Ah, who doesn’t know d’Artagnan?! Every boy should know him from childhood! I also saw my first Three Musketeers film when I was just a little kid — it was some foreign, black-and-white, almost silent movie. And shortly after that, they showed the Musketeers on TV again — I happily sat down to watch, and then — bam! — disappointment, it was a completely different movie. But one that I came to love for many, many years. It was D’Artagnan and the Three Musketeers by Georgi Yungvald-Khilkevich. And even though it probably strayed further from Dumas’ original novel than any other version, its swashbuckling adventures and brilliant songs did their job.
I dreamed of being the Gascon, I wanted to be like him. And in third grade, I confessed this to a classmate who sat next to me at the same desk — and she decided to mock me and loudly revealed my secret to the entire class!
A bit later, when I was around 13, one of my classmates asked if I had listened to Kino (movie). Of course, he meant the band Kino, but I took it as a joke, even laughed — but when I got home, I turned that joke into reality. I bought a reel of magnetic audio tape at a store, and the next time my favorite three-part film was on, I recorded it using a reel-to-reel tape recorder. That way I could enjoy the songs I loved, and even the movie itself (I knew it by heart, so the sound alone was enough for me) anytime I wanted. That was a huge leap forward in those days.
In short, I’m very much a fan of d’Artagnan. At the same time, I knew that the novel wasn’t exactly historical, though a person with that name did exist, even if his adventures were quite different from those described by Alexandre Dumas in the book.
And now historian Jean-Christian Petitfils has taken it upon himself to tell the story of the real d’Artagnan, not the one we know from books and films. His work is an analysis of everything currently known about this Gascon (and in reality, he really was from Gascony).
Alexandre Dumas, though he made up a great deal, based much of his information on the Memoirs of Monsieur d’Artagnan, published in 1700. However, it was later discovered that the Gascon himself had never written anything like that (in fact, he was barely literate). The book was fiction inspired by the life of the real person and was written by the man who published it — Gatien de Courtilz. Even by the standards of the time, he added a huge number of fantastical and amorous adventures to the “memoirs” to boost sales. Yet for many years, the work was taken as truth.
The real d’Artagnan’s name was Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, Count d’Artagnan. In fact, he adopted the name d’Artagnan (as well as the count title) much later. It was his mother’s family name and also the name of one of his distinguished ancestors (though now that ancestor is far less famous than Charles himself). According to some records, it was King Louis XIII himself who advised him to take that name.
By the way, contrary to the book, d’Artagnan didn’t really serve Louis XIII — in reality, he arrived in Paris almost 15 years later than depicted in the novel. He began building his career under Cardinal Mazarin, to whom he was sincerely loyal even during hard times, and only afterward did he enter the service of the Sun King, Louis XIV.
In fact, Petitfils’ book traces this man’s entire military career, debunking some of the myths from Courtilz’s “memoirs” and highlighting the discrepancies between the literary image and the real person.
And in that regard, the book is truly fascinating, because the real d’Artagnan is in no way inferior to the fictional one—his adventures were simply different. As the offspring of a minor noble family, he managed to make his way into military service, earning respect through his loyalty, honesty, and bravery. Based on available facts, it seems that overall he was a very decent man, who genuinely cared about the state and never stooped to villainy—something appreciated by both friends and foes.
He even died a hero’s death, fighting on the battlefield and trying to correct the mistake of a higher-born but less competent general—though it cost him his life.
The book not only offers insight into the Gascon himself, but also invites a new perspective on other historical figures who, thanks to popular books, have come to be portrayed in a simplified or even negative light. In reality, Mazarin, for example, seems to have been an excellent politician who cared not only about his own wealth but also about France’s power and prosperity—despite not being French by birth.
These historical investigations are genuinely engaging to read, although at times, it felt to me that the author gets excessively caught up in a multitude of names and events that are only touched upon briefly but end up distracting from the main narrative.
However, the book allows you to learn the story of the real hero—not those two others (as the author himself puts it) known to the world: the fictional one from Alexandre Dumas’ trilogy and the “memoirist” of Courtilz’s imaginary “historical” adventures.
And the story of the real man is no less thrilling, in truth.
My rating: 3/5
P.S. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an English edition—only French and Russian versions are available.
