it was not fitting for him to undermine the throne.
At last, the Queen, the King, the entire royal family, and the government departed Paris. That evening, Marshal de Grammont gave a dinner, attended by everyone, including Mazarin's three nieces. At two o'clock in the morning, the Queen, Guitant Fran;ois de Comminges, Captain Villequier of the Queen's Guards, Madame de Beauvais (who later made Louis XIV a man), and d'Artagnan departed Paris. They stopped at Cour-de -Rennes to await Mazarin and the second party of fugitives. Monsieur took his wife and daughters, Cond; took his mother, wife, and infant son, his brother, the Prince de Conti, and his brother-in-law, the Duc de Longueville. But the Duchess of Longueville, my flighty Anne Genevi;ve, chose to remain in Paris. She explained her decision by saying that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and the long carriage ride could have harmed her. Mazarin himself, not wishing to arouse suspicion, remained at the card table until late that night, after which d'Artagnan brought him back in the coadjutor's carriage, which he had obtained through cunning. After leaving Paris, Mazarin suddenly realized he had left behind two velvet-lined boxes filled with diamonds, as well as some very important papers. Mazarin carried the secret key to both boxes on a cord around his neck. As Mazarin crossed himself, thanking God for his successful departure from Paris, he accidentally touched the key with his hand and broke out in a cold sweat upon realizing he had forgotten to stow them in the carriage. Millet de Gers was immediately dispatched to Paris; he successfully located and delivered the Prime Minister's valuables, who could not rest until he was assured they were once again in his complete possession and had not been burglarized. Overjoyed at finding the boxes, which he had already considered lost, Mazarin presented de Gers with ten pistoles.
The unrest in Paris intensified. To prevent the rest of the nobility from following the Queen, the King, and the court to Saint-Germain, the Parisians smashed their carriages.
Despite the Queen's order to appear in Saint-Germain, Parliament was rocked by heated debate for a long time. Finally, it was decided to send a delegation to implore the Queen to return the King to Paris. The return of the Queen, and especially Mazarin, was out of the question.
The Queen did not receive the ambassadors and said that she was surprised to see delegates in her presence, whereas she believed that the entire parliament, according to her orders, was in Montragis.
The Queen and Mazarin were confident of victory; they knew for certain that the Parisians would not withstand the siege, especially if the siege was carried out by the army of the Prince of Cond;.
This meant war between the Queen and Parliament.
Parliament declared Mazarin an undesirable element, ordered him to leave the city within 24 hours and the country within eight days. Otherwise, all citizens were obliged to expel him as an undesirable element. Furthermore, Parliament seized all his movable and immovable property. Searches of his home were disappointing; the amount of money found was insignificant, especially compared to what was expected to be found and confiscated.
To defend Paris, money, troops, weapons, and ammunition were needed.
There was no money, so the militia recruited bourgeois and commoners who were untrained in combat and lacked the basics of tactics and strategy. Naturally, the rare former soldiers, like Planchet, quickly rose to leadership positions in the ranks of the people's militia.
Generals were desperately needed. With the help of Duke Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld, Duchess Anne Genevi;ve de Longueville (my heart breaks when I write about her!) won over her husband, the Duke of Longueville, and his brother, the Prince of Conti, to the side of the Fronde. This Prince of Conti, a hunchback who had never fought, having been groomed all his life for a career in the clergy, was appointed commander-in-chief of the Parliamentary army. Well, he was a prince of the blood; who else but he would command the troops of Paris? I'm joking, of course. He appointed five or six noble lords as generals, who made up his staff. Among them were the Duke of Beaufort, the Duke of Bouillon, and La Rochefoucauld became lieutenant general. The position that Richelieu had offered him, and which he had refused in the hopes of better things, was now handed to him by the rebels. A remarkable career!
I can't write calmly about Coadjutor Gondi and the Duke de La Rochefoucauld. You'd think that now, after so many years, there should be no jealousy, but I can't help myself.
The court's departure from Paris caused economic losses to all merchants and manufacturers, except for those producing weapons and gunpowder, who had made a tidy profit from the Fronde. Among those who suffered financially were young ladies with little social responsibility, who had courted the male population for hard cash. Someone even wrote a pamphlet, "The Deplorable Condition of Parisian Prostitutes,"—I suspect La Rochefoucauld was behind it. A mazarinade, "The Lamentation of Laduriere de Saint-Cloud," was also circulating, ridiculing a notorious procuress named Nichon. It read, in part:

"Nishon, it's time to cry,
Income has become low!
I had to please six brothers
For a couple of ounces of lard!

All the nobility, including the Longuevilles, the Bouillons, the Conti, and others, had settled in the town hall. Musicians, beautiful ladies, and cavaliers in lace were also invited, and the town hall was filled with joyful music and martial speeches. It was there that the Duchess de Longueville gave birth to a son. I would like to consider him my own, and I have good reason to do so, but I was not the only one who watered this fruitful field. Anne Genevi;ve asked the entire city to be her son's godmother, and in their name the coadjutor christened him Charles-Paris. So her son is the son of all Paris! If you only knew the word that comes to mind when I think of this! I cannot say that she gave birth to the child of all Paris; I hesitate to say it; I am not as caustic as La Rochefoucauld. But why call upon the entire city to be godmother?
The Queen suffered with pain in her heart the betrayal of the Prince of Conti, the Duke and Duchess of Longueville, the Duke and Duchess of Bouillon, La Rochefoucauld, the coadjutor.
But fate had two even more crushing blows in store for her.
The first blow was the defection of Viscount de Turenne to the side of the Fronde.

Chapter 165

We tried to be careful on the way to Paris, but Athos, our dear Count with his sometimes childish ideas about the straightforwardness of moral principles, said that it was not proper for nobles to hide in their own state.
"Dear Athos ," I said to him, speaking to him exactly as I would to a small child, "you may risk your life as much as you like when it belongs to you alone. But we have two most important missions. The first of these you have voluntarily accepted and have also entrusted to me. I refer to the obligation to go to the aid of King Charles. Since we were unable to help him, fulfilling his last will is our most sacred duty. The second mission is to save our friends should they fall victim to the wrath and vengeance of Cardinal Mazarin.
“You remind me of one of the King’s most important commissions, which he gave me just before his death ,” said Athos. “It occurred to me that I truly have no right to die before I have fulfilled this commission. That would be an unforgivable negligence on my part. Unfortunately, I promised the King not to divulge it to anyone. If it were only my secret, I would immediately tell you, as well as d’Artagnan and Porthos. But this secret does not belong to me. The King made me promise not to divulge it even to his son and heir until the appropriate time, since until then the said secret could only harm him. But I did not consider that my death might finally bury this secret, in which case the Prince of Wales would be unjustly deprived of what is rightfully his. I will set down this secret and the conditions under which it is to be used on paper this very day, and I will seal this paper in an envelope. You, Aramis, will promise to open this envelope only in the event of my death, and not a moment sooner.
"As you say, Count," I replied. "In that case, write what you wish to convey in onion juice or milk between the lines of a letter containing something unimportant. That way, if the letter falls into enemy hands, they'll think it's just a simple letter from you to me, which for some reason I've decided to keep. It would be best if you wrote to me asking me to take care of young Raoul in the event of your death. That way, anyone will understand why I'm carefully guarding this letter."
"But then it won't be clear why you didn't read it or open it!" said Athos.
"Why not?" I objected. "Let's assume that you told me verbally what was stated there, and the letter is merely proof of your will for Raoul himself."
"Why does the Queen hold parliament when there are such intelligent people as you in France, Aramis?" exclaimed Athos.
"Oh, come on, Athos," I objected. "You're flattering me. It's a perfectly ordinary precaution."
“But it would never have occurred to me to think it through so deeply,” Athos objected.
“Because your concepts of conscience and honor are too straightforward ,” I said. “And worse, you expect everyone else to have the same, which, believe me, is not the case! People use their conscience only occasionally, lest it become worn out and worn out! They guard it from use far more carefully than they would a new, expensive velvet suit. People with a crystal-clear conscience keep it that way only by not using it at all, just as a brand-new coin can be kept without a single scratch only by separating it from other coins and not putting it into circulation. The conscience of all courtiers is particularly flexible and malleable! A man who cannot bend his conscience as the current moment demands will never make a career higher than a country gardener or a chimney sweep. Even for a simple falconer, straightforwardness is a bane.” You can't imagine how malleable the conscience and honor of most of the courtiers surrounding the Queen are. But why most? All of them! And those who aren't courtiers nevertheless emulate them in their petty career aspirations, having lords of all ranks as their petty kings.
“These are sad times,” Athos said philosophically.
"Why only ours?" I asked with a grin. "All other times are no better in this regard."
That evening, Athos solemnly handed me a small envelope made of waxed parchment, which was easy to hide even in a boot.
“You must destroy it if there is any danger that this envelope will be read by anyone other than you ,” said Athos.
"I've already made you that promise," I replied. "But for your peace of mind, I'll give it to you again."
That same evening, taking advantage of the moment when Athos was away, I opened the envelope, heated the paper over a candle and read the following text.

"Dear friend! If you are reading this letter, it means I have joined the majority and departed for another world, hopefully a better one. Know then that King Charles hid a million pounds sterling. He buried it in the dungeons of Newcastle Castle when he left this city. The gravestone on which, where the rose is carved, bears a deep scratch in the shape of a cross. Do not mourn me, be happy, and take care of Raoul! Yours, Count de La F;re."

I folded the letter back into the concertina and sealed it. Well, Athos really shouldn't have taken this secret to the grave. And I thought again how foolish King Charles had been! With a million pounds sterling, he didn't pay the Scottish soldiers, even though a tenth of that would have saved him! Not to mention the diamond head of his cane, which he always carried with him.
I found myself pondering a theosophical theme. They say that martyrs should go to Heaven. But should those who, with their boundless stupidity, have doomed themselves and many thousands more, be allowed there? Does their own martyrdom, in this case, sufficiently atone for their stupidity? No, of course not. Stupidity is the gravest sin on earth. And one often has to pay for it in this life, not only for those who are guilty of it, but also for those who are guilty only of being forced to deal with fools.
However, stupidity, like poverty, doesn't depend on those condemned to it. The only difference is that anyone can easily diagnose poverty themselves, whereas no one recognizes stupidity, and, sadly, sometimes even those around them don't always recognize it right away. Especially through the veil of deference to this fool created by the aura of monarchical grandeur.

Upon arriving in Paris, we encountered a problem. The militia guards refused to let us into the city.
"Do you have a pass?" asked a man who had apparently been appointed a sergeant by the new authorities.
“We came from England to our home, we believed that honest citizens can always count on being admitted to the dwelling they rent in Paris,” replied Athos.
“We are under martial law, so entry into Paris is only by pass,” the sergeant replied.
"And who issues these passes?" asked Athos.
“The leaders of the Fronde,” the sergeant replied.
"Excellent," I said. "Get us in touch with any of these leaders, and I guarantee they'll give us any passes we want."
“We will let you in as soon as you show us the passes so that we can let you in,” the sergeant replied.
"You can escort us to them under escort if you don't trust us ," Athos said. "And if we are refused, the same escort will escort us outside the city gates."
“If everyone who wants to get into Paris is assigned an escort, then there won’t be enough escorts,” the sergeant reasonably objected.
“But we are far from everyone,” Athos answered proudly, adjusting his Order of the Holy Spirit on his chest.
Unfortunately, the sergeant, who was not familiar with this order, was not impressed by this gesture.
"Listen, Sergeant ," I said. "Many of the Fronde leaders can vouch for us. For example, the Coadjutor, or the Duke de Beaufort, or the Count de Rochefort."
"Excellent, do you have a document from any of them?" the sergeant inquired.
"I have a letter from the Duchess de Longueville. Will this guarantee satisfy you?" I asked.
“Show me,” the sergeant replied.
“I can only show you the envelope with her seal, since the letter it contains is a strategic secret that should not be disclosed for the sake of the victory of the Fronde,” I replied and showed the letter with the seal of the Duchess de Longueville.
“Come in,” the sergeant said reluctantly.
He was annoyed that he had to yield to the pressure of persistent nobles, but was quite satisfied that he had shown due vigilance and did not allow Mazarin’s spies, whom he had initially suspected of being in us, to penetrate into Paris.
At the same time, two noblemen and a monk, hiding his face under a hood, appeared at the gate.
These people silently showed their passes and passed through the gate even before we did.
"Did you recognize them, Aramis?" Athos asked me after the three had moved a considerable distance away.
As soon as Athos called my name, one of the militiamen looked around, and I recognized Planchet.
"Messrs. Athos and Arami!" exclaimed Planchet. "How glad I am to meet you! Didn't they want to let you through? I'll give them a hard time!"
"Are you the boss here, Mr. Planchet?" I asked.
At the word "master" Planchet blushed all over.
"In a sense, yes," Planchet replied proudly. "I'm a lieutenant in the militia, but I hope to soon become at least a captain. After all, I have experience in the line, unlike all those city bumpkins."
"Who were those people who just walked through the gates before us?" asked Athos. "They didn't want to let us through for so long, but they let these three through as soon as they showed some papers."
— The passes say that these are Messrs. de Flamarand, de Chatillon, and Father de Bruys, all three supporters of the Fronde, and all of them are heading to the Duke of Longueville.
“Well, we’ll visit him too, but a little later, we have other plans now ,” I said. “Have you seen d’Artagnan and Porthos?”
“They left a long time ago, more than two months ago, and I haven’t seen them since then,” Planchet replied. “I hope nothing bad happened to them?”
“No, we just agreed to meet here in Paris, and we’re afraid that they might not be allowed through, just as we weren’t allowed through,” Athos replied.
"What can you do! Prince Conti has ordered that no one be admitted without a pass," Planchet replied.
"Believe me, my dear Planchet ," said Athos. "If Mazarin's spies want to infiltrate Paris, they'll have the best passes available. And, by the way, these three…"
"These three have already come to Paris and spoken with the Duke of Lorraine and the Coadjutor," Planchet replied. "If they were not who they claim to be, the Duke and the Coadjutor would have already ordered their arrest."
“Well, Planchet, you are doing your job magnificently ,” I said.
"Have you seen Raoul?" asked Athos.
"He lives at the Charlemagne Hotel and occasionally visits the Duchess de Chevreuse's mansion, but even more often the Marshal de Gramont's mansion, as he is very friendly with his son, the Count de Guiche. He's doing well."
"Thank you, Planchet!" Athos replied, making a move to clap Planchet on the shoulder, but changed his mind and shook his hand warmly. "I wish you the speedy promotion to captain of the militia."
I also shook Planchet's hand, and Planchet, in turn, shook Grimaud's hand and even hugged him goodbye.

