D'Artagnan Arrives into Paris in 1640

What if the foundational timeline of France's most famous Musketeer is built entirely on a twentieth-century error?

For over a decade, mainstream historians have asserted that Charles de Batz de Castelmore-the real-life d'Artagnan-arrived in Paris around 1630. This consensus effectively consigns the legendary camaraderie between d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to the realm of total fiction, claiming they could never have served together.

But the mainstream consensus is wrong.

In this gripping piece of historical detective work, swashbuckling author Ted Anthony Roberts (writer of The Adventures of Monsieur de La Donaree the Musketeer and Sword Against the Robe) systematically challenges the long-standing assumptions holding up modern d'Artagnan biography. By cross-examining primary source documents, tracking regional Gascon networks, and re-evaluating old military chronologies, Roberts exposes a massive historiographical blind spot: a missing 13-year military blackout that modern academia has chosen to completely ignore.

In D'Artagnan Arrives Into Paris in 1640, you will discover:

• • The 1635 Castelmore Inventory Deconstructed: Proof that a highly cited family document never actually names our d'Artagnan, exposing a century-old circular reasoning trap.

  • The Lost Service Records of Pinard & Noeufville: 18th-century archives that explicitly place a young d'Artagnan in the regular Guard trenches between 1640 and 1642.

  • The Composite Porthos: How a misread family pronoun accidentally buried the identity of a second Portau brother who actively served in the 1640 muster rolls.

  • The Witness in the Bastille: How the boastful, real-life Governor Besmaux preserved the genuine oral history of d'Artagnan's earliest, deep-cover operations for Cardinal Mazarin.

• 
  

This is not a dry, recycled biography. It is a sharp, fiercely argued historical investigation designed to challenge the biased status quo of errors. If you are a student of 17th-century French military history, a devotee of Alexandre Dumas, or a lover of cold, hard archival truths, D'Artagnan Arrives Into Paris in 1640 will forever change how you view the world of the King's Musketeers.

Restore the truth. Open the investigation today.

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READ THE FIRST THREE CHAPTERS BELOW

TABLE OF CONTENTS: (click on chapter title...)

Chapter 1: Pursuits in History

The first thing that somebody could ask me, concerning this book, is the reason why I’m even writing it at all. I mean, after all, what’s the big deal if the real, historical d’Artagnan (hero of Alexandre Dumas’ classics ‘The Three Musketeers,’ ‘Twenty Years After,’ and ‘Vicomte de Bragelonne’ – aka, ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’) had arrived for the first time into Paris in 1640, or even earlier – as it’s mostly believed to have been sometime between 1625 and 1633? Well, it’s for two reasons, actually. Firstly, we all want as accurate an history relayed to us as possible; and, secondly, such a hypothesis (i.e. the correct dating of his arrival into the capital of France) would surely rescue a certain (and, I use this word very loosely!) “historical” author from dying into a complete fictitious wasteland. I am speaking of a certain Gatien de Courtilz de Sandras,*1 author of many alleged “fake” memoirs – including a three-volume set on d’Artagnan himself . . . Fake? Well, that’s the most popular belief, anyway. But, to be honest, I’m not really sure if the majority of historical lovers (especially of seventeenth century French studies) really believes that Courtilz (as gifted of a writer as he certainly was – inspiration even for Daniel Defoe) is a trusted historian. So, why rescue him?

Well, to be quite frank, believing the ‘earlier’ dating of d’Artagnan’s Paris arrival (again, of between 1625 and 1633) can also cause other problems for us, too. And, perhaps, these are the most important reasons of all – which will especially affect the readers of Dumas. And, that’s the fact that if d’Artagnan came to Paris prior to 1633, the possibilities of him meeting, or especially of becoming close friends with the three Musketeers (Athos, Porthos, and Aramis – in real life, that is) would almost be totally void and null. This early date would have made him much older than the others; and, too, for the mere fact that the historical Athos had died in 1643 (arriving in Paris himself sometime around 1640 – giving him only about three years of an adventurous career), it would make the possibility of their acquaintances harder to believe; or, at least of any kind of friendship. And, this goes for the other two, as well – Porthos and Aramis – who had also arrived into Paris in circa 1640. Though, and at the same time, we don’t want fantasy to outweigh good senses in desperately wishing that they all four were true comrades in arms. So, no matter the consequences, history must avail.

In my own personal pursual of accurate history, I’m actually a bit dubious of any historical author, because anybody can certainly make a mistake – including myself. But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a favorite Musketeer historian; which I do; and, that falls onto the shoulders of a certain Charles Samaran, a 20th-century French historian and archivist, who wrote, I feel, the most important work on the French soldier’s life in 1912: ‘D'Artagnan, Capitaine des Mousquetaires du Roi: Histoire Véridique d'un Héros de Roman (D'Artagnan, Captain of the King's Musketeers: True Story of a Romantic Hero).’ And, having access to old documents (which his position allowed him*2), he was able to pull old records that had been hidden from time since the late seventeenth century – doing all of us a favor, and bringing that old hero back to life to the world at large. Though that responsibility was already done near fifty years beforehand, by the genius pen-stroke of Alexandre Dumas, when he gave the world the famous novels about this Gascon adventurer and his three Musketeer friends. But, even so, and before Dumas even had done this, his work wouldn’t even have come-to-be if it weren’t for Gatien Courtilz de Sandras – who had brought the soldier of fortune back from total, historical obscurity in his purported “fake” memoirs, in 1700, in his ‘Memoirs of Monsieur d’Artagnan;’ which Dumas had used very freely for his first novel on the Musketeers. However, it was really by de Sandras’ hand, and his alone, that the soldier, then dead for near 30 years at the time of the memoirs’ publication, was brought back to the public’s attention; though, during his own lifetime, d’Artagnan had already become a legend to the people of France; but, unfortunately – and, despite his ‘once upon a time’ fame – had it not been for Courtilz, who was an ex-soldier himself (claiming to have even been a Musketeer at one time*3), and in consideration of the public’s short memory, Dumas’ hero, that old Musketeer captain, would have been completely lost to the ravages of time.

But, even if that’s the case, should we really take Courtilz’s word on when d’Artagnan actually arrived into Paris to begin his military career? For, and as the reader has undoubtedly guessed, it’s in 1640 that Courtilz places that young fortune-seeker thereto – despite the fact that Dumas had caused him to arrive much, much earlier in his famous tale – in either 1625, as he had originally written, or in 1626, as a handful of historians say that he actually meant, in order to coincide with the actual timeline of historical events that was his story’s background. I mean, after-all, if Courtilz himself was a Musketeer, then who better to relate this to the public than he? Right? And, it has even been suggested that de Sandras was a friend of the old captain.*4

Well, before we can even go that route, on whether to trust Courtilz’s words or not (or, whether, even, to believe or disbelieve that he himself was either a Musketeer at one time, or that he either knew or was friends with d’Artagnan), we need to speak a bit more about Courtilz himself; for, if there are legitimate concerns against his historical relating, then we must seek the man’s intentions, and analyze if we can even trust anything that he had to say, at all. But, even so, why waste our time if we truly find out, and as Voltaire himself had warned the world about, that he was nothing more than a dangerous pamphleteer who simply wrote dramatic “fake” histories for money and not truth?

