Chapter XIII: Louis the Thirteenth

Leaving me in some danger of suffocation, and to my own reflections, among which the warnings of the Marquis de Gordon occupied a prominent place, the fair Countess had just time to conceal the key of the cabinet in her bosom, when the arras rose and fell, and Louis XIII. stood before her, with his broad plumed hat under his left arm, and wearing a short velvet cloak and long silver-hilted sword, tilting it up behind him as he continued to bow and advance with a mincing jaunty step, and ended by kissing the hand of the Countess thrice. At his neck hung the plain gold cross usually worn by him when he officiated as one of the twenty canons of the cathedral church of Ambrun--a solemn farce.

Louis the Just--so named because in an age which was still infected by the poisonings and astrologies of the infamous Catherine de Medicis, he had been born under the sign of the Zodiac, called _Libra_, or the Balance--was not of a very amorous nature; but being left almost entirely alone even amid the splendour of his court, and being coldly treated by Anne of Austria his queen, who, like all the great people of Paris, followed in the retinue of the formidable Cardinal Richelieu, his minister and, scandal added, her lover, he had but two or three domestics whom he loved and trusted; and who, besides the huntsmen and hounds, were his chief favourites and companions. Among these was particularly Boizenval, his valet de chambre, who usually bore his presents and love letters to Clara, but whom he banished in 1637, for delivering all his tender billets doux--especially those addressed to the fair and unfortunate Fayette--_first_ to the tyrannical, prying and overweening Cardinal premier, to whose care, as well as to that of 'our blessed Lady,' Louis boasted he had consigned his crown and kingdom, and so troubled himself no more about them, believing like his successor, that 'they would last _his_ time.'

Gallantry had been gradually resolving itself into a grand system during his reign. The brilliant assemblies and gay circles by which Francis I., of magnificent memory, had encouraged the polished intercourse of his court; the gross sensuality which had been introduced by the wicked and Machiavelian Catherine de Medicis, whose fair dames of honour lured to death their Huguenot lovers; when 'murders were hatched in the arms of love, and massacre was planned in the cabinet of pleasure;' with the shameless libertinism of Henry IV., were all united now to the serious gallantry which Anne of Austria had brought with her from Spain; and thus under Louis XIII.--though he was very little of a gallant himself--love, in his good city of Paris, became a science like astrology, and was analysed like metaphysics; and thus, as I have said, it was formed into a system, which rendered it the serious occupation of every one, and the way was easily prepared for that more absurd state of things which we find under the Grand Monarque his successor, when affairs of state were debated, and solemn councils of war held, round a courtesan lounging on a sofa, or in a pretty woman's bedroom; and when a revolution in the heart of a great man's mistress was an event of nearly as much consequence as a war on the Rhine, or an invasion of Flanders. But to resume--

'What the deuce is this I hear now, ma belle?' said the King, as he seated himself just where I had sat a moment before; 'here is the _Mercure Francois_ publicly affirming--for M. Richelieu never tells me anything--that Mademoiselle Marie Louise of Lorraine--Duke Charles' daughter--is now in Paris, with her brother the Prince of Vaudemont, suborning my officers. 'Tis a serious thing to assert!'

''Tis impossible, sire!' exclaimed the Countess, changing colour very visibly; 'and that is more than improbable.'

'Nothing is impossible to those accursed Lorraines.'

'Your Majesty forgets that I am of Lorraine,' said the Countess with considerable hauteur.

'Nay, pardon me; but I had hoped you had been long enough in Paris to forget that wicked province.'

'Lorraine is an independent duchy, sire.'

'_Was_ you mean, madame, till Henry II., in 1552, reduced it to obedience under the oriflamme, and left there a garrison which cost Charles V. some trouble, and thirty thousand of the best soldiers in Spain too! Moreover Metz, Toul, and Verdun were all confirmed to France by the treaty of Château Cambresis in '59.

'Your Majesty is excessively tiresome.'

'I regret to hear it; but how is this, sweetheart,' said Louis, knitting his brows as he surveyed the glittering dress of the lovely Countess; 'will nothing content you but a robe of blue, powdered with fleurs-de-lis?'

'It becomes me, sire, does it not?'

'Who alone are permitted to wear such?'

'Princesses of the blood royal; but am not I the life of your heart?'