"What a clever rogue, a wily fellow!" I remarked, mounting my horse. "He really will be the people's captain."
“And how could he not be,” Athos agreed, mounting his saddle. “After all, he served d’Artagnan for so many years!”

We said goodbye to Planchet and headed towards Queen Henrietta's residence.
"That's how the wheel of fate turns!" said Athos. "Queen Henrietta remained in Paris and is not afraid of the rebellious mob of France, despite the fact that the rebellious mob of England executed her husband, while the Queen of France was forced to flee from her subjects."
"The queen has nowhere to run," I replied. "And she doesn't yet know about her husband's tragic fate."
“Never have I had to perform a more onerous task than the one that lies before us,” Athos replied with a sigh.
“We were talking about two noblemen and a monk,” I reminded.
"Yes, yes," Athos agreed. "I also recognized all three, even though the third was dressed as a monk and tried to hide his face. Well, it looks like negotiations are in full swing!"
"Negotiations or bargaining?" I asked.
"All negotiations are a bargaining chip," Athos replied. "And these especially. It's clear both sides are making enormous efforts to ensure their success. So the Fronde will end very soon."
"Was all this worth it?" I asked with a sigh.
"We simply couldn't accept the imprisonment of a prince of the blood as a common criminal," Athos replied. "Just as we couldn't accept the despotism of that handsome Italian cardinal. We did everything we could in the name of justice and for our own pleasure."
“I agree that both of these arguments are very convincing, and for me the second argument is no less important than the first,” I replied.
"You slander yourself, Aramis!" Athos replied with a smile. "For as long as I've known you, you've been a fierce champion of justice and the greatest ascetic. For your own pleasure, you indulge only in conversations with your parishioners, perhaps more intimate than required for confession. And you spare no effort in the name of justice!"
"How little you know me, my dear Athos!" I thought. "Once upon a time, a long time ago, I wanted the people I loved to think better of me than I deserved. And now, all my life, I've had to live up to this myth I created about myself!"

Chapter 166

We came to Queen Henrietta, who lived in Paris with her court as if it were the most peaceful place in the world. The hatred of the Parisians hadn't touched her family. She hadn't won their love either, but perhaps that was for the best, since popular love has so often turned to hatred; history is full of such examples! Better not to arouse any feelings against oneself in the crowd. Sister of Louis XIII , the Queen rightly considered France her homeland and Paris her home.
"Count de la F;re! Chevalier d'Herblay!" exclaimed the Queen. "How fortunate that you have also come to us today and now! And although you will not be the first to bring good news, I am convinced that you will tell us some details that are of the greatest interest to us!"
"We are happy to pay our respects to Your Majesty ," said Athos, bowing before the Queen and forcing me to repeat the gesture. "Perhaps we have missed something of what has happened, if Your Majesty finds any happy news in the flood of sad news that, alas, is still fresh in our memories and prevents us from properly appreciating any other news."
"The most important news for me is that of my husband, and as long as he is alive and safe, nothing else matters to me!" the Queen exclaimed animatedly. "If you are saddened by the fact that the throne of England is forever lost to him, it does not sadden me, for I have thought about it too long and have already become accustomed to the thought."
“I completely share your views that the life of your august husband means much more than anything else, and therefore my heart breaks at the thought of the news that we have brought you ,” said Athos.
"There must be some mistake here?" the Queen asked, confused. "The gentlemen present here assured me that my husband was saved thanks to the active assistance of Cardinal Mazarin! I must confess I was unfair in my assessment of his affection for our family. Although he refused to assist us with troops or money, he, as reported by Messrs. de Ch;tillon and de Flamarand, dispatched a group of desperately brave nobles who rescued my husband, is that not so? He has taken refuge in Canterbury, it seems? His supporters are growing, and he is completely safe, for even if his forces are not strong enough to defeat the Parliamentary army, he can always sail to France or Holland!"
“If Messrs. de Chatillon and de Flamarand have communicated this information to you, I believe that they must have obtained it from an insufficiently reliable source, which has misled them,” Athos said coldly.
"But they said they were not only witnesses but also participants in this remarkable liberation of my husband!" the Queen was surprised. "I would gladly reward them with some gift, but, as you know, I have nothing left."
"Could the kind Messrs. de Ch;tillon and de Flamarand please tell us the exact day they last saw King Charles, how exactly they freed him from custody, and where exactly they took him?" I asked. "Perhaps they are referring to events from three months ago? Something similar may have happened at the end of last year, but that would hardly be considered good news today."
"What are you saying!" the Queen objected. "This is the latest news; it all happened just before their departure from England, that is, only a few days ago."
"I thought these gentlemen were speaking of some ancient events ," said Athos. "Only such a supposition could explain such a deliberate inaccuracy in the information they gave you. Now, I can only assume that these gentlemen are probably ill, or so tired that they cannot distinguish between sleep and reality. Do these gentlemen insist on the information they gave you?"
“We told Her Majesty the real truth ,” said de Flamarant.
"In that case, I am forced to accuse you of lying ," said Athos. " And if this accusation seems unfounded to you, we will, of course, find the time, place, and arguments to finally establish the truth."
"How dreadful!" the Queen whispered. "The Count de la F;re cannot be mistaken. If he denies the King's salvation, then..."
"He left this world to move on to a better one ," Athos said. "Your Majesty, royalty is endowed with extraordinary courage, for only a single step separates them from God. Take heart. We have failed to fulfill the highest mission with which you have honored us, though we have done everything possible, even the seemingly impossible, to achieve it. Fate itself has turned against your august husband."
The queen nearly fainted. With her last bit of strength, she covered her forehead with her hand and, closing her eyes, began whispering prayers.
“Tell me how it happened ,” she said, having finished praying.
"The King behaved with dignity and did not lower his dignity by word or gesture ," said Athos. "This handkerchief bears the blood he spilled on the block. He asked me to give you this wedding ring and your diamond cross, and this order rightfully belongs to your son, Charles II. The King also asked me to tell his son that he regrets his words regarding the defeat at Oxford; he considers him a brave and skillful commander, despite his youth. He firmly believes that justice will be restored to your family, and your son will reclaim his father's throne. Your husband, King Charles, asked me to tell his son that he forgives his subjects for what they did to him and never seek revenge on his people for the death of his father."
"I believe you!" said the Queen. "I always believe you, Count de la F;re, but these words could only have been spoken by him, and I cannot doubt that you heard them from him."
The Count bowed.
"Gentlemen!" she addressed de Chatillon and de Flamarand. "Your presence here is a burden to me. I beg you never to visit me again. I will not detain you."
Chatillon and Flamarand looked at us angrily and left silently.
"Comte de la F;re, Chevalier d'Herblay, I beg you to wait for me ," said the Queen. "I need a few minutes to calm down and recover from this terrible news. But I would like to hear from you a detailed account of what actually happened, and I would also be grateful if you would convey every word, which I hope you still remember. Just tell me, why is Lord Winter not with you?"
"Lord Winter died defending the King ," I said.
"Unfortunately, we were not granted such an honor," added Athos. "His Majesty forbade me to carry out the plan I proposed to him in my most desperate situation, and imposed upon me the obligation that was the cause. I acknowledge his right to dispose of our lives as he wishes. He chose to make us his envoys to you."
The Queen nodded and left, repeating with a gesture of her hand her request to wait for her to continue the conversation.
When the Queen had disappeared behind the door, I went out into the reception room, and, as I had hoped, found de Chatillon and de Flamarand there.
"Gentlemen," I said to them, "Comte de la F;re and I hope to meet you very soon. There remains one unresolved matter between us, which would be best settled, for example, this evening at the Charenton Gate."
“Accepted,” said Chatillon.
"Duke, you forget that we still have several urgent matters to attend to, so we are not truly our own until they are accomplished," Flamarand objected. "Gentlemen, our conversation will take place the day after tomorrow at seven o'clock in the evening at the Charenton Gate."
Chatillon nodded, I also nodded in agreement and returned to Queen Henrietta’s drawing room to Athos.
The Queen returned to us ten minutes later. We told her everything, or almost everything, that had happened in England.

When we left her, my soul was torn apart.
"Shouldn't we look for Father de Bruys?" I asked Athos. "That fat man reminds me remarkably of Mazarin."
"Of course, that's him," Athos agreed. "He came here personally to negotiate agreements with each Fronde leader individually, and I believe his diplomacy will be successful. We are witnessing a turning point in French history. This day marks the end of the Fronde and the beginning of the glorious reign of Queen Anne and her loyal minister, Cardinal Mazarin."
"Is it really that bad?" I asked Athos. "Listen, if d'Artagnan were in our place, he would simply capture Mazarin! Why shouldn't we do the same?"
"Probably because such an idea could only have occurred to him, and only he could have carried it out and gotten away with it," Athos replied with a grin. "But if you and I have begun to think like him, then perhaps you are right that we should also act as he would have acted, if he were a rebel. But the trouble is that I no longer feel at all like the rebel I was back then, when you and I were plotting the escape of the Duc de Beaufort. And something tells me that some changes have taken place in you too, my dear Aramis."
"I've seen enough of Parliament without a King, and I've had enough!" I replied.
"Oh, don't worry about that!" Athos replied. "France isn't yet in danger of being left without a King. There are too many claimants to the throne among the princes of the blood. Not to mention Gaston d'Orl;ans."
"But that's unfair!" I objected. "To overthrow the legitimate King, Louis XIV , who has yet to anger his subjects, just to place Gaston d'Orl;ans on the throne!? If I move even one finger to make that happen, strangle me with your own hands, dear Athos!"
"I entirely share your sentiments, my dear friend!" Athos agreed. "Let's simply observe what's happening. To do so, we should pay visits to our influential friends, the leaders of the Fronde. And if we have the opportunity to inflict some damage on Mazarin without inflicting any harm on the King and Queen Mother, we will do it with their help, or ourselves. If we see that all this is useless, and the Fronde is doomed, we will simply go home."
"But not before we teach those vile Chatillon and Flamarand a lesson!" I clarified.
“Of course,” Athos replied.