I want it to be understood, though, from the very beginning here, that I myself don’t lay very heavy claims on Courtilz’s accuracy, in that I will blindly say that his works are pure history, and that truth is all that he sought. But, and it must also be admitted to, that not every person who claims to be writing accurate history is being extremely honest with the public about what they’re writing either . . . What do I mean? . . . Well, even Dumas himself, it is now believed, had hoaxed his readers into believing that he had found some forgotten memoirs in his exhaustive investigations into the lives of the three Musketeers (Athos, Porthos, and Aramis); in a work, entitled: ‘The Memoirs of the Comte de La Fère’ – even going as far as to give the public some reference numbers from the very library that he had supposedly found them;*5 wherein, only several pages in, he again found the names of those three historically elusive men. Though not well known to the public at large, at least there’s a lot of copies of the ‘Memoirs of D’Artagnan’ lying about, and even available for purchase online for the interested buyer. But, not so for de La Fère’s Memoirs. After much investigation from serious researchers, not a single copy has ever come to light.*6 But, what’s even funnier is that two men, a little later-on than Dumas (that is, Paul Féval and a M. Lassaz – aka, and according to Wikipedia, Lassaz was one of the many pen names for H. Bedford Jones*7), had found La Fère’s memoirs years later in the attic of a home owned by a descendant of Athos’ servant Grimaud – who, in reality, is nothing more than a fictitious servant. So, Féval and Lassaz had used these memoirs to compose a 4-book project called ‘The Years Between Series,’*8 a story that falls in-between ‘The Three Musketeers’ and its “official’ sequel” (also by Dumas) ‘Twenty Years After.’

Not only, but there’s been several other books written by Dumas fans, during the Victorian period, and in the early twentieth century (both in French and in English), who had attributed their books as to have been written by Dumas himself – actually having Dumas as the author on the front cover – perhaps using small folios or ideas found by them, which was said to have been written by Dumas, or just a scrap of a story idea; or, even, expanding some plays written by the great story-teller, and merely “expanding” the play to include d’Artagnan and his three Musketeer friends. Such books include ‘D’Artagnan the Kingmaker,’ ‘D’Artagnan’s Exploit,’ ‘D’Artagnan Forward,’ and, possibly a fourth book by this same author (but, of which I have not yet actually seen myself), called ‘D’Artagnan to the Rescue,’*9 all by Henry L. Williams. Then, there’s ‘Son of Porthos,’ by Paul Mahalin (and, which, ironically, was actually translated by Henry L. Williams in at least one English version – as he was also the translator of many of Dumas’ novels, including those of the Musketeers); and, finally, ‘D’Artagnan: the sequel to the Three Musketeers,’ by H. Bedford Jones – all of which I include in the appendix section at the back of this book where I list books about d’Artagnan in the English language.

But, as far as the ‘Years Between Series,’ and of the usage of the fictitious ‘Memoirs of de La Fère,’ I really believe that Féval and Lassaz took Dumas’ claims for what they really were, understanding his pursual for the dramatic, and had continued this hoax themselves. But, in all honestly, I myself take all this with a grain of salt; and, as to how I see such things, it all makes for good literary and marketing genius. Though, and at the same time, it really is disappointing, for we all really want to believe such matters; and, I even have suspicions that others who wrote on d’Artagnan’s behalf (in trying to present “accurate” histories for us to ingest) weren’t exactly being honest with the public either. But, for that last shady remark (though rudeness was not my intention), I won’t push that thought any further, for I am really grateful for all of what’s been given to the public thus far – whether displaying accurate history or not – because they’re keeping the memory of the swashbuckling hero alive; and, that’s what’s most important. Therefore, please keep in mind, that with what may appear to be the criticizing of other author’s words in this book, please be assured that no such intentions are on my part. I actually respect all other authors who came before me (whether in writing strict fiction for entertainment’s sake, or even in their attempt at finding true history), tipping respectfully my Musketeer hat toward them all.

Explanatory Notes for Chapter 1: Pursuits in History

*1. Gatien de Courtilz de Sandras…

         I’ve seen his name spelled both as CourtilZ and CourtilS. Either one is correct, as both are a variant of the same name. Herein, I spell his name with the “z” as opposed to the “s;” though, you will see quotes herein, from other sources, who reference him with the “s.”

*2. Which his position allowed him…

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Samaran:*

Charles Samaran (28 October 1879 – 15 October 1982) was a 20th-century French historian and archivist, who was born in Cravencères (in the Gers) and died at Nogaro (also in the Gers), shortly before his 103rd birthday … Having graduated as an archivist-palaeographer in 1901 with a thesis devoted to the House of Armagnac then working as a member of the École française de Rome (1901–1903), Charles Samaran became an archivist at the Archives nationales. In 1908 he published Les diplômes originaux des Mérovingiens, "an extraordinary achievement by a young palaeographer who would remain until his old age an infallible decipherer of difficult texts", a collection which played a key role in the study of Merovingian scriptures.

*Wikipedia…

I'd like to speak my mind quickly about the website Wikipedia, because in this book, I do make use of its wording. Allow me to say, first of all, that I do understand that it cannot be fully trusted 100%. But, then again, what can be totally trusted? However, and what's really good about Wikipedia is the fact that it does give references from which information was taken. That's where the usefulness of it comes – especially since anybody from anywhere can add information to any Wikipedia page. Not that that's especially bad, it just means that all of us must stay on our toes to make sure we aren't taken-in by false information. Therefore, when I refer my readers to this website, I am wishing for them to make use of the “source material” from which the information was gleaned. Besides, and since a large library of encyclopedias aren't as popular today as they had been yesteryear, Wikipedia has become the king of encyclopedias! And, many people do make use of it on a daily basis. Therefore, it cannot be ignored or overlooked. Until something better comes along, we can make use of it – though being cautious in our endeavors – as well as being cautious with any other source material.

*3. Courtilz, claiming to have even been a Musketeer at one time…

According to B.N.F. French manuscript 25865 to 25870, and quoted by Courtilz historian Jean Lombard, during Courtilz’s imprisonment in the Bastille, and in the information concerning him, de Sandras had claimed to have served in the first company of Musketeers from 1660 to 1666 – under the captaincy of d’Artagnan himself! – as this is also mentioned by Odile Bordaz, in her Explanatory Note for the Forward to her book “D'Artagnan: Captain-Lieutenant of the Grand Musketeers of the King” . . . I will revisit this thought once again later-on in this book. That is, of Courtilz possibly being a Musketeer.

*4. It has even been suggested that de Sandras was a friend of the old captain…

This was said by Jean de Jaurgain on page 12 of the very first full-length book about the real-life d’Artagnan, of Captain Tréville, and of the Three Musketeers, in his 1910 book, called: ‘Troisvilles, D'Artagnan, et les Trois Mousquetaires (Tréville, d’Artagnan, and the Three Musketeers).’ This is what we read:

“These curious memoirs were written by Gatien de Courtilz, Lord of Sandras, friend of Captain d'Artagnan.”

*5. Reference numbers from the very library that he had supposedly found them…

“…at the moment at which, discouraged by so many fruitless investigations, we were about to abandon our search, we at length found, guided by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulin Paris, a manuscript in folio, endorsed 4772 or 4773, we do not recollect which, having for title, ‘Memoirs of the Comte de la Fère, Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the Reign of King Louis XIII., and the Commencement of the Reign of King Louis XIV.’ It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when, in turning over this manuscript, our last hope, we found at the twentieth page the name of Athos, at the twenty-seventh the name of Porthos, and at the thirty-first the name of Aramis. The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in which historical science is carried to such a high degree appeared almost miraculous.” – Preface to ‘The Three Musketeers,’ by Alexandre Dumas

*6. Not a single copy has ever come to light…

“Subsequent sleuthing has never revealed a copy of any such memoir, and it is now definitely established that Dumas was hoaxing his readers.” – Geoffrey F. Hall and Joan Sanders: ‘D’Artagnan, the Ultimate Musketeer,’ Houghton Mifflin Company, The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1964.

