These wretched Musketeers! Constantly they foil all my evil schemes! Cannot a devious First Minister plot in peace? The worst is that awful d’Artagnan. Not only is he gallant, resourceful, irresistible to doomed young ladies, and an excellent swordsman, but with his terrible Gascon accent, I cannot understand a word he is saying. This must stop! There should be one, true, standard way of speaking French, so that I and my spies can understand whatever it is that people are saying about me behind my back. Heroic swashbucklers would not thwart me so easily then. Why cannot somebody create an Academy to define and govern our language? Oh, yes. I can. I am the King’s First Minister, am I not? I can do what I like. And I will do this thing, or my name is not Cardinal Richelieu!