AUTHOR'S PREFACE

In which it is proved that, notwithstanding their names' ending
in OS and IS, the heroes of the story which we are about to have
the honor to relate to our readers have nothing mythological
about them.

A short time ago, while making researches in the Royal Library
for my History of Louis XIV, I stumbled by chance upon the
Memoirs of M. d'Artagnan, printed--as were most of the works of
that period, in which authors could not tell the truth without
the risk of a residence, more or less long, in the Bastille--at
Amsterdam, by Pierre Rouge. The title attracted me; I took them
home with me, with the permission of the guardian, and devoured
them.

It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this
curious work; and I shall satisfy myself with referring such of
my readers as appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages.
They will therein find portraits penciled by the hand of a
master; and although these squibs may be, for the most part,
traced upon the doors of barracks and the walls of cabarets, they
will not find the likenesses of Louis XIII, Anne of Austria,
Richelieu, Mazarin, and the courtiers of the period, less
faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.

But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the
poet is not always what affects the mass of readers. Now, while
admiring, as others doubtless will admire, the details we have to
relate, our main preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one