“One would search in vain for this precious folio manuscript which has never been classified except in the imagination of Alexandre Dumas.” – Jean de Jaurgain, 1910, ‘Troisvilles, D'Artagnan, et les Trois Mousquetaires,’ page 13.

         Also, it should be noted that de la Fère was the name that Dumas had ended up giving to Athos in his stories.

*7. According to Wikipedia…

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Bedford-Jones. This information was, in turn, quoted from Michael Ashley’s book ‘Who's Who in Horror and Fantasy Fiction,’ 1978; Elm tree Books, p. 30, ISB0-241-89528-6. Henry Bedford-Jones was a very prolific writer; so much so, that he was dubbed the king of pulp fiction in the early 1900’s.

“He wrote nearly 200 novels, 400 novelettes, and 800 short stories, earning the nickname ‘King of the Pulps’.” – Wikipedia.

“Bedford-Jones was an enormously prolific writer; the pulp editor Harold Hersey once recalled meeting Bedford-Jones in Paris, where he was working on two novels simultaneously, each story on its own separate typewriter.” – ‘Bedford Jones, H(enry James O'Brien)’, in ‘St. James Guide To Fantasy Writers,’ edited by David Pringle, St. James Press, 1996, ISBN 1-55862-205-5, p. 51-3.

It’s also said that one of his friends had called for him on the phone. His wife answered and told the caller that her husband was busy in writing a novel. The reply was that he’d wait on the phone, insinuating that Jones was so fast of a writer that he didn’t have long to wait until he had finished the story. Here’s the actual quote from Chicago bookman and mystery writer Vincent Starrett, recalling this in his 1965 autobiography, ‘Born in a Bookshop’:

“He needed an electric typewriter to keep abreast of his thoughts. Indeed, the speed and quantity of his output gave rise to legends, such as the one about a friend who tried to get him on the telephone.

“'Henry can't come to the phone,' his wife is said to have reported. 'He's working on a novel.'

“'I'll hold on until he's finished,' said the caller.

“I don't know how true the story is; but I have myself seen four typewriters lined up in his rooms with stories going full blast on all of them.”

For this and more, please visit:   https://web.archive.org/web/20090112151645/http://pulprack.com/arch/2002/12/h_bedfordjones.html.

As can be seen, at the end of this book (in my “Books on or about d’Artagnan, and his world, printed in English for the English reader” section), Jones has three fictional books published on these subjects, which are ‘D’Artagnan: a sequel to the Three Musketeers,’ ‘The King’s Passport,’ and ‘Cyrano.’ But, and again according to Michael Ashley’s book: ‘Who's Who in Horror and Fantasy Fiction,’ ‘The Further Adventures of d’Artagnan’ might also be attributed to Jones, too, since Mr. Ashley also gives the name Lucien Pemjean as yet another pen name for him. But, and perhaps even more astounding than this is that another pen name attributed to Mr. Jones is Paul Ferval – bringing to our minds fiction writer Paul Féval, fils (the second), author of ‘The Years Between Series’ (which was co-authored by M. Lassaz – another pen name for Jones as I’ve already mentioned). Paul Féval is the son of renowned contemporary writer of Dumas, Paul Féval père (the first), author of the swashbuckling story ‘Le Bossu’ ... Oh, and by the way, ‘The Years Between Series’ was translated into English by Cleveland B. Chase. And, you’ve guessed it!, Cleveland B. Chase is one more pen name for Mr. Jones in affiliation with our Musketeer stories.

*8. The Years Between Series…

These books are as follows: ‘The Mysterious Cavalier,’ ‘Martyr to the Queen,’ ‘Secret of the Bastille,’ and ‘Heir to Buckingham.’ They were published into English in the 1930’s, and copies for purchase can still be found online. These, again, have some adventures of d’Artagnan, along with Cyrano de Bergerac, which takes place in-between Dumas’ ‘Three Musketeers’ and ‘Twenty Years After’ ... The quote, concerning the ‘Memoirs of the Count de la Fère,’ is found in the preface to the first story, ‘The Mysterious Cavalier’ ... Also, and worthy of note, is that after this four-book project was completed, Paul Féval, fils, (apparently alone without Lassaz) wrote two more books which took place in between Dumas’ ‘Twenty Years After’ and ‘Le Vicomte de Bragelonne.’ These were ‘Comrades at Arms’ and ‘A Salute to Cyrano.’ These last two, combined, were sub-titled ‘D’Artagnan and Cyrano reconciled;’ for, the first four books (officially titled, again, ‘The Years Between Series’) were also known as ‘D’Artagnan against Cyrano.’ As can be seen by these two sub-titles, in the first set we see D’Artagnan pitted against the long-nosed swordsman; and, by the end of those four books, they become friends – of which they remain for the last two books in the entire, completed series. In the French versions, though, instead of only two books in this second series, there was a third book in between the two. So, when being translated into English (by, certainly, the mysterious Cleveland B. Chase!), the books were simply enlarged into 2 volumes instead of 3; but, still retaining the entire story. However, and what’s interesting to note, is that the middle book, in French, had a unique title: ‘L'évasion du Masque de Fer;’ or, that is, in English: ‘Escape from the Iron Mask.’ Which has – you’ve guessed it! – an adventure with the Man in the Iron Mask. But, even so, here is the complete list of Féval’s titles, in both French and English:

‘The Mysterious Cavalier (Le chevalier Mystère)’

‘Martyr to the Queen (Martyre de reine)’

‘Secret of the Bastille (Le Secret de la Bastille)’

‘Heir to Buckingham (L'Héritage de Buckingham)’

‘Comrade at Arms (Secret d'État [State secret])’

‘L'évasion du Masque de Fer [Escape from the Iron Mask]’

‘A Salute to Cyrano (Les Noces de Cyrano [Cyrano's wedding])’

*9. D’Artagnan to the Rescue…

As I explain, at the back of this book (in a section, called: “Books on or about d’Artagnan, and his world, printed in English for the English reader”), this book is unknown to me if it actually exists or not; but I found mention of it at this very informative and well-organized website: https://www.pastichesdumas.com/php/fiche.php?code= DartKingMaker. In turn, I emailed the author of the webpage in question, to see if he had anymore information on this book to give. The gentleman was very friendly in responding, but he was uncertain as to its existence himself. But, he did tell me that he found the book listed, as a genuine novel, in Aksel J. Nielsen’s 1964 book: ‘Bibliographie d’Alexandre Dumas’ (Copenhague). Though rare these days, I myself was able to find and purchase original copies of Henry L. Williams’ other three novels (‘D’Artagnan the Kingmaker,’ ‘D’Artagnan Forward,’ and the “extremely” rare ‘D’Artagnan’s Exploit’); but, I’ve found no trace of this possible fourth book online. But, I am in hopes of both finding and obtaining a copy in the near future – if it does exist.