Chapter 167

After a painful conversation with Queen Henrietta, in which we recounted our adventures as briefly as possible, omitting unflattering details and horrific scenes, we visited the Duke of Bouillon and confirmed that the sing-song about him being afflicted by gout was true. His gout had conveniently confined him to his bed, allowing him to lament his inability to personally lead the Parisian volunteers in their fight against the Queen.
Since, as we approached the Duke's house, we noticed Messrs. de Ch;tillon and de Flamarand, escorting Father de Bruys, whom we recognized as Mazarin, as if they were an honorary escort, it was clear that these three had visited the Duke before our arrival. Apparently, Mazarin had decided to personally conduct the negotiations in order to persuade the Duke to inaction—that is, to bribe him.
His mission was successful, as we saw when we visited the Duke. He only complained about his gout, lamenting that not only was he unable to mount a horse, but even simply lying in bed was fraught with severe pain.
Athos wished the Duke a speedy recovery and expressed his admiration for the Duke's courage, who, despite an acute attack of illness, retained command of the army entrusted to him.
I looked closely at Athos. I hadn't known him to possess such talents for dissimulation. After all, it was obvious to me that Athos didn't consider the Duke ill, and that he attributed his attack of gout to the Duke finding it more advantageous to reach an agreement with Mazarin than to continue his rebellion.
As if to confirm my thoughts, the Duke himself gave himself away.
"What can I do, gentlemen?" he said. "I must sacrifice myself for the public good. As you see, I've been sacrificing myself for many months now, overcoming a serious illness, but I confess my strength is beginning to fail me. This damned gout is killing me. Common sense dictates that I retire from business and lead a peaceful life, commensurate with the state of my health."
"It would be wise to save yourself," Athos agreed. "Save yourself for future exploits."
"I confess, I would do just that," the delighted Duke echoed the suggestion. "But you must admit, it would be unwise not to take some measures to at least try to recoup my enormous losses in this matter. I confess to you that if the court were to satisfy my demands, which are entirely just, I would perhaps retire. After all, I ask only for the compensation already promised me by the former cardinal, in exchange for the Duchy of Sedan taken from me! If they were to give me a domain of the same value, compensating me for all the losses I incurred during the eight years I did not use it, and if they were to add the princely title to the ancestral titles of my house, and reappoint my brother, the Viscount de Turenne, commander-in-chief, I would immediately retire to my estates, leaving the court and parliament to manage their affairs as they saw fit.
"A very wise decision ," said Athos. "I am confident that your just demands will find support. At least these gentlemen de Ch;tillon and de Flamarand will probably convey your demands directly to the Queen."
“And the Queen will probably listen to the request that your third guest will support, because she always listens attentively to the ministers of the church ,” I said.
"A clergyman?" the Duke asked, alarmed. "Who are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your third guest ," I said, noticing how the Duke de Bouillon turned pale and even seemed to jump up in his bed, completely forgetting about his attack of gout. "The third guest, I believe, was Father de Bruys. We didn't get a good look at his face, but we were told that was his name."
"Yes, you're right!" the Duke confirmed, completely reassured. "Father de Bruys! A most understanding man. And it seems he truly has influence at court. I very much hope for his support."
"We must assume that everything will be resolved to your utmost satisfaction," Athos said dryly. "We beg your pardon, but we must go; we still have some urgent matters to attend to here in Paris."
"Well, gentlemen, I dare not detain you ," said the Duke of Bouillon with visible relief. "I was very glad to see you."

When we left the Duke's mansion, I sang to Athos a song I had heard the day before and remembered word for word:

"Our glorious Duke Bouillon
Conquered by evil gout.
We all love him
And almost invincible
But illness broke him
And chained to bed."

He lay down on the sofa.
I'll pull the blanket up to my neck:
"Give me back the Sedan
And income for eight years!
Let our Duke Bouillon
Rests the heart
And the chicken drinks broth
With croutons and pepper.

"The author wished to remain anonymous?" Athos asked with a smile. "That's how folk songs are born."

After Bouillon we went to the Duke de Beaufort, and again met the same three horsemen leaving his mansion.
"It seems our friends have postponed the duel due to the need to visit the very same people we were planning to visit, and even in exactly the same order!" said Athos.
"They are ahead of us, since we were delayed at Queen Henrietta ," I said. "Apparently their negotiations have already produced the same result in this place as they achieved in the previous one."
"At any rate, I never heard of the Duke de Beaufort suffering from gout!" Athos replied, smiling.
In the Duke's reception room we met Rochefort, and he confirmed to us that the three noblemen mentioned had met with the Duke de Beaufort.
“I hope the Duke will have time for us too ,” said Athos.
"How could it be otherwise?" Rochefort agreed. "Your contribution to his release is the best guarantee of the Duke's eternal gratitude!"
"Gratitude is a perishable commodity," I objected. "And eternal gratitude is out of the question!"
"This fair paradox does not apply to our Duke," Rochefort disagreed. "You will see that he harbors the kindest feelings for you."

"Messieurs de la F;re and d'Herblay!" exclaimed de Beaufort. "How glad I am to see you! I will treat you to an excellent dinner! Believe me, gentlemen, in freedom even a crust of bread tastes better than five-meat p;t; a la Proven;al! Who should know this better than I! And my chef, Noirmont, will prepare the most exquisite dishes for you! Besides, I owe you a delicious pie and much more!"
"Thank you, Your Highness, we only came to inquire about your health and to pay our respects," Athos answered for both of us. "We also wish to inform you that we await your instructions."
"My Highness's health is excellent!" exclaimed the Duke. "Parting with Monsieur de Chavigny, who thought my stay at the Citadel of Vincennes would be best for my health, has greatly contributed to its improvement! As for instructions, here in Paris there are now many distinguished persons, but not a single one who would dare to lead this entire mass of people who have risen up of their own accord, and who are probably not even aware of their own strength, their aims, or their weaknesses."
"Really?" Athos was surprised. "I thought there was complete mutual agreement among the princes."
"Their agreement consists merely of a shared view of the situation," Beaufort replied. "Each is looking to snatch the most and avoid punishment in the event of defeat. A good agreement! The Duke of Bouillon is understandable: he has gout and never leaves his bed. But as for Monsieur d'Elbeuf and his sons, you won't receive any instructions from them either. Are you familiar, gentlemen, with the couplets written about the Duke d'Elbeuf?"
- No, Monsignor.
- Really?
And the Duke began to sing:

"Here are d'Elbeuf and his sons -
A very nice family.
Fear nothing,
Even the Prince himself!
But when Conde comes,
You won't find them anywhere."

"But the coadjutor, I hope, is not like that?" asked Athos.
"It's even worse with the Coadjutor! God save us from these rebellious priests who don a battle helmet only to exchange it for a cardinal's cap," Beaufort replied. "Don't you know his favorite aphorism? I'll tell you. 'We must so calculate our actions that even defeat brings us some advantage.' That's his whole personality! I bet he's still thinking not about how we can win, but about how he can hold on to his advantage when we all lose."
"And Prince Conti?" asked Athos.
"This one's even worse," Beaufort replied, waving his hand in despair. " A failed monk at the head of an army is even worse than a successful one. And what can you expect from him? A hunchback prince would have to be ten times braver than an ordinary man to lead an army. But he doesn't have half the valor required of an ordinary commander."
"And Monsieur?" asked Athos. "He hasn't come over to your side yet?"
"Gaston d'Orl;ans always feared winning his plots far more than losing ," Beaufort said. "Losing in everything is his way of life; it has become his second nature. No, he still supports the Queen and Mazarin, but not for long, believe me."
"So you see no prospects for our movement, Your Highness?" Athos said, exchanging a glance with me.
"Prospects?" Beaufort repeated. "The prospect of returning to Vincennes or the Bastille for all of us—that's what I see with this arrangement! My Highness is so furious about all this that if the Queen admits her guilt before me, brings my mother back from exile, and appoints me admiral for life, as I was promised after the death of my father, the admiral, then I think I'll agree to admit that there are scoundrels and robbers worse than Mazarin, and that his appointment as prime minister isn't the greatest evil for France."
Athos and I exchanged not only a glance but also a smile. It was obvious Mazarin knew what to offer Beaufort and had already made it. The Duke was merely preparing us for what was to come, since everything had already been decided and agreed upon. "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin"—"Weighed, measured, and assessed."
"Monseigneur," said Athos, "we are now completely satisfied. In appearing before Your Highness at this hour, we had no other purpose than to prove our devotion and to declare to you that we are entirely at your disposal as your most faithful servants."
"As my most faithful friends, gentlemen, my most faithful friends. You have proven it, and if I ever become reconciled with the court, I hope, in turn, to prove to you that I remain your friend. Remember, Comte de la F;re, and you, Chevalier d'Herblay, that I am entirely and always at your service."
We bowed and left.
“At least we got an invitation to pie,” Athos said sarcastically.
“Unlike Porthos, I have to avoid pies because I have to watch my figure in order to…”
“To make your private sermons more persuasive, I understand,” Athos teased me.
“My dear Athos ,” I said, “you seem to have consented to accompany me on this senseless visit to the deflated soap bubbles at the head of the Fronde only in order to give me a lesson?”
“Wait, my dear,” replied Athos, “what else will you say when we leave the coadjutor?”
“Should we go to him?” I asked.
“Only if you’re interested in what exactly Mazarin offered him in exchange for his loyalty,” Athos replied.
"Beaufort has already informed us ," I said. "He wants to be made a cardinal, and Mazarin can arrange it. Besides, I wanted to challenge him to a duel. Now, after these two visits, I want to do so even more, but I'm afraid it would be impolite, since I'll be visiting him!"
"First of all, it's unreasonable and pointless," Athos replied. "Forget about this duel! You'll agree that it would be much more pleasant to meet those gentlemen who are ahead of us in all our visits today. At least, two of them."
"It's hard for you to object, for you're right, Athos," I replied. "After my failed duel with Mordaunt, I'm torn between the desire to cross swords with some scoundrel."
"You will have no shortage of encounters with scoundrels here in Paris, just as you did in London," said Athos. "I am concerned that d'Artagnan and Porthos have not yet arrived in Paris."
“I suppose they will go first to the Cardinal, to Saint-Germain,” I replied.
“But the cardinal is here now, in Paris!” Athos objected.
“Perhaps the cardinal left them in Saint-Germain while he himself made a trip here to Paris for negotiations,” I suggested.
“If that is so, then they are under arrest,” Athos answered gloomily.
“Why?” I asked.
"Mazarin has either forgiven them and trusts them, or he doesn't and therefore hasn't forgiven them," Athos replied. "They deal with those who are of no use, and the opposite is true: they deal with those who are of no use. If he had forgiven them and trusted them, he should have chosen them for this risky expedition. After all, he took these two nobles to protect himself; he couldn't have taken more guards; that would have given him away. But if he were to take two guards, he couldn't find better ones than Porthos with his strength and d'Artagnan with his sword. And that pair isn't much of a guard. If you or I had wanted to capture Mazarin, either of us could have done it alone."
"You are right, Athos ," I said. "Therefore, either our friends have not yet arrived in Saint-Germain and have not had time to see Mazarin, or they have already seen him and he has ordered their arrest."
“We’ll wait for them another day before the appointed time, and if they don’t show up, we’ll set out to search for them in the opposite direction, along the route they were supposed to have taken to arrive in Paris,” Athos replied.
“Well then,” I replied, “in that case I suggest we visit the Duchess de Longueville.”
"You don't need me on this visit," Athos objected. "Do you think she's in Paris?"
“She’s in Paris and is staying at the city hall,” I replied.
"What is she doing there?" Athos asked in surprise.
“She’s going to give birth, or has already given birth,” I answered.
Athos smiled, patted me on the shoulder and headed towards the Charlemagne Hotel, hoping to find Raoul there.

Chapter 168

Ange gave birth to a boy, whom she decided to name Charles-Paris. The Duchess de Longueville decided to name the entire city of Paris as his godfather, and that's how his middle name came to be. A very patriotic impulse, especially at a time when patriotism had become divided into two types: patriotism for the city and its citizens, and patriotism for the legitimate King and Queen Mother. It's not a problem when patriotism takes two or more forms; the problem is when these forms are mutually exclusive. This allows citizens of the same country to split into two camps and kill each other out of patriotic feelings on both sides. Parisians exterminate Mazarinists out of patriotic feelings, and Mazarinists exterminate Parisians out of those same patriotic feelings. A delightful picture, to say the least!
I've skimmed through Grimaud's memoirs again, looking for the account of the very events I'm describing here and now. There are some passages that are slightly exaggerated, and there are also some more fascinating passages.
I will speak separately about my and Athos’s participation in the battle near Paris against the Mazarinists, the very one where we captured Raoul.
This description of our participation in the Battle of Charenton suffers from only one flaw: the inaccuracy of absolutely every detail and the inaccuracy of the event itself. Poor Grimaud described with perfect precision and detail something that never happened and could never have happened. We did not participate in that battle. Not at all. In any way. And what would we have done in it? We could not have fought against the Parisians, since deep down we sympathized with their leaders and were even on friendly terms with them, whereas our feelings for Mazarin were anything but friendly!
Could Athos or I have fought on the side of the Parisians, knowing that their leaders had already agreed to lay down their arms for the handouts Mazarin offered them? And especially considering that Raoul was most likely fighting on the Mazarinists' side? That simply couldn't happen!
Grimaud was quite taken with the idea of friends fighting in opposing armies saving each other by taking prisoners. It's not a very clever idea. In battle, people shoot without much regard for faces, but when it comes to saber or rapier combat, if you recognize an enemy and hesitate, you risk them not recognizing you, and then that enemy's face will be the last thing you see in this world. Even if that enemy is your closest friend.
Grimaud had already used this delusional idea in his description of how d'Artagnan and Porthos captured us in England. Nothing of the sort happened, nor could it have happened. Grimaud used this same delusional idea again in his description of our battle at Charenton, in which, thank God, we also did not participate.
All this nonsense about Athos leading some unit, keeping his cool and never drawing his weapon, would only interest romantic girls from parochial school, who secretly read such nonsense and are enamored with the protagonists of such stories. You can't just ride along without fighting and lead a unit you weren't appointed to command. Grimaud should have known that! After all, he served as Athos's servant and, essentially, orderly for so many years! To lead a unit, you must, firstly, be authorized by someone higher up, secondly, be known to the unit's soldiers, and thirdly, you must fight yourself or relay orders through orderlies. Sometimes a commander is killed and replaced by the most courageous fighter, whose right to lead his comrades into battle is granted by his outstanding courageous conduct, decisiveness, and activity in battle, or, at a minimum, by military talent focused solely on victory here and now. A man who does not intend to achieve victory should stay away from the battle, as he will be a target for both sides. And his foolish death will bring neither glory nor benefit to him nor to the common cause. If he desires victory for neither side, he has absolutely no business being in this place at this very time. Only a messenger of peace can appear unarmed in the thick of battle, as Cardinal Mazarin did at Casale in 1630. And even then, he did so not during the battle, but before it began. Let me remind you that the young papal diplomat Giulio Mazarin rode out on horseback right between the French and Spanish armies about to clash. Waving a truce document and shouting "Pace! Pace!"—"Peace! Peace!"—he forced the troops to stop fighting and begin negotiations, marking his spectacular diplomatic debut.
Athos and I would probably not have refused to carry out a similar mission at the Battle of Charenton, but we had neither a signed peace treaty, nor a white flag, nor any other authority for such a case.
The Battle of Charenton was the first step toward the defeat of the Fronde. Charenton fell without our assistance, either side. The generals commanding the militias themselves did not perform at their best. However, to their credit, it can be said that the Parisians possessed many virtues beyond courage, discipline, and fighting skill.
Perhaps, if Athos and I had had the grounds and intentions to lead the Parisians in this battle, they would have held out much longer and, I don't rule out, even won. Such a victory was certainly not what Athos and I needed.
This battle inspired several highly talented and frivolous literary works, among which a pamphlet entitled "Meeting of the Spirits of the Duc de Ch;tillon and the Baron de Clandleux after their Deaths at Charenton" stands out. The pamphlet describes how the Duc de Ch;tillon and the Marquis de Clandleux exchanged insults, both just and not so just. Both died in this battle, and, according to the author, both went to Hell, where they continued their feud verbally, placed in adjacent cauldrons of boiling tar. Thus, one of our opponents in the upcoming duel fell on the battlefield. I regret that he did not fall by my hand, but for the joy of shooting him, I would not have entered into a battle against the Prince of Cond;, Gaston d'Orl;ans, and Marshal de Gramont. They all defended their Queen, for whose sake we, too, once in our youth, decided on our desperate journey in order to return to her the diamond pendants so frivolously given to Buckingham.
At the appointed hour, Athos and I arrived at the duel site. Only de Flamarand showed up.
"Monsieur de Chatillon apologizes for not being able to come to this duel, as he died yesterday in the battle of Charenton," he said. "I am ready to fight you both for myself and for him."
"We know of Monsieur de Ch;tillon's death ," said Athos. "We also appreciate your coming here, despite the fact that it was apparently difficult, since you no longer had your Paris passes , and Father de Bruys was not with you to put in a good word for you with the leaders of the Fronde. You will not fight against two; we will cross swords one on one, unless you apologize and agree, in the presence of Queen Henrietta, to admit that you are a liar, in your own name and in the name of the late de Ch;tillon."
"We told the Queen what the Prime Minister ordered us to tell," replied de Flamarand. "I can only regret the lack of reliability of this information. But since I have come here, I will not take another step until all matters are clarified right here."
"That is most noble of you, Monsieur de Flamarand!" exclaimed Athos. "If my friend and I had witnessed similar nobility on your part when you met Her Majesty, this meeting might not have been necessary."
"Enough talk," de Flamarand said coldly. "Let's fight."
He took off his cloak, threw it aside, drew his sword from its sheath and assumed a fighting stance.
Monsieur de Flamarand was an exceptionally skilled swordsman, so much so that I even began to fear for Athos's life. I'm sure Athos would have won if he had used his signature blow to the throat, but he probably intended to spare his opponent's life, whereas Monsieur de Flamarand had no such intentions toward Athos.
Athos finally realized that he was starting to get tired, while his younger opponent was not yet showing any signs of fatigue.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur de Flamarant, I'll have to kill you!" he exclaimed. "Mind your neck!"
"Better take care of yourself, Count!" de Flamarant objected. "Two or three more blows, and you're dead!"
He made two furious lunges, which Athos barely dodged. On the second lunge, de Flamarand's sword inflicted a superficial wound on his left side.
At that very moment, Athos's sword entered de Flamarant's throat.
"Forgive me, Monsieur de Flamarand ," said Athos. "I was unable to save your life without endangering mine. After all, I warned you to watch your neck!"
"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "How can one be so careless!"
My words were addressed to Athos, but he took them to be addressed to de Flamaran.
The fallen enemy could no longer speak, but he was still alive. He gestured to his chest, then pointed a finger at Athos, and then breathed his last.
“He wanted us to look in his pocket ,” I said.
There was a letter in his pocket. The envelope read: "To the Count de la F;re."
We opened the envelope and read the letter contained inside.

"Count, if you are reading this letter, I am already dead. Therefore, you must learn from it what I intended to tell you if the outcome of the duel had been more favorable to me. I know that you are searching for your friends, Lieutenant d'Artagnan and the Chevalier du Valon. I have always been sympathetic to d'Artagnan. Your friends have been arrested and are being held in the Ch;teau de Vincennes. They have been sentenced to death, and twenty-four hours after you read this letter, they will be executed. I regret that we had to lie to Queen Henrietta, but such were the Cardinal's orders."

"Well, Aramis ," said Athos, "Monsieur de Flamarand was a most honorable man and deserves a proper burial. We must pay for his funeral and burial expenses. And we will set out at once for the Ch;teau de Vincennes to free d'Artagnan and Porthos!"

Chapter 169

We headed to the Ch;teau de Vincennes.
"Aramis, how do you plan to rescue our friends?" asked Athos.
"I remember where I threw the rope ladder de Beaufort used," I replied. "We should find it and take it with us before we decide to enter the castle. We also need to stock up on other equipment and weapons. If Beaufort, with Grimaud's help, was able to get out of there, then the four of us, along with our friends, can do the same."
"But we've been preparing Beaufort's escape for weeks," Athos countered. "Whereas you, like me, would probably want to arrange our friends' escape as quickly as possible, wouldn't you? Besides, will this rope ladder support Porthos?"
"Tell me, Aramis, do you think the same as I do?" asked Athos.
"Yes, I also believe that the letter we found on de Flamaran's chest, or rather, the letter that de Flamaran tried to give us at the moment of his death, is bait, and that a trap awaits us in the fortress. Flamaran handed over this letter not out of nobility, but out of a thirst for revenge for his own death."
"So that's how illusions are shattered," Athos sighed. "And yet, I really did initially think that de Flamarand was much better than the impression he made on us when we first met at Queen Henrietta's."
“In any case, since we’re both in doubt, we should thoroughly examine the situation ,” I said. “We need to think everything through.”
"Wouldn't it be better to go straight to the Queen and demand that she free our friends?" Athos asked, in his lofty, pathetic manner. "After all, we're talking about d'Artagnan! The very same one who once rendered Her Majesty such a great service!"
"My dear friend, a service rendered to a royal person is in itself a favor rendered by that person to the one who rendered it," I objected. "The best thing the person who rendered such a service can do is to forget about it as quickly as possible. Allow me to remind you of a few sayings of Cardinal Richelieu."
“Well, I’m listening,” Athos replied with a smile.
"I'll start with this ," I said. "Kings are not obliged to explain the decisions they make; in this privilege lies their greatness." Of course, this applies to Queens too, especially the reigning Queen.
"Do you think Queen Anne has heeded these instructions from the much-disliked Richelieu?" asked Athos.
“Not only has she learned it, but she probably keeps a copy of his instructions in front of her, covered with Mazarin’s notes and with dozens of bookmarks in it ,” I said. “All her actions point to this!”
"Fine, so be it, she's not obliged to explain her decisions, but surely she should be grateful to her savior?" Athos persisted.
"It's time to recall the following saying of the great cardinal ," I said. "Among others, I'll remind you of this: 'People easily lose the memory of favors. When they are showered with them, the desire to have them makes them even more ambitious and ungrateful.'"
"But here it seems to be about the benefactions of higher persons towards lower ones, and not the other way around?" Athos persisted.
"The second sentence of this statement merely clarifies the situation you've described, but the same applies to favors bestowed by subjects upon crowned heads. Such favors are their duty and honor to themselves, or, more simply, an honorable obligation of subordinates to their sovereigns," I countered. "This statement applies even more so to this situation! Think how unbearable it is for the Queen to realize that her honor depended on the efficiency of a mere musketeer! And to know that this musketeer still remembers this favor and can at any time demand, or at least solicit, additional privileges on this basis ? One gracious glance is more than sufficient reward. And the fact that the inconvenient witness is still alive is in itself an insignificant favor."
"But the Queen herself, it seems, acknowledged her gratitude?" Athos objected.
“‘Concealment is the science of kings,’” I reminded him. “Here’s another one of Richelieu’s sayings. Not enough? Please, more! ‘Treachery is only a matter of time.’ Want more? ‘Security is a category immeasurably higher than greatness.’ Or this: ‘You call this treachery? I would rather call it the shortest route.’ All these admonitions teach the King to whom they were written, and the Queen, who succeeded her husband, that neither feelings of gratitude, nor concepts of loyalty, nor sincerity, nor greatness are the feelings a monarch needs to achieve his goals! On the contrary, a monarch requires hypocrisy, pretense, the absence of such prejudices as greatness, gratitude, and justice.”
"You greatly distress me, Aramis, though I must admit there is much truth in your words," Athos said sadly. "And yet I would stake my freedom, and even my life, to receive confirmation that you are mistaken, and that our Queen values the concepts you called superfluous for a monarch. I wish to see in our sovereign nobility, greatness, justice, and, consequently, gratitude."
"I, just like you, Count, would like to see that in her," I agreed. "But unlike you, I don't mistake wishful thinking for reality. My brain doesn't produce mirages that I would happily accept as reality."
"How can we live in this world without at least a few illusions that make the society around us just a little more attractive than it really is?" exclaimed Athos.
"For God's sake, Athos, think better of people than they really are!" I replied. "Who's stopping you? Just don't make irreparable mistakes based on such views!"
"You call a request made to our empress in the most polite and benevolent manner an irreparable mistake?" Athos asked in surprise.
"That's exactly what I call it," I agreed. "And don't forget, Count, that we are accomplices in the escape of the Duke de Beaufort, who is currently one of the leaders of the rebellion against the Queen and the King."
“Against Mazarin,” corrected Athos.
"They're one and the same; they're one family," I finally stated, speaking with complete clarity about the situation. "Athos, how is it that you, with your reverence for the King's right to be the highest nobleman in the realm, don't grant the King the right to elevate those he deems useful and crush those who hinder him? What kind of power would it be if it couldn't make a minor nobleman the first minister or imprison a prince of the blood? It wouldn't be power, just a name!"
"Your words, Aramis, break my heart, but I agree with them in my mind," Athos replied with a sigh. "What can one do if the mind and the heart do not find agreement?"
"You have to subordinate one thing to another," I replied. "Either listen to your heart and commit foolish acts, or listen to your mind and reject unfounded impulses."
“Neither of these options suits me,” Athos replied.
"Then find yourself another place to live," I advised. "Perhaps somewhere on uninhabited islands, where there will be no one but you, harmony of reason and love will reign."
"Your advice isn't as foolish as it seems, but who am I supposed to love there?" Athos chuckled. "My friends and my son are here in France, so I should stay here too."
"Then don't rush to end up in the Bastille or any other fortress!" I replied. "Even if the Queen sympathizes with your demand to free our friends, Mazarin will persuade her to do as I predict. You will see them, not because they are freed, but because you will be imprisoned in the same prison where they are."
“Not the worst option ,” Athos said thoughtfully.
“Let’s think together about how we can figure out whether de Flamarant’s letter is true or false ,” I said.
"I bet d'Artagnan would have found a way to find out!" Athos said with a sigh.
“D’Artagnan is not with us, but you and I are,” I replied.
"But there's still someone who's been cleaning his hat for almost ten years," Athos replied. "Hasn't Planchet picked up some of his master's cunning and resourcefulness in that time?"
"Listen, Athos!" I said. "Just because our friends are arrested doesn't mean Mousqueton is arrested too! We need to find out where he is."