Chapter 2: The Semi-Historical Facts Of Courtilz de Sandras

“The ‘Memoirs of D'Artagnan,’ however (of which the present writer can speak with some slight authority, being their translator into English), are certainly something more than a mere work of imagination. They convey an impression such as a soldier's rough notes hastily scribbled in intervals of repose might give. There is about them a frankness, occasionally even a coarseness, which bears a stamp of actuality of life, a quality which fabricated memoirs never possess. In all probability Sandras obtained access to some notes left by D'Artagnan, and, adding to them from his own plentiful stock of imaginative adventure, produced the work which furnished Dumas (another imaginative giant) with material for the ‘Three Musketeers,’ for ‘Twenty Years After,’ and ‘The Vicomte de Bragelonne.’” – ‘Gentleman's Magazine,’ London, 1899.*10

Going back to Charles Samaran – d’Artagnan biographer extraordinaire – he had given all of us a picture of Sandras’ true character, in that it wasn’t “completely” shady. However, and even so, was Courtilz a man for making big sales? Why not? That was his business. The real question should be, did it drive him into writing fictions on purpose as if they were true because dirty gossip sells better than facts?*11 To that, I cannot answer – even though such loose gossip had gotten him behind bars. But, one can only imagine that he may had been tossed into prison because “dirty truth” can be very damaging – especially when attacking king Louis XIV himself – which he did, and during the king’s own lifetime.*12 A fact that not only got him behind those prison bars, as I’ve just said, but into the infamous Bastille itself.*13

However, and despite that, Samaran had pointed out Courtilz’s gift of strict and precise historical facts in his dialog (and, not just in the ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ but in other of his books, too), which can be compared to other “confirmed” historical sources.

“We have studied these Memoirs [of d’Artagnan] as scrupulously as possible. The framework of historical events in which the story moves is generally accurate. On this point, we can follow them step by step, annotate them carefully: we will not often find them faulty. It is certain that the author was admirably aware of the history of his time, and that he used good sources. As far as d'Artagnan himself is concerned, the opinion we should have of these memoirs is much more complex. The war campaigns that Courtils attributes to d'Artagnan, as a French guard or as a musketeer, are indeed those which are related in the histories of these corps of troops; he knows something of the relations between d'Artagnan and Mazarin, of his presence on the trip to Saint-Jean-de-Luz and in the great procession entering Paris in 1660; he is quite well informed of d’Artagnan’s relationship as a guard to the prisoner Fouquet, of the difficulties d’Artagnan had with his wife and of the separation that followed, and he mentions—almost alone—that his hero was the governor of Lille.” – Charles Samaran, ‘D'Artagnan,’ 1912; quoted from pages 16-17.

In consideration to such thoughts, and when also considering that if that were so, then just how could anybody complain about Courtilz’s histories? Well, that’s not the real problem; the real problem is in his characters, the main personalities of whom he’s writing about, of whom the Memoirs are named after. That’s where most dubiousness comes in.

“But how many, besides that [besides the good portions of accurate histories], are things invented at [his] will?” . . . “As for the extremely abundant details which he complacently furnishes on the private life of d'Artagnan, on his duels, on his love affairs, how can we accept them on the sole faith of this indefatigable storyteller?” – Charles Samaran, ‘D'Artagnan,’ 1912.

 But, in the backgrounds, the historical scenes just may be dead-on in a lot, if not most cases – as Samaran has already pointed out for us. So, therefore, it’s actually to those “historical backgrounds” to where I’m actually trying to aim with all of this . . . What do I mean? . . . Even if Courtilz’s main characters, and of their personal activities, are questionable (and, I’m certainly not trying to say that they’re not!), that’s not where my main focus lies in this present book. But, where I want to shoot for, toward a historical mark, is in Courtilz Sandras’ historical background settings. Surely, what most people’s gripe is concerning this man is his main features, as if he’s writing strict, pure biographies on his main characters. And, to that, I myself am extremely cautious – especially since he gives dialog to them (quoting their actual speeches) which is impossible for him to know when he wasn’t there himself. But, to say that his history, in the historical settings-area, in every whit, is wrong, I cannot see where we can justify such a statement.

But, then – and, to be completely fair – there have been some instances where other historians have called Sandras out on misinformation with some of these historical settings; but, that may have been unintentional on Courtilz de Sandras’ part, thinking that he was correct at the time of his compositions.

Quoting Ralph Nevill once again, but this time from his 1899 translation of ‘The Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ he points out, in his Introduction, that Courtilz was…

“A voluminous writer, nearly all his works claim to be the autobiography or biography of some well-known character of his day. Most of them, indeed, were given to the public as authentic memoirs, but several severe critics have spoken of them as historical novels. Amongst these is Voltaire, who has warned the world to beware of placing too great reliance upon the statements made in the many volumes which Sandras produced, at the same time somewhat harshly characterizing their author as a dangerous and unscrupulous writer. Be this as it may, Sandras certainly wrote (as Bayle has said) with great vivacity and clearness, and although in many cases his chronology leaves much to be desired, most of the adventures he relates with so much vigour and life are founded upon fact. His is a spirited and romantic (if perhaps highly coloured) picture of seventeenth century life in France—a picture which cannot fail to fascinate and amuse all those who have a taste for historical romance . . . While making every allowance for exaggeration on the part of Sandras, there is no overlooking the fact that the career of D'Artagnan was really one of a most dashing and romantic kind. The Memoirs, indeed, are probably a collection of the stories and traditions of the famous Musketeer's life current in his day, together with other details of his exploits which the author was able to glean from such documents and letters as he had chanced to come across.”

But, then, these “false” instances are few and far between – not like, again, the ultra-liberties that he takes with his main characters. Though, and in the case of d’Artagnan (and, even though I’d agree that he took liberties with the soldiers’ real life at many turns), he did give accurate information concerning the man in other areas that (and, as Samaran had pointed out in our quote just above), if we really thought that he knew nothing at all of this famous Gascon-soldier, then we’d think him a wizard for finding such things out. Such as, and on the very first pages of these memoirs, Courtilz mentions that d’Artagnan may not have really belonged to the family of whose name he carried.

“I will not entertain myself by vaunting M. d'Artagnan's birth, although I have found much on this subject among his notes of a very favourable nature. I have been afraid of laying myself open to accusations of wishing to flatter him, the more so as everyone does not agree that he really belonged to the family whose name he adopted. If this be the case, he is not the only one who has striven to appear more than he really was.” – Courtilz de Sandras, ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ Preface, 1700.

Now, that’s a historical fact; for, “d’Artagnan” was his mother’s maiden name, and “de Batz–Castelmore” was really the only name that the soldier was really entitled to.*14 So, how did Sandras know this? A lucky guess? And, also, he’s one of the few writers who ever mentioned that d’Artagnan was, later-on in life, the governor of the town of Lille – as Samaran has pointed out. How did Courtilz know this? Another lucky guess?