Chapter 170

At the city gates, as expected, we found Planchet without difficulty.
"My dear lieutenant!" said Athos. "May I have a word with you?"
Planchet was filled with pride and, making a sign to his subordinates, approached us.
“Monsieur le Comte de La F;re, Monsieur le Abb; d'Herblay, I am at your service ,” he said, not hiding his pride that such distinguished gentlemen addressed him as “you” and mentioned his new title.
"My dear Planchet ," I said, not as loudly or solemnly as Athos had, "we would like to ask your opinion on the best course of action for us. The fact is that we parted ways with Monsieur d'Artagnan and Monsieur Porthos on the coast and agreed to travel to Paris by different routes. We did not rule out the possibility that such a journey might end for us, or for them, or for all four of us, in some misunderstanding due to the unintentional offense we had inflicted on Monsieur Mazarin by our actions."
"I can only congratulate you on this!" said Planchet.
"Of course," I said. "So, we agreed that if our friends didn't show up in Paris by the appointed time, then we were to return along the route they had chosen for us to try to find their traces. They were supposed to leave notes at the hotels where they stayed. That way, we'll be able to find them."
“So far everything is clear,” Planchet agreed.
"That's all true," Athos agreed. "But the fact is that we received a letter from Monsieur de Flamarand stating that our friends, d'Artagnan and Porthos, have been arrested and are being held at the Ch;teau de Vincennes."
"And who is this Flamarand?" Planchet asked. "Isn't he that friend of Fronde's who passed through Paris with you three days ago? And, it seems, with Monsieur de Ch;tillon, who, as it turns out, isn't such a friend of Fronde's?"
"Exactly he, and he's no friend of the Fronde," Athos replied. "He and his friend, Monsieur de Ch;tillon, merely presented themselves as friends of the Fronde and presented forged documents. Yesterday, they both fought at Charenton on the Mazarin side."
"Yes, I heard that Monsieur de Ch;tillon fought on their side and, it seems, was killed!" Planchet replied. "So they deceived us! They are not friends of the Fronde. But it seems this Flamarand is still your friend? After all, he gave you some important information?"
"He is no friend of ours, my dear Planchet," I objected. "These two were trying to mislead Queen Henrietta about the state of affairs in England and the fate of her husband, King Charles."
"So that's why they came to Paris?" Planchet asked.
“Not only,” I answered.
"And were their other deeds the deeds of the Fronde's friends or their enemies?" Planchet asked.
"They certainly acted as enemies of the Fronde," I replied. "I would even say that they probably dealt the Fronde a serious blow."
"And in relation to you?" asked Planchet.
“Our conversation led to a duel,” Athos answered briefly.
“It’s all clear ,” said Planchet. “And what do you want to ask me?”
"We would like to know what you would do ," I asked. "Should we return by the route that Messieurs d'Artagnan and Porthos would have taken, or should we take advantage of the information from Monsieur de Flamarand and head straight to the Ch;teau de Vincennes?"
"I don't think I quite understand your question ," Planchet said, looking utterly perplexed. "Have I understood correctly that you wish to know from me whom you should listen to—the two friends you've known for nearly a quarter of a century, with whom you've shared bread and shelter, with whom you've shed blood and wine? Or should you listen to the advice of a man who is your enemy, who has displayed the most vile traits of character in attempting to deceive the noble Queen of England, who has done you no good, and who has shown neither by word nor deed that he can be trusted in anything, but, on the contrary, has demonstrated himself to be an arrant liar? Have I formulated the essence of your question correctly?"
Athos patted Planchet on the shoulder, then could not resist hugging him.
"Dear Planchet, you have formulated our question so precisely that an answer to it is no longer necessary!" he said.
We said goodbye to Planchet and, without wasting any time, set off along the road that d'Artagnan and Porthos had chosen for themselves.
I would like to return again to Grimaud’s memoirs, entitled “Twenty Years Later.”
This slacker describes our search for our friends. In his account, we returned to Boulogne, and from there proceeded to Montreuil, then to Abbeville, P;ronne, and then to Rueil. I'm simply delighted by Grimaud's stupidity!
So, in his opinion, the best way to find our friends was to go back to the start of their journey and follow in their footsteps! And he didn't care that such a journey would take a week! Perhaps this would have made some sense if we didn't know the route they intended to take to Paris, or even if they were foxes and we were dogs. But he completely overlooked the fact that, firstly, we had no intention of wasting time so foolishly; secondly, we hadn't given up hope that our friends had simply been delayed en route for unforeseen reasons; and thirdly, we knew perfectly well the entire route they were supposed to take, even the names of the hotels in the major cities where they intended to stay.
In other words, my story won't be as intriguing as Grimaud's, since we simply set off along the road our friends intended to take. We arrived in Rueil and, in the town's main inn, saw a sign on the table: "Port Art is pursuing us."
Obviously, this meant, "Porthos and d'Artagnan were here. We are being pursued." But our friend didn't even have time to finish the last word! This meant that the fight likely took place right there in the inn, or they had managed to quickly leave without finishing the message.
Grimaud vividly described how Athos recognized d'Artagnan's sword by a broken blade, and how the innkeeper used this to recount the scene of their arrest, which he witnessed. Well, that's a pretty good story for kids. Any of us would recognize a friend's sword by its hilt, but we don't consider blades, because swords are only drawn during combat, and then there's no time to examine them and memorize subtle differences. Perhaps Grimaud, whom Athos trusted to sharpen his sword, would have recognized his master's blade by the subtle scratches it left through carelessness, although this shouldn't have been done. After all, after a major sharpening, which was only required after intense battles, a fine whetstone and a polishing stone should have been used! Perfect blades are almost indistinguishable from one another; individual marks can only be found on blades with sharpening flaws caused by careless sharpeners.
The truth is more boring; there's no romance in it. We questioned the innkeeper, describing the appearance of the nobles we were looking for. He was frightened and didn't want to tell us anything. Athos offered him money, but he said he knew nothing. Fortunately, I recognized his characteristics from the signs I knew, and I knew he belonged to our Order. I told Athos I'd speak with the innkeeper alone. Proving my membership in the Order and my high standing within it, I was able to extract from him all the information I needed.
Our friends were arrested by a detachment of thirty guardsmen.
“Gentlemen, we ask you to leave us your swords, and in this case we agree to follow you to wherever you intend to take us ,” said d’Artagnan.
“We received orders to disarm you,” the squad leader replied.
"Do you have a written order for our arrest?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Our commander ordered us to arrest you and gave us a detailed description of your features," the commander replied. "But this was not necessary, since I know the lieutenant of the king's musketeers, Monsieur d'Artagnan, by sight."
“I know you too, Monsieur d’Esir;,” replied d’Artagnan. “Therefore, I dare hope that you know how I can fight. My friend, Monsieur Porthos, is unknown to you, but I assure you that he fights no worse than I do, and has four times the strength. There are thirty of you here. You will arrest us by force, of course, but you will be left with half that number. Does this arrangement suit you? Or would it be better for you simply to take my word as a gentleman that we will accompany you to Paris, since that is precisely our intention. But we have a strange quirk, which consists in an urgent desire to enter Paris with our swords at our sword belts. I hope this quirk can be satisfied, considering the price you will pay if you do not accept our terms. Also, consider that you have no written order, and I am your senior in rank.” Therefore, I cannot rule out the possibility that some of those who came with you to arrest us will prefer to obey me rather than you when I identify myself. I admit that you selected recruits who likely do not know me by sight. But they have certainly heard my name and know my rank and my position in the company of musketeers.
"I understand the validity of your counter-proposals, Lieutenant," replied d'Ezire. "I accept them."
The innkeeper told me this dialogue, and I passed it on to Athos.
Grimaud describes how our friends killed two men and wounded five or six while resisting arrest. Had that happened, that alone would have been a death sentence. In that case, d'Artagnan would have deprived himself of the chance to justify himself to Mazarin once and for all, and no amount of Athos's intercession with the Queen could have eased our friends' fate. In that case, even such a romantic as our Comte de la F;re would not have dared to go to the Queen to ask for our friends' release. Is it conceivable to release those who killed five guardsmen during an arrest? Even if the arrest was made by mistake! We would not blame our friends if they resisted, but they would have resisted until they fell in this unequal battle; any other outcome would have been disastrous for both their honor and their fate. Can one forgive two disobedient officers who killed two loyal guardsmen and wounded five others during an arrest? Of course not! Resisting a guard acting on the orders of the King or the Prime Minister is a crime far worse than a duel, and in our time even duels were punishable by death! If one were to resist, it would only be to leave France forever afterward, or to die in battle, preferring death to captivity!
Poor Grimaud doesn't understand such things; these subtleties simply don't occur to him.
The situation was now clear to us. Our friends had been arrested. We could only hope that d'Artagnan had managed to speak with Mazarin before they were thrown into prison, and that, with his resourcefulness, he had managed to convince the Cardinal that they were innocent, or at least forgivable, since they were involuntary and minor.
"If they are arrested, I will go to the Queen and get justice!" said Athos. "I understand that you do not support me, and therefore I do not propose that you accompany me."
"I regret that I can't dissuade you from this insane act," was all I could reply. "Let's go to the Louvre and try to find out as much as possible about the fate of our friends."

Chapter 171

According to the sequence and logic of the presentation, I should next write what happened to our friends and how Mazarin met them.
I know all this for certain from d'Artagnan's detailed accounts. He never wrote memoirs himself, but he was an incomparable storyteller. And I, fortunately, had, and still have, a remarkable memory.
So I will allow myself to relate the events as they occurred, according to his account, and I will do so in the third person. But first, I would like to say why we should not attach importance to Grimaud's fantasies about how d'Artagnan and Porthos were placed in prison, how Athos was subsequently escorted there as well, and how they freed themselves, having learned the entire guard duty schedule from Comminges, breaking down the bars, capturing two guards, dressing in their clothes, capturing Mazarin, and negotiating with him the freedom of all three.
I don't even want to go into detail about this stupidity, but I will note that if d'Artagnan had been guilty in Mazarin's eyes, such a stunt might have earned him temporary freedom, but he would have remained the Cardinal's enemy forever. Even if the Cardinal hadn't had the opportunity to deal with him at the time, he certainly would have done so later. In fact, we must admit that d'Artagnan always enjoyed Mazarin's extraordinary confidence, who even recommended him to the young King. Porthos would never have received a barony as a result of Mazarin's capture or blackmail. Comminges would never have spoken to prisoners, and especially not to them, the very ones who should have known about the guards' routines in the prison where they were confined, especially those who were least likely to know. The tale of Mazarin moving sacks of gold in some cellar could only have been written by someone who had no idea how much a sack of gold could weigh. At best, Mazarin could jingle two or three dozen coins. Why would he move the sack if he had descended into the treasury simply to stock up on some cash for current expenses? At the time d'Artagnan and Porthos returned from England and appeared before the Cardinal, the court, and Mazarin along with it, were outside Paris. The Cardinal couldn't have had gold reserves in the cellars of any castle outside Paris; it was impossible to arrange, he didn't have the time for such a construction, and it was pointless. At the time of his flight to Saint-Germain, the cardinal had only the two boxes of jewels that he had managed to secretly smuggle out of Paris, and also, probably, the loans that he could obtain from noblemen loyal to the Queen, in particular from the Prince of Cond;, from Madame d'Aiguillon, and perhaps from someone else.
In those times and in that situation, there was no point in the cardinal hoarding gold and storing it away like in Aladdin's cave. He needed it to bribe those who could side with his enemies or with Mazarin himself. What's the point of hiding gold in the castle cellars when you yourself could be thrown out of the country at any moment, or something even worse could happen to you? And in such a situation, gold is either spent or converted into diamonds, which are easier to hide and smuggle out.
Kidnapping and blackmail! It's fine for a pulp novel, but not for a military man who only wants to make a career at court. It's unworthy of a nobleman. If such things could be done this way, it would have been much easier for Athos and me to kidnap Mazarin when he was secretly visiting Paris!
And if Mazarin had arrested d'Artagnan, Porthos, and Athos, he would have placed them in different cells, and most likely in different prisons. And he wouldn't have come to see Athos in person. What could he possibly have discussed with him in the situation Grimaud described?
And that scene in which Athos behaves provocatively, conversing with the Queen, hinting at favors rendered to her twenty years ago, and even speaking arrogantly! That word appears in Grimaud's memoirs, entitled "Twenty Years Later."
This is all complete nonsense. Our friends weren't imprisoned because d'Artagnan only wanted to appear before Mazarin and explain himself. He was indeed arrested, but it was a preventative measure. Mazarin assumed d'Artagnan had sided with the Fronde because he'd been informed that he'd met with Athos and me in England. This was precisely what he had to justify. D'Artagnan wouldn't have been d'Artagnan if he hadn't explained his behavior to Mazarin in such a way that the Cardinal was quite pleased with his service.
For this reason, d'Artagnan allowed himself to be arrested without showing any disobedience. He also persuaded Porthos not to offer any resistance, which was extremely difficult. Their conversation took place immediately after they set out.
"Remember, Porthos!" he said. "We could be arrested and thrown into prison, or even sent to the Place de Gr;ve, if we misbehave. But we have a chance not only to justify ourselves, but also to demand a reward. I must think this through carefully. Your task is simply to assent to my wishes. If the cardinal decides to speak with you separately, you must simply say that you obeyed me unconditionally in everything."
"That's not difficult," Porthos replied. "And what were we doing in England? What's the official version?"
"We have rendered a great service to the Cardinal and to France, of course!" replied d'Artagnan. "But outside observers—who, mind you, were there, who were fully aware of all our actions—might conclude that we acted against the Cardinal. My task, however, is to explain to the Cardinal that they have misinterpreted the essence of our actions."
"You can handle that!" Porthos replied. "Will we soon arrive at a place where we can have a proper lunch? I'm already hungry."
“I hope soon, since I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat either,” replied d’Artagnan. “You remember I mentioned two envelopes from Mazarin?”
“No, I don’t remember,” Porthos admitted honestly.
"Mazarin handed me two envelopes," d'Artagnan recalled. "I was to open the blue envelope if King Charles regained power. We were to follow the instructions contained within. In that event, I was to burn the pink envelope without reading it. If Parliament came to power, I was to open the pink envelope and follow the instructions contained within, and burn the blue envelope without reading it."
"You, of course, opened both envelopes as soon as we set sail for England?" asked Porthos.
"Much earlier," d'Artagnan replied. "Even before we met Mordaunt. But after that, I carefully sealed both envelopes."
"What did the instructions in those two envelopes contain?" Porthos asked.
“That wasn’t hard to guess, but the best way to learn the letter’s contents is, of course, to read it,” d’Artagnan replied. “I’ll let you read these instructions for yourself a little later, but not now. Reading while galloping is inconvenient, and we can only converse at a gentle trot. We won’t read them while walking now, but I can tell you the gist of it. So, if I saw the King gaining the upper hand, we were to become his friends. We were to capture Cromwell and Mordaunt and hand them over to His Majesty King Charles as a gift from Mazarin. Furthermore, we were to act according to the situation, keeping in mind the main goal of establishing the friendliest possible relations with England, that is, with the King. We were also to gather as much information as possible in order to predict the future policy of this restless island state, paying attention to the army’s military strength.”
"That's understandable ," said Porthos. "But what if what happened had happened? That is, the King had been executed."
"In that case, we would have to try to secure the trust of those who would likely soon come to power, and, of course, assist them in Mazarin's name," d'Artagnan replied. "And in that case, we would also have to gather as much information as possible about the military and financial capabilities of this new republic."
"That's understandable," Porthos agreed. "But how do our actions fit into this dual mission?"
"That's exactly what I'm thinking about," d'Artagnan replied. "I already have some ideas."

Next I move on to the story of how d'Artagnan talked with Mazarin.
He negotiated the privilege of keeping his sword, and also that Porthos retain it. Therefore, the procession that escorted our friends to Saint-Germain to see Mazarin looked more like an honor escort than a prisoner's escort. D'Artagnan tried to project a calm and cheerful expression, but perhaps that was precisely the state of mind he was in. He twirled his mustache jauntily, maintained a proud posture, and didn't forget to cast fiery glances at the pretty townswomen. As for Porthos, before entering the city, d'Artagnan informed him that his barony was not lost, but first he must agree to the title of seigneur.
"You see, Porthos ," he said, "Mazarin might be glad to make you a baron immediately, but there are plenty of lords just waiting to get their way. And they'll be very upset with you if they find out they've had to give up their place to a nobleman who isn't even a banneret. But once you become a lord, none of them will be able to object to you receiving the baronial title."
"Well," Porthos sighed. "I'll have to be a lord for a while, if that's what it takes."
"Precisely for business, Porthos!" replied d'Artagnan. "But don't worry, it won't last long."
"You said, I believe, that there is another step, what is it called, Baronet?" asked Porthos.
"Banneret," d'Artagnan replied. "But we'll skip that; let's not waste time on trifles. I suggest we don't dwell on that title and become a seigneur straight away. Let's take the bull by the horns."
"I know that," Porthos smiled. "If I take a bull by the horns, no bull has ever been able to break free and run away from me."
From that moment on, a blissful smile appeared on Porthos's face. His appearance, too, was entirely befitting of a man entering Saint-Germain accompanied by an honor guard.

Chapter 172

Upon entering Mazarin's office, our friends still had to part with their swords.
"Tell me, Monsieur d'Artagnan, what were you supposed to do in England, and what did you actually do there?" asked Mazarin.
“The main objective of our mission was to establish the most friendly relations possible with England, regardless of which side would prevail in this difficult confrontation,” d’Artagnan stated crisply.
"Sounds good," Mazarin agreed. "But what, in reality, have your actions in this direction manifested themselves?"
"The first thing we did, accompanying Monsieur Mordaunt, was arrive at the camp of the Scottish army," replied d'Artagnan. "We saw that the King was treated with the utmost respect. However, at that time, he did not wield royal authority. But at the same time, we also saw that General Oliver Cromwell was merely a cavalry commander, and completely subordinate to the decisions of Parliament."
"Yes, yes," agreed Mazarin. "This is entirely consistent with my information from other sources."
"Because it is the pure truth, as is everything I am about to tell you!" cried d'Artagnan.
"What did you do next?" asked Mazarin.
"We have established that three noblemen came to the King's aid," d'Artagnan continued. "One of them was English, the other two were French. Mr. Mordaunt shot the Englishman on the spot, and Mr. du Valon and I captured the two Frenchmen."
"Why didn't you shoot them, as Monsieur Mordaunt did with his adversary?" asked Mazarin.
"We would probably have shot them if they had been English, but since they were French, we decided it would be better to deliver them to France, where they could be given a show trial," replied d'Artagnan. "Besides, they are probably rich if they can afford to travel to England at their own expense in such difficult times; one of them, it seems, is especially rich, and then, as our prisoners... Forgive me, monseigneur, as your prisoners! After all, we acted on your orders, and therefore the prisoners we captured rightfully belong to you! So, as your prisoners, they could pay a handsome ransom!"
"Well, that's quite reasonable, Monsieur d'Artagnan," Mazarin agreed. "And I would believe you if you brought them here to France to ransom them, or to punish them according to their crime."
"But that's exactly what I'm saying!" exclaimed the cunning Gascon. "And do you know, Monseigneur, we almost succeeded! We bound them... That is, we bound them with their word as noblemen that they would not attempt to escape, and that they would arrive with us on the shores of France."
"That's great, but why didn't you deliver them?" Mazarin asked in surprise.
"It's a long and sad story," replied d'Artagnan. "We were dogged by misfortune. The felucca on which we set sail for France turned out to be mined, its entire lower hold stuffed with barrels of gunpowder, and one of the crew inserted fuses into several of the barrels and lit them. There was no way to prevent the explosion. We plunged into the open sea and would have drowned in the icy water if not for a little luck. Luckily for us, a boat was tied to the stern of the felucca. We grabbed hold of its sides, cut the rope, and barely had time to climb aboard the boat when a deafening explosion ripped through the air. The ship was blown to pieces.
"And so, your prisoners?" asked Mazarin.
"What a misfortune, Monseigneur!" cried d'Artagnan. "And yet one of them promised us two hundred thousand pistoles for his freedom! And the other, fifty thousand louis d'or! Such a pity... It's your money, Your Eminence! It's as if it had drowned in the sea."
“It’s a shame,” said Mazarin. “Quanti soldi, dannazione!”
"I said exactly the same thing, word for word!" said d'Artagnan. "'What a lot of money, damn it!' But not all is lost, monseigneur. The wars continue, and perhaps Monsieur du Valon and I will capture some rich Spaniards. Or perhaps some Frondeurs."
"Do you view war as a source of income, Lieutenant?" asked Mazarin.
“Absolutely everyone looks at her that way,” d’Artagnan replied without batting an eye.
"And you too?" asked Mazarin.
"I am on duty, monseigneur," the Gascon replied. "For me, war is a way to prove my loyalty and serve my master."
"You mean the King?" Mazarin asked incredulously.
“The King too, of course, but at present I am in Your Eminence’s service,” replied d’Artagnan.
"You mean to say that if you capture some noble lords, these prisoners will be considered mine?" Mazarin asked eagerly.
“Monseigneur has formulated the essence of the matter as accurately as possible,” agreed d’Artagnan.
"Tuttavia," said Mazarin. "Okay, we've dealt with the question of the prisoners. What did you tell Oliver Cromwell?"
"We told him that Your Eminence recommended that he pay the Scots half the wages the King owed them, and that in that case they would not resist, and would prefer a bird in the hand to two in the bush ," said d'Artagnan. "And we also told him that his best friend, that is, you personally, Mr. Prime Minister, asked us to convey this good advice to him."
"And they accepted this plan?" Mazarin asked eagerly.
"Yes, Your Eminence," replied d'Artagnan. "They accepted them because they are English."
— Accidenti , che inaspettato ! — exclaimed Mazarin. And the Scots agreed to this? Why?
"Because they are Scots," d'Artagnan explained. "So your wise advice, and yours alone, spared General Cromwell's army a bitter battle and unnecessary bloodshed on both sides. General Cromwell will certainly not forget this service you rendered him, provided you don't remind him of it."
"Why not remind me?" Mazarin asked eagerly.
"Services rendered without ulterior motives endear us to those to whom we rendered them ," said d'Artagnan. " But if a service rendered is recalled, it immediately ceases to be a good deed and becomes a bargaining chip. Moreover, the one receiving such a favor is put in a hopeless position: the favor has already been rendered, but the nature and extent of the return favor are unknown. This complicates matters. And no one likes those who complicate our lives!"
"You've become quite skilled in diplomacy, I see, Lieutenant!" exclaimed Mazarin.
“I read a book on diplomacy not long ago,” replied d’Artagnan.
"What is it called?" asked Mazarin.
“The art of war,” d’Artagnan answered calmly.
"Or perhaps it was Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince?" asked Mazarin.
“Maybe, I don’t remember exactly anymore,” d’Artagnan lied.
— Tell me, Mr. Lieutenant, what is the most important thing you learned from this book?
"I learned there that for Monseigneur to defeat the Fronde, he must divide it and conquer," d'Artagnan replied. "For example, by appeasing each leader of these rebels with a specific promise."
"Really?" Mazarin perked up. "You think this will work?"
“It depends on what you offer them, Your Eminence,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And what, in your opinion, can I offer them?" asked Mazarin.
"Let's think ," said d'Artagnan. "Who do we have there? The Duke of Bouillon? He's so upset by the loss of Sedan. Giving it back to him is, of course, impossible, but we could compensate him for its cost. Or at least promise to return it in installments, over several years. And his brother, the Viscount de Turenne, could be made commander-in-chief. In that case, the Duke is unlikely to continue to support the Fronde."
“Perhaps,” agreed Mazarin. “And Beaufort?”
“A full pardon and appoint him to command some army, send him to war with Spain, compensate for the losses,” replied d’Artagnan.
"And probably something else, but it doesn't matter, you're right, if he's forgiven and allowed into the court, he'll become tame," Mazarin perked up. "But the Parisian coadjutor? Gondi?"
"His father was a cardinal, and he probably thinks he deserves it too!" replied d'Artagnan. "It won't cost you anything."
"Yes, but he will acquire too much influence, too much power!" Mazarin objected.
"But it won't happen overnight!" d'Artagnan replied. "You don't become a cardinal in a day! You'll just have to submit a petition to the Pope! And no one's stopping you from doing what Louis the Just did with the Bishop of Lu;on!"
"Are you talking about how Louis XIII openly petitioned for a cardinal's hat for Richelieu, but secretly sent a letter to the Pope asking him to deny the petition?" Mazarin asked joyfully.
“It was not I who said this, but you, Your Eminence,” replied d’Artagnan.
"Your advice is very wise, Lieutenant ," said Mazarin. "If it helps in this matter, I could perhaps satisfy your wishes, as well as those of your friend, Monsieur du Valon. But there remain two questions I would like to resolve. First, whom do you propose to send to Paris to see Messrs. Bouillon, Beaufort, and Gondi? You?"
"What are you saying, Monseigneur!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. "What kind of negotiators are du Valon and I? It would be better to entrust this to Monsieur de Ch;tillon and give him Monsieur de Flamarand to assist him, although, frankly speaking, they will only believe such proposals if they hear them directly from you."
"That's all for that," Mazarin replied. "One last question. You were supposed to gather information about England's armaments, the system of government that has developed there, and, most importantly, where it's heading. To what extent does the people support this system? Who's playing the leading role there now: Mr. Fairfax, Mr. Cromwell, Mr. Ayrton, or someone else?"
"In short, I would be dealing with General Cromwell," d'Artagnan replied. "If he doesn't become King soon, he'll certainly become Lord Protector. As for the army, navy, and armaments, I would ask for two days; I will compile a detailed document for Monseigneur outlining everything I've learned."
"How detailed?" Mazarin asked.
“As detailed as possible,” replied d’Artagnan.
"Is that all you ask for, and all you wanted to tell me?" asked Mazarin.
“I think so,” replied d’Artagnan.
“You didn’t tell me what you did in London,” Mazarin reminded.
“We decided to monitor the situation until it becomes irreversible,” the lieutenant replied.
"That is, until the execution of King Charles?" Mazarin clarified.
“Exactly so,” d’Artagnan confirmed.
"So you just watched?" Mazarin asked.
"Observing the developments and the forces at work in the capital of a neighboring state when a revolution is taking place there is also an important and difficult matter," d'Artagnan replied. "But you know, someone kidnapped all the executioners in London on the eve of the King's execution."
"Is this your doing?" Mazarin inquired.
"On the contrary!" objected d'Artagnan. "On Mordaunt's orders, we rushed to Dartford and brought back two executioners, just in time."
"Can Mr. Mordaunt confirm this?" asked Mazarin.
"On my word as a nobleman, he will not deny it!" cried d'Artagnan. "Confront us with a confrontation if you don't believe me."
"Very well, I am pleased with you," Mazarin replied with a sigh, realizing that d'Artagnan would now demand compensation for his service. "Is that all?"
"Can I ask you a favor?" asked d'Artagnan.
“Well, of course ,” said Mazarin, expecting to have to fork out his money.
"My friend and comrade in this matter, Monsieur du Valon, fought very bravely and endured many inconveniences in this matter, but he does not ask for money," said d'Artagnan. "I would ask that while he awaits the resolution of all matters with the Fronde and the opportunity to receive the title of baron, I give him the small pleasure he deserves. I would like to call him Seigneur du Valon, but you must admit, if I were to call him that, we would be laughed at. It would be preferable if everyone called him the same."
"Now a lord, and later a baron?" Mazarin perked up. "I like that you don't demand everything at once. Well, I'll sign the document granting him the title of lord. Have you spent all the money I gave you for the trip?"
“There are only a few crumbs left,” replied d’Artagnan.
“You will receive two hundred louis d’or tomorrow from the treasurer,” replied Mazarin.
"Thank you, Your Eminence!" cried d'Artagnan. "Two hundred for both, or two hundred each?"
“To everyone,” Mazarin answered, wincing slightly.