After all particulars are worked out, the real tragedy, when dealing with the accurate life of d’Artagnan, is in believing that we have to totally ignore everything that Sandras had to say about him; for, much “true” information about the man might be lost by doing so; and, as I’m trying to point out here, that even though many liberties may have been taken concerning d’Artagnan’s daily activities and conversations by this early biographer, what about the smaller, historical details? By tossing Sandras totally away (as some modern scholars have completely done – or, at least, seem to be doing), I believe, at the end of the day, that we all would do ourselves a great disservice in our historical efforts by doing so. After all, Sandras did live during the same day and time as d’Artagnan, and Sandras’ “history” was everyday life for himself (give or take a decade or two!). And, though he were much younger than the famous captain, he, like everybody else, got to hear both legends and true history concerning this famous Gascon.*15 So, why would he leave such available information out of these memoirs? That is, whether they were legend or fact? To say that the memoirs are 100% fiction, as if reading a fairytale, is a false statement. To say that we must be cautious when using his information, is confirmed. But even Samaran says that the student of history “can” use Sandras, though cautiously.*16 Of which advice his number one student, Odile Bordaz,*17 seems to have ignored – especially concerning d’Artagnan’s early career.

Actually handing both the baton of d’Artagnan’s research over to her along with his blessing, Charles Samaran had told her that there’s much more that could be learned about the Musketeer.*18

Therefore she, with true passion, took on the mantle with gladness, giving the world great new biographies on the Musketeer captain during the mid-1990’s, on into the 2,000’s, which are a joy to read. And, though her histories are wonderful on the “older” soldier of fortune, her information on him, however, is almost totally lacking on his younger self when he had arrived into Paris for the very first time to start his career in arms – because, no doubt, and unfortunate to many researchers, it's really Gatien Courtilz de Sandras who has the most information to offer on that score – whether that information is good or bad.

Explanatory Notes for Chapter 2: The Semi-Historical Facts of Courtilz de Sandras

*10. Gentleman's Magazine, London, 1899…

January to June, pages 266-267. Article written by Ralph Nevill, translator of d’Artagnan’s Memoirs into English, 1899.

*11. Dirty gossip sells better than facts…

This isn’t far from the truth, though – even when it concerns the ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan;’ for, we see this apparent theme within the complete title of the work:

“Memoirs of Mr. d'Artagnan, captain lieutenant of the first company of the King's Musketeers, containing a quantity of particular and secret things which happened under the Reign of Louis the Great.”

*12. Attacking king Louis XIV himself – which he did, and during the king’s own lifetime…

Charles Samaran informs us:

“In a series of volumes, of course anonymous, he attacks Louis XIV himself, publishing successively: ‘The conquests in love with the Great Alcandre in the Netherlands, with the Intrigues of his Court’ (Cologne, Pierre Bernard, 1684), ‘The Ladies in their Naturalness, or Unceremonious Gallantry in the Reign of the Great Alcandre’ (Cologne, Pierre Marteau, 1686), ‘The Great Frustrated Alcandre’ (Cologne, Pierre Marteau, 1696), ‘The Annals of the Court and of Paris for the years 1697-1698’ (Cologne, Pierre Marteau, 1701)” – Charles Samaran, ‘D'Artagnan: Captain of the King's Musketeers,’ 1912, quoted from page 9.

*13. Into the infamous Bastille itself… 

We turn to Charles Samaran once again:

“The peace of 1678 having provided him with leisure, it occurred to him to use them when beginning the series of innumerable works which earned him, at the same time as real bookstore successes, some exiles and at least two imprisonments in the Bastille ... He had gone to Holland to have his first works printed, but he had to leave that country when he had published his ‘History of the Dutch War,’ in which some truths had escaped him which displeased his hosts. In 1693, he was arrested on a letter from La Reynie, lieutenant of police, with the manuscripts which he was preparing for the second time to carry himself to Holland, and imprisoned in the Bastille. The following year his wife was allowed to visit him there. In the following years, there is still mention of him in the registers of the secretariat of the Maison du Roi, and on October 13, 1697, it is recommended to keep this ‘dangerous libel-maker’. In 1699, he was accused of composing ‘false manuscripts’. Nevertheless, on February 28, the governor Saint-Mars [of the Bastille] receives the order to widen it, but enjoining him to have to leave Paris and not to approach it at the distance of less than twenty leagues, which was executed. March 2 (Funck-Breutano, Lettres de cachet, p. 110). The following year, still under the watchful eye, he asked permission to go to Paris because of illness, and, after investigation, he was authorized, on February 10, to come and spend three months there. On April 22, 1702, fifteen copies of the ‘Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan’ were seized at Porte-Saint-Denis in the carriage of the town of Eu, and they were taken to the Syndicate Chamber of Printers. Arrested again that year or the following year, Courtils remained almost constantly at the Bastille during the last ten years of his life (A. de Boislisle, ‘Les Aventures du Marquis de Langalerie,’ p.8.)” – Charles Samaran, ‘D'Artagnan: Captain of the King's Musketeers; the true story of a romantic hero,’ 1912, quoted from pages 7 and 8.

*14. De Batz–Castelmore’ was really the only name that the soldier was really entitled to…

At birth, he was Charles Ogier de Batz-Castelmore. But, by adding his mother’s maiden name to the bunch, and by the time of his death, he was known as: Monsieur Charles Ogier de Batz-Castelmore, Count d’Artagnan.

*15. This famous Gascon…

For those who are unfamiliar with Gascons, they are folks who come from Gascony (usually spelled Gascogne), of which is a rather large Province in southern France – a “cousin” Province to Béarn, which is also a French Province; who, in turn, have folks that are practically Gascons in their mannerisms, society, and language (which the language of both provinces was Gascon, and not French – which is classified as a regional variant of the Occitan language). By the time d’Artagnan was born, Gascony and Béarn were practically foreign countries to France – though all of that had drastically changed since the ascension of Henry III of Navarre (father of king Louis XIII, and grandfather of king Louis XIV), who became king Henry IV of France in 1594 – being, at first, born in the Béarn city of Pau in 1553, birthplace of Porthos himself. Therefore, and since a Béarn born king had ascended the throne, the capital of Paris, from then on, became flooded with provincials from both Gascony and Béarn trying to gain admittance into his army – a practice that was still popular during his son’s, Louis XIII’s, day of when d’Artagnan came into the capital himself not too long after the death of Henry IV. In those days, the army, at times, was known as the Gascon army of France, since it housed about 90% of Gascons and Béarnese.

*16. The student of history “can” use Sandras, though cautiously…

‘D'Artagnan: Captain of the King's Musketeers; the true story of a romantic hero,’ 1912; read chapter 1: ‘The Legend of D’Artagnan.’

*17. Odile Bordaz…

Perhaps the top researcher of our modern times for d’Artagnan; she, according to a few websites (such as: https://www.babelio.com/auteur/Odile-Bordaz/233733), “…is a historian and doctor of art history. Author of several books, she is also a novelist. Curator of heritage, successively in charge of the museums of the Gers, of cultural action at the National Fund for Historic Monuments and Sites, of the Royal Basilica of Saint-Denis, she is currently administrator of the Château de Vincennes for the Center des monuments nationals” . . . Of her books, what mostly concerns us for our current studies are these:

1)     ‘D’Artagnan, Biographie du Capitaine-Lieutenant des Grands Mousquetaires du Roy’ (i.e. ‘D'Artagnan, a biography, Captain-Lieutenant of the King's Grand Musketeers’);

2)     ‘D'Artagnan et les Mousquetaires du Roi: 1622-1775’ (i.e. ‘D’Artagnan and the King’s Musketeers’); and:

3)    ‘Sur les chemins de d'Artagnan et des Mousquetaires’ (i.e. ‘On the paths of d'Artagnan and the Musketeers’).