Chapter 173

Grimaud, in his memoirs, creates the false impression that our abduction of Cardinal Mazarin forced him to sign an agreement with the Fronde, as a result of which the Queen and her first minister were completely reconciled with Paris, returned to their capital, and a period of serene reign for the Queen, Mazarin, and the King began.
If this were indeed the case, one might understand to some extent why Mazarin and the Queen rewarded each of us, though me least of all, since I alone asked for nothing personally. Those who have read Grimaud's memoirs might argue with me, citing the fact that I did have a request, and it was granted, while Athos asked for absolutely nothing.
But reread that ridiculous memoir called Twenty Years Later and you'll find you're wrong.
Porthos interceded for Athos, and did so at a time when it wasn't entirely tactful on his part: immediately after receiving the baronial charter, he asked for an order. And not just any order, but the "Blue Riband," that is, the Order of the Holy Spirit. Such an order was granted only by right of exceptionally noble birth, primarily to the King and members of his family. During Mazarin's time, only three such orders were granted: to the King, to Monsieur (that is, to the King's brother, Philippe d'Orl;ans), and to our friend Athos.
To receive such an order, one had to be of considerable nobility, such as our Athos, but nothing less. Furthermore, one had to already hold the Order of Saint Michael. Athos didn't have that, but he did have the Order of the Holy Spirit from King Charles. In addition, one had to have demonstrated special merit, that is, extraordinary, out of the ordinary. What merits did Athos have for Mazarin, or for the Queen? Was it his participation in the liberation of the Duke of Beaufort? Beaufort himself was of royal blood, but while Mazarin was alive, no one from the collateral branch of the Bourbons had received the Order of the Holy Spirit. Only six months after his death did a veritable shower of orders rain down upon all this nobility, seventy in number! It was then that all the Vend;mes, the Bourbons, and even two members of the Comminges-Guitant family, as well as de Wardes, became knights of this Order.
So Grimaud's assertion that Athos asked nothing for himself is inaccurate. Only Grimaud could have written in his notes that Athos was a demigod, and then argued this thesis so clumsily throughout his multi-page trilogy. We, however, knew our Athos well and loved him for his faults no less than for his virtues, and we had no need to exaggerate them, much less invent them.
Porthos would never have asked for the Order for Athos on his own initiative. He rarely did anything on his own initiative, except for the arrangement of his castles and the management of his estates.
And if Athos hadn't desired this order, he would have refused it. The standard phrase, "Thank you, sir, I'm not worthy of this favor!" which was expected, was probably uttered by him. Just as Louis XIII once replied, "I know, but they tried very hard on your behalf!" Mazarin would have been very tempted to respond in a similar manner.
But Porthos would never have convinced Mazarin to award Athos the Order of the Holy Spirit. Only d'Artagnan, whose intellect rivaled the cunning Italian's subtle and versatile one, could have influenced Mazarin. Perhaps I could have matched his intellect, but for Mazarin, I remained an enemy from the opposing camp, just like Athos. Mazarin had already been forced to fork out and shower favors on those who actually led the Fronde—Beaufort, Gondi, Bouillon, and the others! Would he have spent his far-from-infinite resources—money, rewards, and land—on people like us? Grimaud is right when he says we were extraordinary people and sometimes influenced history, but we hadn't yet proven it to Mazarin, and we weren't the kind of people whose influence on history was so obvious that we needed to be bribed or appeased with gifts, handouts, titles, positions, money, and medals. We certainly didn't refuse what we considered our right to receive. But for Athos, the Order of the Holy Spirit goes beyond just compensation.
King Charles's awarding of such an Order is more understandable. The King still held several such orders, but he knew his power was coming to an end. Seeing only three loyal nobles before him, he did what he had to do. Athos, accepting it, took a considerable risk. He could have been considered a supporter of the King and torn to pieces. Indeed, that would have been the case if not for d'Artagnan and Porthos, who declared us their prisoners and took us under their protection. Mazarin could, of course, have promised this Order for his freedom, but we never captured the Queen's first minister, Giulio Mazarin. Grimaud's imagination simply goes wild here.
Well, I'll explain everything. If you remember, d'Artagnan advised Mazarin to personally negotiate with the Fronde leaders and offer each of them what they wanted. He even suggested what exactly to offer each of them. This allowed the coalition to collapse. "Divide and rule" is a rule every prince, every politician, everyone who wages war, whether secret or open, local or total, targeted or comprehensive, must know. Mazarin risked sneaking into Paris, accompanied by Ch;tillon and Flamarand. But that evening, while I was visiting the Duchess of Longueville, Athos decided to stroll through Paris and encountered Mazarin disguised as Father de Bruys. He recognized him. Mazarin froze with fear, since he also knew the Comte de la F;re and knew that the Count, to put it mildly, disliked the Prime Minister and was also an active supporter of the Fronde.
"Good evening, Father de Bruys!" said Athos with a condescending smile. "I think you're a little lost? I have no doubt you know the streets of Paris very well, but Paris is unsettled at the moment, especially for you."
"You are the Count de La F;re, I believe?" asked Mazarin, his teeth chattering with fear.
He understood perfectly well that if the Count had only to shout, "Hey, here's Mazarin!" he would have been finished. The mob would have literally torn him apart.
"Cursed be these Chatillon and Flamarand, who have vanished somewhere just when I need them most!" he thought. "What did I expect, believing that no one would recognize me under this cassock?"
"You are not mistaken, monseigneur, I am the same Count de la F;re who does not approve of the imprisonment of the grandson of Henry IV in the Ch;teau de Vincennes ," replied Athos. "Would it not be tactless of me to ask where you are going?"
“I am just strolling along the embankment with thoughts of the Lord,” replied Mazarin, trembling with fear.
"It's not safe for you here," Athos repeated. "Let me show you the way."
"Where exactly?" Mazarin asked in fear.
"Wherever you please, as long as it's far away from here, where so many know you by sight," replied Athos. "I'd offer you my carriage, but, as you see, all the streets are blocked with chains and barricades; no carriage can get through here."
“I already see for myself that it was in vain that I decided to stroll here without my friends ,” said Mazarin, slightly calmer, seeing that Athos, apparently, was not going to hand him over to the Parisians.
"It would be best for you to leave Paris by the same gate by which you entered ," said Athos. "Let me accompany you, and then, I hope, they will let you through, since I know the militia commander who is in charge at this post."
"What if the Frondeurs attack us?" Mazarin asked tremulously.
“In that case, I will try to convince them that Father Bruys is their best friend, and also a friend of the Duke of Bouillon, the Duke of Beaufort, and the Coadjutor, as I have noticed,” replied Athos.
"And what if they don't believe you and try to capture me anyway?" Mazarin asked.
"On my word of honor, I will not allow that," Athos replied. "And if the odds are against me, I promise to die defending you before a single hair falls from your head."
"Tell me, Count, why are you so willing to defend me?" asked the surprised and delighted Mazarin.
"If you take up arms against those dear to me, I will kill you without hesitation, Monseigneur," Athos replied. "But as far as I can see, you are simply doing your job, the difficult task of establishing order in a France torn by civil strife. And I have no complaints about the quality of your work. I don't like the Queen ruling the country at the behest of a foreigner, but what can I do if that foreigner gives her advice far better than any prince of the blood? And isn't the Queen herself a foreigner? Having visited England, I am convinced that distinguishing people by their nationality is foolish, and in some cases even criminal. Each person must be assessed individually, seen for the individual they are, and based on that, and that alone, build your relationships with them. You have not disappointed me, Cardinal."
"Thank you, Count," replied Mazarin, flattered. "That is the greatest compliment I have ever heard since the death of my benefactor and teacher, Cardinal Richelieu."
Athos bowed politely to the cardinal, and they headed toward the city gates. Several times, passersby from the militia, armed and quite numerous, approached them, inquiring who they were and where they were going. Athos calmly explained, introducing himself as a friend of Beaufort, the Coadjutor, and Bouillon, as well as the Duchess of Chevreuse and the Duchess of Longueville. When asked who the monk was, Athos offered an explanation that reassured the people they encountered.
"If I get out of here alive thanks to this Count, I will do something great for him," Mazarin promised himself. "If he were not with me, I would be lost!"
That's why Athos received the Order of the Holy Spirit, and not as ransom for the release of Mazarin, who had been held captive by d'Artagnan. I should clarify, however, that Mazarin merely prepared the award documents, and the King himself signed them only after he officially came of age. That's the way it is.