*18. There’s much more that could be learned about the Musketeer…

Indeed, in the Forwards of both her own book: ‘D'Artagnan: Captain-Lieutenant of the Grand Musketeers of the King,’ and the reissue of Charles Samaran’s biography on the Musketeer (in 2012, from his original 1912 book), she informs us of her great admiration of this excellent biographer; and of how, when she was yet a student in History at the Sorbonne (at the very beginning of her career as a heritage curator), she had the chance to benefit from his advice and his encouragement. She then confirms that it was indeed he himself who had prompted her to resume the research on the Musketeer, by telling her that: “There are still archives to study and things to discover and say about d'Artagnan.” And, that was exactly how she had embarked upon her own adventures, her studies, and her own publications of the famous Gascon hero.

Chapter 3: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, Their Historical Counterparts

When writing a fiction, one of the main things we’d want to do is to invent certain characters, along with fictitious names to accompany them. Or, if you were trying to give the illusion of accurate history, you’d want to include real historical characters into your drama. But, by doing so, and especially if writing about recent historical events, which concerns characters whose friends and families might still be alive, you would want to do some pretty good research or you’d be called-out on the carpet for being a complete liar.

Well, such is a similar case for Courtilz de Sandras. When the ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan’ were first published in 1700, some folks who had lived during the time of d’Artagnan’s youth (of when the soldier of fortune had first appeared in Paris) were still alive – including an older brother of his, Paul, who had lived to be ninety-five years old, finally passing in 1704.*19 After all, and if this book’s assumption is correct – in that d’Artagnan had arrived into the capital of France in the year 1640 – then that would have been only sixty-years prior – giving some people ample opportunity of calling Sandras a liar. And, though that had actually been done by some, others, on the other hand, congratulated him on well-written history. The reviews were actually mixed.

“We observe that authors almost contemporary with Gatien de Courtils, serious authors [historians] like Le Père Daniel,*20 Le Pippre de Neufville*21 and Pinard,*22 do not fail to often cite this work and seem to trust it for all that governs the military career of our hero.” – Charles Samaran, ‘D'Artagnan,’ 1912; quoted from page 15.

But, then again, one could argue that after sixty years (from when d’Artagnan had first arrived into Paris to when Courtilz published his biography), that things could be forgotten about, and facts get misconstrued. And, though that’s true enough, it’s actually far less likely than if Sandras had written, instead, about Medieval times.

When trying to write accurate histories (or, at least sound historical fictions), many authors like using main historical figures that were well known. For instance, Dumas loved using king Louis XIII, Richelieu, Queen Anne, and the Duke of Buckingham in ‘The Three Musketeers’ for some of his main characters. But, then, and as many other fiction-authors like doing, some of the more obscure characters are complete fictions – such as the Musketeer’s servants (Planchet, Mousqueton, Grimaud, and Bazin). But what about Courtilz de Sandras? I mean, why would he pick three obscure, unknown names by the year 1700, as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis – sixty years after what they had supposedly done – things which did not even make them popular during their own day and time? Three men who, if not for Sandras, would never have come to light in the public’s eye, at all. And, as for Athos himself (as I had pointed out in the first chapter) he died very early in his career, possibly in a duel; so, he’s but a footnote in history, only a name written in the registry of a church as to have been killed in 1643.*23 So, why pick him? And, as for Aramis and Porthos, though having lived longer than Athos, they had gained no popularity at all during their lifetimes to either receive grand reputations, nor even get a memoir dedicated to their memory. So, why pick them? In fact, these three men many had thought for years were nothing more than pure fictions – including another contemporary of the then deceased captain d’Artagnan. I am speaking of another soldier with whom we should become familiar with; for, I will certainly be speaking of him more in the upcoming pages – an actual Musketeer under the captain’s command for 12 years, a certain Monsieur le Comte d’Aligny, who himself had written his own memoirs, in which he slams Courtilz and all of his “lies” about d’Artagnan. And, though I will be speaking of him in better detail in a chapter dedicated to him later-on, I will only briefly mention a sarcastic slam he had made concerning Courtilz’s “bogus” history; and, of which concerns our current chapter:

“…this impostor who wrote memoirs under his name [under d’Artagnan’s name], and who never knew him, makes him say and do nothing but poor things (with his Athos and Porthos)…”*24

I couldn’t help but laugh when I read that. But, and as we’ll learn a little later-on, and though passionate in his views (because, d’Aligny wanted simply to protect his captain of fond memory from anything that would make him look bad in the public’s eye), that he himself may have been too young to have known all of the captain’s past – being at least 20 years his junior. For, and as we see (and, though d’Aligny thought himself that those names were complete fictions), both Athos and Porthos, along with Aramis, were indeed real historical people.

But, in going back to Courtilz’s choice of these three men, we could perhaps say that they were just convenient names picked in history by Sandras to simply fill in some gaps to his story. But, if that’s so, then why call them Athos, Porthos, and Aramis? Well, as for Athos, that was his actual spelled name. But Porthos was actually Portau,*25 and Aramis was Aramitz.*26? And, though that thought may seem nothing more than only a trifle to many readers (since those could just be simple spelling variants – and, they are), these men had first names, too – Arnaud, Henri, and Isaac – just as d’Artagnan was Charles (but not “Louis” – as the almost forgotten author of ‘D’Artagnan the Kingmaker,’ Henry L. Williams, would have us to believe). Why not, then, call them by their fuller names in the story? Rather than, that is, what appears to be “nicknames.” And, though I had picked that awful word “nicknames” as a description of what he may have done (of which, I did not mean to be so crude with that picked word – for such was their actual names, even if in variant spellings), such “shorter” applications actually smacks more of the military address than of anything formal. That is, of what soldiers would call each other on an everyday basis. If d’Artagnan were known to have mentioned these three men later-on, in reminiscing about the good-old-days, he probably wouldn’t have said Isaac de Portau, Henri d’Aramitz, or Arnaud de Sillegue d’Athos (their full names/titles), but would have called them by their more familiar military-family names of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis; which, in my humble opinion, gives their story (in association with the historical d’Artagnan) more validity in Sandras’ account; for, such would d’Artagnan have actually called them in fond memory of his three old soldier-friends rather than some historical interpolation by a fiction-author. And, in consideration that Sandras, being a soldier himself (whether he was actually a Musketeer or not – we at least know that he was a real soldier*27), in consideration, I say, that he may have asked d’Artagnan some questions about his past (for, there are absolutely no reasons to say that that’s totally impossible – even if it may seem improbable – for, every journalist loves asking questions), this is more than likely how d’Artagnan would have called those three old friends of his: whether it were told directly to Sandras, or even if he had heard those names indirectly, and as to being actual friends of d’Artagnan’s.

Though, and as it has been suggested by other historians, Courtilz very well may have gained this knowledge firsthand from François de Montlezun, Sieur de Besmaux,*28 jailor of Sandras in the Bastille (as Besmaux was the Bastille’s governor at the time), and he was also an old comrade-at-arms with the then dead captain – showing up, also, in Courtilz’s ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ at the beginning of the tale, of when d’Artagnan first came to Paris in 1640. And, then, Sandras – I can well imagine – would not have really known who those three men were (again, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis), or even if they were still alive when he was writing those Memoirs. For Athos, as mentioned already, was dead by 1643, and both Aramis and Porthos had left the military service not too long after that.

However, and in consideration of d’Aligny’s statement that I had quoted at the beginning of this current chapter, and in the way that he had treated the names of Athos and Porthos (as if they were nothing but made-up names in the Memoirs of Courtilz), it actually seems very unlikely (after further consideration) that d’Artagnan had ever reminisced about those old soldiers, of his earlier career, to his men later on. Seeing as, by the time d’Aligny had come into the Musketeers in 1661 – when d’Artagnan was the commanding officer (as I’ll point out about d’Aligny in an upcoming chapter on him; and, of whom was under d’Artagnan’s command for 12 years afterwards) – Athos would already have been dead for 18 years, while Aramis and Porthos had, again, left the service not too long after that. They would have been, by the time d’Aligny had come around, just a distant memory for the older captain. Instead, and as I actually believe, it’s far more likely that Courtilz would have heard those names being mentioned by Besmaux, the Bastille governor, when Courtilz was imprisoned therein; and of when they, more than likely, had spoken together of the early career of d’Artagnan. Besmaux was definitely in the capital in 1640, and was also a friend of d’Artagnan, and they even had entered into the service of Cardinal Mazarin together in the mid-1640’s just after the company of Musketeers were disbanded by that same Cardinal. These two men’s military careers (d’Artagnan and Besmaux) ran closely together; so, Besmaux, more than likely, could certainly have known what took place in the capital in 1640, and of what d’Artagnan’s activities would have been during those days. I mean, where else could Courtilz have come-up with those obscure military nicknames? This, thus far, is the most likely cause of Courtilz knowing about those three historic men.

But, and as to the life-span of Aramis and Porthos, and even though Kari Maund and Phil Nanson (in their great biography, called ‘The Four Musketeers: The true story of d’Artagnan, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos’) say that nothing’s further known about Porthos after 1650, and of Aramis in 1657, Roger MacDonald, on the other hand (and, in his extremely interesting history, called ‘The Man in the Iron Mask: The true story of the most famous prisoner in history, and the four Musketeers’), and though he seems to be somewhat in agreeance about Aramis (in that he perhaps died sometime after 1654), he claims that he has found further information on the real Porthos (as seen on page 93 in the paperback version of his book), and that he had lived to the ripe-old age of 95 – just like d’Artagnan’s older brother Paul had – but finally dying from an apoplectic stroke on the 13th of July, 1712, back at his birth place in Pau, Béarn*29 – having him, if that’s really true, to have lived 12 years longer than the first publication of the ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan.’ But, even IF he had gained a copy of the Memoirs into his hands (for, it may have been a bit difficult to have gained one so far south of Paris, because the books were not only illegal – since it spoke of voodoo information on the royals of France – but, many copies of the Memoirs were also seized on their way into Paris, and subsequently locked-away from public view), then one can but wonder what he thought about them, and of his participation therein.

Not only so, but the famous duel on d’Artagnan’s first day included some other characters who, when studied out, were actual historical people as well, and who all were living in the capital in 1640 – and, I’m talking about the fight between the Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guards, which even Dumas adds into his story upon d’Artagnan’s first arrival into Paris – the duel, of which, had introduced the four soldier friends together for the very first time.

As Roger MacDonald had pointed out,*30 all of these men mentioned by Sandras and Dumas just so happened to all have been at the right place at the right time for the likely possibility of such a duel; for, again, all of them were in Paris in 1640. The only person missing, though, and according to Odile Bordaz (and others who follow in her opinion), was d’Artagnan himself! For, if he did not come into the capital in 1640, as Sandras says (but much earlier, rather, as many modern historians say), then d’Artagnan wouldn’t have been at that dueling spot, at that time, to participate in such a deed – he being, instead, too old to hang-out with such younger men; and, he certainly wouldn’t have participated in such a thing with men who were at least 10 years his junior; he being, as many say, in his early 30’s by 1640 – assuming, of course (and, as historian Jean-Christian Petitfils believes), that he arrived into Paris around 1630.*31 Therefore, and as others conclude – and, since d’Artagnan would have been just too old to participate with them – then let’s just go ahead and toss-out that entire scene, of such an outstanding duel, and call it all total fiction. And, while we’re at it, let’s also toss out the entire ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ too (despite many of its pages having been proved to be accurate history), and let’s look elsewhere for what may have happened during d’Artagnan’s early career . . . Oh! but, there really is nothing else . . . So, let’s just say, rather, and as I’ve heard some actually contend, that we just do not know what had happened during that time. Therefore, we must conclude: “Oh, well, that’s just too bad!” . . . Or, instead, let’s actually do what I am suggesting herein, and re-open this case with an open mind, and try and sift through Sandras’ words to see what we just may find (and, too, the words of other authors, as well – which I’ll soon introduce). So, if some, if not a lot of d’Artagnan’s Memoir’s history is good, then let’s not throw out the baby with the bathwater.

Explanatory Notes for Chapter 3: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, Their Historical Counterparts

*19. Finally passing in 1704…

See Roger MacDonald’s ‘Man in the Iron Mask,’ chapter 5, page 93 in the paperback version (Constable & Robinson, 2008); and, also, see page 18 of ‘D’Artagnan, the Ultimate Musketeer,’ by Geoffrey F. Hall and Joan Sanders (Houghton Mifflin Company, The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1964) – though they say that Paul was actually 94 years old when he died instead of 95 ... Also, and according to Roger MacDonald, Porthos himself had lived to be 95 years old as well, dying in 1712 – meaning, if true, that he, too, would have been around to have seen the publication of the Memoirs of his old comrade (‘Man in the Iron Mask,’ Roger MacDonald, chapter 5, page 93 in the paperback version) ... However, and concerning this information on Porthos (of which I’m not in agreeance with), I will be revisiting that thought in an upcoming chapter herein; so, stay tuned…

*20. Le Père Daniel…

‘Histoire de la milice française,’ II, 1721.

*21. Le Pippre de Neufville…

‘Abrégé chronologique et historique de la Maison du Roi,’ II, 1734.

*22. Pinard…

‘Chronologie historique et militaire,’ VI, 1763.

*23. Written in the registry of a church as to have been killed in 1643…

This incredible find is credited to early d’Artagnan historian Auguste Jal, ‘Dictionnaire Critique De Biographie Et D'Histoire,’ 1867. This is observed by Jean de Jaurgain, on page 234 of his biography from 1910; and, of which, I’ll quote him saying in chapter 4 herein … Also, this is observed by Roger MacDonald in his ‘Man in the Iron Mask’ on page 339 in the paperback version.

*24. With his Athos and Porthos…

Quoted from ‘Moi, Pierre Quarré comte d’Aligny, Librairie Vuibert,’ Paris, 2015 – the “expanded” Memoirs of d’Aligny, from the late 17th century; and, is also quoted by Odile Bordaz, in her 2018 book: ‘D’Artagnan and the King’s Musketeers,’ in a section, called: ‘Charles de Batz de Castelmore D'Artagnan, the most famous of the king's musketeers,’ and, in turn, in a subsection of that topic, called: ‘Denunciation of the Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan.’

*25. Portau…

There are actually other variants of Porthos’ name. Indeed, when we read the ‘Memoirs of d’Artagnan,’ Courtilz, seemingly, is the first to give us this “modern” spelling. That is, of Porthos. Other variants that we see are Portaus, Porthau and Portaut.

*26. Aramitz…

Just like Porthos, we see other variant spellings of this name as well; such as: Aramits and Aramiz.