Chapter 174

Mazarin took d'Artagnan's advice, offering the Fronde leaders what they each sought. At first, he doubted the wisdom of this approach, but d'Artagnan reassured him:
"Monsignor," he said, "your fellow countryman advised divide and conquer. Now that they've united against you, you risk losing everything. Better to give away what you can part with than to wait for them to take everything, including what you absolutely don't want to part with. Buy them wholesale and then sell them retail."
"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" the cardinal asked, raising his eyebrows.
"If you can't pull out all the hairs from a ponytail by grabbing them all at once, that doesn't mean the task is fundamentally impossible," said d'Artagnan. "You can easily pull them out one hair at a time, hair by hair."
"I've heard something similar about a bundle of twigs," Mazarin agreed. "Where did you get this interpretation with the horse's tail? Are you a poet? A philosopher?"
“I am a military man, and that is why I have read the Strategems of Sex Julius Frontinus,” replied d’Artagnan.
"I will remember ," said Mazarin. "This book is not in my library, although it contains several thousand volumes."
"And all about how to govern a state?" d'Artagnan asked in surprise.
"In a sense, every book ever written is about exactly this, only not everyone understands it," Mazarin replied. "In any case, for acquiring these complex skills, not a single book I've read has proven superfluous. So, finally, explain to me what you meant by plucking hairs from a horse's tail? Do you really think I should first recruit them all to my side and then deal with them one by one?"
"I meant something else," d'Artagnan countered. "You only need to stop those you can't win over completely, and those who are dangerous if they go over to the enemy."
"By tempting them with what they seek and giving it to them, won't I make them my friends?" Mazarin asked with a smile, anticipating the answer.
"It seems Monseigneur is joking," d'Artagnan replied. "You ask a question to which you know the answer perfectly well. Money or gifts are like a leash on which you lead a dog. Let go of the leash, and the dog will run away. And this monetary leash only works as long as the money has been promised but not yet given. But if you don't deliver, the dog will tear you apart, and if you give it away, the leash will be gone. Therefore, such a friendship requires constant financial support, and your purchased friend will ask you for more and more. Sooner or later, your resources will be depleted, and you will have enemies. But this will work for a short time. Now you need to maintain power, and by maintaining power, you will eventually return everything you have given away, or you can use your former enemies against future ones, or future friends against former ones.
There was a pause as d'Artagnan stopped speaking and Mazarin waited for him to continue.
"Why are you silent, Lieutenant?" Mazarin asked impatiently.
"If I say all I can, I'll have nothing more to say to you, and you'll no longer find me so interesting," d'Artagnan replied. "But then, I'm a soldier, not a philosopher. I don't think the lieutenant of the king's musketeers has anything more to say to you, monseigneur."
“Well, if your advice allows us to resolve this crisis of power that has arisen in connection with the Fronde, I believe that the captain of the musketeers, Monsieur d’Artagnan, will find something else to talk about with me ,” said Mazarin.
"And if this crisis flares up again, will the captain have to become a lieutenant again?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Anything can happen," Mazarin replied. "Your fate is in your own hands. If you choose to serve me, then your fortune will depend on mine and your loyalty to me."
"Yes, Monseigneur, I have made this choice and I will not back down from it, for it is not in my nature to back down," d'Artagnan replied. "The Queen chose you, and in my early youth, twenty years ago, I chose her as my guiding light, my sovereign, preferring her to Cardinal Richelieu. In serving you, I serve her, and I seek no better destiny."
"Excellent, Captain," replied Mazarin. "In my eyes, you are now a captain, and I will sign your patent after I have, with your advice, settled matters with the Fronde. Now I must prepare for the trip to Paris for the negotiations you so selflessly gave me."
"Monseigneur!" cried d'Artagnan. "Allow me and Monsieur du Valon to accompany you on your journey to Paris!"
"Did this idea just occur to you now, or did you have it in mind from the very beginning?" Mazarin asked, looking d'Artagnan in the eye.
“As soon as I realized that this trip was fraught with danger,” d’Artagnan answered honestly.
"That's not what I asked," Mazarin clarified softly. "I asked about the moment when you decided to ask me to accompany you. Tell me, was it just now, or from the very beginning, when you suggested the trip to Paris?"
“Just now,” d’Artagnan lied without batting an eye.
"They both need to get to Paris, that's the whole point," Mazarin guessed. "Is this a trap? They've probably arranged to meet their friends there. He suggested taking other people as escorts, so that I would unsuspectingly accept his plan. And now that I've agreed to it, he's taken the second step by offering to accompany me! If those two decide to take me prisoner, resistance will be futile. And if their two friends are waiting for them there, I won't be able to escape!"
"It is most commendable of you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, to risk your life on such a dangerous journey ," Mazarin said with such admiration that even the cunning d'Artagnan failed to realize he disliked the plan. "I think I will agree with your proposal, since warriors like you and Monsieur du Valon are a very serious defense against the Parisians, unless, of course, there are ten or fifteen of them."
"Du Valon and I can handle twenty!" d'Artagnan exclaimed passionately.
"I believe you," Mazarin agreed sincerely. "But something has occurred to me. Men who know how to fight are not so few. I will find a replacement for you. But you have just demonstrated such remarkable intelligence that I would like to offer you a more worthy and more important occupation."
“I’m listening, Monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan.
"You know, any deal in which the parties reach agreement too quickly is unreliable," Mazarin replied. "At first, each party considers the deal advantageous and readily agrees to it. But later, the very ease of reaching this agreement arouses doubt in both parties. 'Have I sold myself too cheaply?' each wonders, and it's easy to believe they've been cheated. And then, in the hope of negotiating better terms, one of those who made the deal, or even both parties, begins to shirk their obligations in every possible way, hoping to snag something more."
“I am once again convinced of how wise you are, Monseigneur,” agreed d’Artagnan.
"Don't be distracted," the flattered cardinal retorted. "So, to ensure that the Fronde leaders don't even think of shirking what I intend to agree with them on, I must demonstrate to them by deeds that they have reached the best possible agreement, and that no better will ever be reached. They must understand that in each subsequent negotiation with them, I will offer progressively worse terms, so they will hasten to conclude an agreement on the terms I proposed the first time, and they will be even happier if I don't demand a reduction in their demands."
"I understand, Monseigneur," replied d'Artagnan. "Do you wish to inflict a military defeat on the Parisians immediately upon your return?"
"Yes, and I entrust you with the development of a plan for this campaign during my stay in Paris," Mazarin replied. "To ensure that nothing distracts you, I will assign you a study where you will have access to the best maps of Paris and its environs available in France, as well as the small portion of my library on military strategy that I have managed to procure. It consists of no more than one hundred and fifty books, but you will appreciate them."
"We could combine the two, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan attempted to object. "First, we could accompany you to Paris, through Paris, and back, and then I would develop a plan for this campaign."
"On the contrary, the plan must be carefully thought out; it will require at least two days, and I would like this defeat to be inflicted immediately after my departure from Paris," Mazarin countered. "If even one of the Fronde leaders refuses to negotiate with me, or puts forward overly favorable terms, the military defeat inflicted on them will show them that bargaining with me is inappropriate. If, however, they all accept my proposals, this defeat will push them to conclude an agreement with me as quickly as possible. This defeat will make them think that I considered the concessions offered to them excessive and will push them to take the actions we require."
"Your reasoning is quite logical, and I admit you're right, Monseigneur," d'Artagnan replied with a chagrin he didn't bother to conceal. "In that case, at least take Monsieur du Valon with you. He's a strong and reliable warrior."
"And quite a conspicuous one!" Mazarin retorted. "This giant is impossible to miss or to recognize. But I believe the Frondeurs know he serves me. In that case, my mission cannot be a secret."
"You are right as always, Monseigneur," agreed d'Artagnan. "What task will you entrust to Monsieur du Valon during your absence?"
"He will guard you so that no one disturbs your thoughts," replied Mazarin. "I would like no one to interfere with your plan for our campaign there in Rueil."
"Are you sending us to Rueil?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Of course, because that's where my library is, or rather, what I managed to take out!" Mazarin replied.
Mazarin's face expressed such goodwill that d'Artagnan even doubted for a moment whether his fears were not the fruit of an overactive imagination.
“It’s a rather secluded place ,” said d’Artagnan.
"Don't let that worry you, Monsieur d'Artagnan," Mazarin replied with a dazzling smile. "Monsieur du Valon will guard your peace from within the castle, so to speak, staying with you as my dear guests, but I will also arrange for the castle to be guarded from the outside by two or three dozen guards, so that nothing will truly distract you from your work."
"The scoundrel!" thought d'Artagnan. "He's actually taking us into custody! If only he'd agreed to take Porthos with him so he could warn Athos and Aramis! But no, he's thought of everything!"
"I am convinced that such high foresight and prudence will indeed provide everything necessary for my work," d'Artagnan replied, returning Mazarin's dazzling smile. "Will I be able to see any of the military experts?"
"That would be unnecessary, Monsieur d'Artagnan, since I have entrusted Monsieur de Turenne with other work for the time being," Mazarin retorted. "The Vicomte de Turenne would hardly be pleased if I ordered him to act as your adviser; it would humiliate him. If, however, I were to give him a ready-made plan of campaign, drawn up in my name, he would be forced to follow it. I hope you will not be offended if I put my name to your plan if I approve it?"
“Of course, Monseigneur, for only in this case will it be possible to adhere to it,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Well, I’m glad that we understood each other so well,” replied Mazarin, nodding his head as he dismissed d’Artagnan.
In the reception room he was met by Comminges, who politely informed him that a carriage was ready for him and Monsieur du Valon, as well as an honorary escort to the castle in Rueil.
Comminges did not dare ask d'Artagnan for his sword, since even Mazarin had warned him that everything should be done with the utmost respect and not under the guise of an arrest, but in the form of an offer of a visit that could not be refused.
"He's decided we're planning to kidnap him in Paris and are setting a trap for him," d'Artagnan guessed. "If that happens, Comminges will offer Athos and Aramis an exchange of Mazarin for the two of us. He's convinced they'll agree, and he's right, they will. If he returns successful, then he can pretend he never doubted my loyalty for a moment. Well then! I must demonstrate that I, too, never doubted for a second that they trust me, that they're pleased with me, that I'm in good standing. I must develop a plan for a military campaign against the Parisians."
D'Artagnan planned the battle of Charenton and developed a detailed battle plan.
Mazarin, who returned from Paris, brought back from his secret trip the conditions for the Fronde leaders to renounce further resistance.
Porthos and d'Artagnan took part in the Battle of Charenton and showed their best side.
As a result of this battle, the leaders of the Fronde actually realized that the conditions for an honorable surrender proposed by the cardinal were the best, and they hastened not to miss their chance, so they were the first to take the initiative in ending the confrontation as quickly as possible.
Under this treaty, Conti received Danvilliers and secured the right to remain in the military. Furthermore, a rumor was spread about his marriage to one of Mazarin's nieces; this rumor was favorably received by the prince, who cared little whom he married, as long as he was married.
The Duke of Beaufort was pardoned and returned to court, having received full compensation for the insults inflicted upon him and all the honors befitting his rank. It was announced that those who had aided his escape were also pardoned. Furthermore, he received the rank of admiral, inherited from his father, the Duke of Vend;me, and monetary compensation for his houses and castles, destroyed by order of the Parliament of Brittany.
The Duke of Bouillon received estates equal in value to his Principality of Sedan, compensation for eight years' income, and the title of prince for himself and his family.
The Duke of Longueville was offered the governorship of Pont de l'Arche, five hundred thousand livres for his wife, and the promise that his son would be baptized by the young King and the young Henrietta of England. I stipulated that Bazin would officiate at the ceremony, and Planchet would supply the candies.
The Duke d'Elbeuf obtained payment of the sums owed to his wife: one hundred thousand livres for his eldest son and twenty-five thousand for each of the others.
However, the promise that the King would baptize the son of the Duchess de Longueville was never fulfilled. This was the first trial run, during which Mazarin tested the extent to which he could truly break his promises. Everything worked out; there was no scandal.
In concluding this fourth, but not final, part of my memoirs, I must say that in the fifth part I intend to describe events not reflected in Grimaud's memoirs, as they occurred between the events described in Twenty Years Later and the events described in The Vicomte de Bragelonne, or Ten Years Later. During these ten years, Mazarin first rose to prominence, then was expelled from France, after which he returned triumphantly and once again became prime minister. Having calmed domestic unrest and achieved significant victories in the war with Spain, he secured peace with Spain by arranging the marriage of the King with the daughter of the King of Spain, Maria Theresa, niece of Queen Anne of Austria. A fragile peace was established, both on the external borders and within France. The Cardinal had managed to install his friends in high positions, one of whom was a very zealous supporter of his, Monsieur Nicolas Fouquet. The Cardinal made him Superintendent of Finances and Attorney General. I will recount this rise of the great and unfortunate Fouquet in the fifth book. At the end of the novel "Twenty Years After," Grimaud reports that d'Artagnan killed de Rochefort. This is nonsense. Not only did Rochefort not die, but this fourth battle between them simply never took place. The Count de Rochefort participated in the military actions, leading several hundred horse guards, even in the very same battle of Maastricht in which, as Grimaud reports, Charles d'Artagnan died. Much of what is described further in the novel "The Vicomte de Bragelonne" deviates from the truth so significantly that it is easier to recount it as it actually happened than to analyze its inaccuracies and obvious errors. I will deal with this later.
Looking ahead, I will say that d'Artagnan's eldest son, Louis-Olivier, was baptized by King Louis XIV and Queen Marie-Theresa, and his youngest son, Louis-Ren;, was baptized by Monsieur, the King's brother, the Duke of Orleans, and Mademoiselle de Montpensier. So d'Artagnan's children received the most exalted godparents possible. I am certain that if d'Artagnan had had a third son, he would have christened him Louis-Isaac in honor of the King and Porthos, since the middle names of his first sons were given in honor of Athos and in my honor. The fate of this youngest son of d'Artagnan has not left a deep mark on history, since I took care of this young man, considering him partly my godson. However, the activity to which I recommended him to devote himself brings a young man many benefits, but not widespread fame in written history. Maybe I'll tell you about this someday too.
I haven't mentioned d'Artagnan's husband only because we haven't gotten around to it yet. I shouldn't have mentioned his children here either, but I only recalled them because the King was charged with baptizing the Duchess de Longueville's son, but he declined, citing his youth. Indeed, he was still a minor at the time.

(To be continued)