*27. We at least know that he was a real soldier…

Though denunciations from biographers and historians come against Courtilz’s claim to have been an actual Musketeer, not so, however, against him having been a soldier; for, his name is actually found in the military archives of 17th century France – just not in the Musketeers! Here is what Samaran says of him:

“The military and literary career of Gatien de Courtils does not appear to have been less turbulent than his married life. First a cornet in the Royal-Etranger, he had, at the time of his second marriage, in 1678, the rank of captain in the regiment of Beaupré-Choiseul; and, Beuchot, in the Biographie Michaud, says that he was also a captain in the regiment of Champagne. The peace of 1678 having provided him with leisure, it occurred to him to use them when beginning the series of innumerable works which earned him, at the same time of real bookstore successes, some exiles and at least two imprisonments in the Bastille.” – Charles Samaran, ‘D’Artagnan,’ 1912; page 7.

*28. Courtilz very well may have gained this knowledge firsthand from François de Montlezun, Sieur de Besmaux…

This was also suggested by Odile Bordaz herself, in the Forward to her book: ‘D'Artagnan: Captain-Lieutenant of the King’s Great Musketeers;’ whom she calls, therein (that is, Besmaux), “…a compatriot and childhood friend of d'Artagnan.” Which statement begs the question of why Courtilz then has to be necessarily wrong in the year that he says d’Artagnan had arrived into Paris;* for, and as I also believe Besmaux to have been one of Courtilz’s sources (an eyewitness, no doubt, of d’Artagnan’s early career), that he just may have been the one to recount the Gascon hero’s first few years in Paris to him – including his entry into the city in 1640, and of his activities with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis; of whom (that is, Besmaux) I actually believe Courtilz had derived the “military-familiar” applications of those three men’s names from (as I will discuss later-on in this book – that is, as Courtilz had heard them being expressed by their old comrade Besmaux instead of from d’Artagnan himself); which names, once more, smacks more of the military-family address than of starchy historical names whom biographers tend to use more often than one-name references ... According to Wikipedia, “Besmaux was, formally, captain of the guards of Cardinal Mazarin, and obtained his governorship of the Bastille in 1658, keeping this post for more than forty years. He largely succeeded in compensating himself for the payment of 90,000 francs, the price of his predecessor's resignation. He died at his post on the 18th of December 1697, 88 years old and buried in Carmes-Déchaux. In the third volume of the Vicomte de Bragelonne (that is, in the ‘Man in the Iron Mask’), Alexandre Dumas introduces the character of the Governor of the Bastille under the name of Baisemeaux de Montlezun.” – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Governor_of _the_Bastille.

*Which statement begs the question of why Courtilz then has to be necessarily wrong in the year that he says d’Artagnan had arrived into Paris…

Some online sources point out (such as, for instance: https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/François_de_Montlezun), Besmaux (or, Baisemeaux) may have been born in either 1612 or 1613 (Bordaz says 1611 to 1613, in ‘On the paths of d'Artagnan and the Musketeers’); which actually gives a little more weight to the fact that d’Artagnan may have been near his age – perhaps being born around the same time as he – which, again, may be a very good consideration for an older d’Artagnan than this current book assumes. However, this “evidence” alone cannot outweigh all the other evidence that this book will introduce in the upcoming pages as to being a contrary thought on the date of d’Artagnan’s birth; for, it’s not an impossibility that Besmaux may have just been a friend to the Batz family (being in the age-range of d’Artagnan’s older brothers) rather than, directly, being a “best friend,” per say, with d’Artagnan himself when they were young. Besides, Bordaz herself (in ‘D’Artagnan: Captain Lieutenant of the King’s Grand Musketeers,’ and in chapter 2) admits that Besmaux was friends with d’Artagnan’s older brother Paul, and that they were both in the Guards in 1640 – Paul being a captain therein, and Besmaux being a sergeant. But in reality, there’s no proof or historical document which says that d’Artagnan and Besmaux were very close friends before they got to Paris – though they were certainly close neighbors, as Bordaz continues to point out in her books; but to say that they were complete strangers with one another would be a falsehood in itself, for they indeed were “work” associates ... In fact, that same Wikipedia page (which I just gave an address for, and when translated into English) tells us that Besmaux had joined the ranks of Des Essarts company of Guards in 1640 – the same year that I’m saying that d’Artagnan had arrived into Paris. But, this information, more than likely, had come from Courtilz himself, as he places both men in Essarts company together in that same year in the ‘Memoirs of d'Artagnan’ … But, and according to Bordaz (again, in ‘On the paths of d'Artagnan and the Musketeers’), Besmaux would have arrived into Paris much earlier than d’Artagnan (assuming, of course, that d’Artagnan had arrived in 1640). She points out that it was in 1632 that he was in the French Guards regiment; and, then, in 1634 had joined the company of Musketeers. And, I’m certainly not suggesting that this wasn’t true! For, I would certainly believe her over an obscure website that gave no source for their information. But, still, at the end of the day, this doesn’t prove my own theories wrong … The way that I see all of this, and if this will work with my own theories, is that d’Artagnan wouldn’t have become acquainted with Besmaux (that is, in any “friend” type relationship – and, I’m certainly not suggesting that they hadn’t eventually become friends, for I do believe that they had) until d’Artagnan had joined the Musketeers (in 1644, as some sources contest – such as Pinard, as we’ll see), of where Besmaux had already joined in 1634. But, that they weren’t really friends until they both had joined Cardinal Mazarin’s personal service together. Of which circumstance had thrusted them together quite strongly. At this time (after the disbandment of the Musketeers in 1646, and of when they would have become the Cardinal’s personal couriers and gentlemen), Besmaux would have been around the age of 34, whilst d’Artagnan (again, if this current book is correct) would have been about 10 years younger … It’s really anybody’s guess as to why only these two men, of all the Musketeers, were chosen for Mazarin’s personal service; and, certainly, several theories have come forward – such as, they two were the poorest in finances of all the other Musketeers; and, that such men, who were practically penniless, would whole-heartedly throw in their lot with the Cardinal, in perfect servitude, since they would have to completely rely upon Mazarin for their futures and fortunes. That very well may be true, but we simply do not know why they were chosen. This theory continues in that it was Tréville who had recommended them to Mazarin (for the very reason that was suggested, in that they were not only brave, but penniless), whilst Bordaz rejects that theory in favor of another nobleman giving that recommendation – Duke Antoine III de Gramont – who had been elevated in 1641 to the rank of Marshal of France; but, she didn’t suggest any particular reason for choosing him as the source; except, of course, that they were friends with this Duke … Again, we simply do not know, nor do we have enough historic information provided to us to know for certain; therefore, we are left guessing at many turns of events … However, and once again, none of this concerning Besmaux is enough to determine that he and d’Artagnan were the same exact age, or very near in age. But, I’m not saying that it’s not a good theory. At the end of the day, though, what the determining factor will be (concerning the actual date of d’Artagnan’s arrival into Paris) is when we use all the clues at hand and not just one thought.

*29. Dying from an apoplectic stroke on the 13th of July, 1712, back at his birth place in Pau, Béarn…

Again, we will be returning to this thought in an upcoming chapter herein; for, there is much to say on that subject as will be seen.

*30. As Roger MacDonald had pointed out…

Notes and Sources for chapter 2, on page 335 of the paperback version of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask: The True Story of the Most Famous Prisoner in History and the Four Musketeers.’

*31. As historian Jean-Christian Petitfils believes, that he arrived into Paris around 1630…

Seen in chapter 1 of his history of the Gascon soldier.