'Under Henry IV., even the Duchess de Vendosme dared not have worn these, after she was publicly affronted by the Count de Soissons for doing so.'

'Henry IV. was a bear who should never have left the woods of the Lower Pyrenees. Your Majesty is in a horrible humour this morning; but here is luncheon, and there are chessmen--which do you prefer to me?'

'Neither, sweetheart, yet I will have you all; luncheon now, chess after, and you all the while.'

With these words the capricious King sat down to table, and was assisted to various niceties by the white hands of the Countess, with whom he afterwards sat down to chess, of which he was so passionately fond that he played it in his carriage, where the men were pegs inserted into holes in the squares of a perforated board, so that the motion could not displace them.

'Ah, Countess,' he mumbled as the game began, 'you have the most adorable hands heaven ever formed!'

'Yet they are the hands of a Lorrainer.'

'Have you ever seen this Marie Louise, of whom all men talk?'

'No;' replied the Countess, coldly; 'but why, sire?'

'Because we are told that she is full of the most dangerous beauty, united to the sweetest sensibility.'

'Ah; she is cunning perhaps, and is one of those who rule by tender glances, tears and sighs, or by an affectation of enthusiasm she never feels. I have known many women of this kind.'

'You are piqued, my dear Countess--she is a mere girl--a child.'

'So is the Duchess de Montbazon--yet she has had eight lovers.'

'You are severe, Clara; Madame de Montbazon is the wife of a peer of France.'

'I care not--for every lover she has, I could easily reckon ten, were I not devoted to your Majesty.'

'Thank you--but you forget your game.'

'Ah! sire--a woman forgets the universe itself, when he whom she truly loves is present.'

'Thou flatterest me, Clara,' said the poor silly King, trembling with pleasure, and in turn playing the deuce with his game.

'And now I have two or three pretty little requests to make.'

'Peste! I thought so. Did not the jewels I sent by M. Boizenval satisfy you?'

'Oh! sire, my letter of thanks expressed all I felt--but you mean not to grudge them to your Clara?'

'No--no!--and this request--'

'Monseigneur--(I did not catch the name) departed to the company of the saints yesterday, and has left a fine estate, the baton of a marshal of France, the cross of Saint Esprit, and a regiment of dragoons behind him.'

'Well,' said the King, wincing, and making a grimace; ''tis fortunate that he could not take them all to heaven with him, as I wanted them sorely.'

'So do I--the baton for Colonel Hepburn, the Scot, who dresses so magnificently--the cross, and the colonelcy of horse, I leave to your Majesty.

'Thank you, madame, you are exceedingly liberal; Hepburn, shall have his baton, I promise you; but not until he has marched into Lorraine.'

'Sire, the cross of the Holy Ghost, vacant by the execution of the Duke de Montmorenci, Campmaster of the regiment de Normandie, is not yet filled up.'

'Well?'

'I wish it, if you love me,' said the Countess, starting from the table, and throwing her arms round Louis.

'What--Countess, you with a cross of my first order?'

'Marion de l'Orme got one of St. Sepulchre, from the Cardinal, for her lover Senecterre.'

'And for whom do _you_ wish it?' asked the King, suspiciously.

'For no lover, but a friend who will give me a thousand crowns for it--Raynold Cheyne of the Scottish Guard.'

'The cross worn by a peer and marshal of France, the descendant of four constables, one whose patent dates, like our Scottish League, from Charles the Great, for a private gentleman of our guard? Peste!--well, well, 'tis yours, Clara.'

'Thanks, sire,' said she, kissing him.

'Ha! what noise is that in the cabinet?--see, your dog snarls as if some one--'

''Tis mice, only mice, sire; but here are pen and ink; please to confirm these gifts; I deserve them, since I have been able to anticipate my enemy, the Cardinal.'

The King confirmed them by a line or two, which he handed to the Countess, saying,

'There is no man in all the Scottish Guard, I value more than Raynold Cheyne, or would trust more--'

'With anything, but a pretty girl, sire.'

'True, Madame de Bouillon has quite spoiled him; but favours to our soldiers are not thrown away at present; we have this day decided on the war with Lorraine.'

Through a chink in the old cabinet, I could perceive the Countess start with visible emotion at these words, and as she gave a furtive glance towards a part of the arras, I thought that a fair face, and a tress of golden hair were visible for a moment, as if some one was listening.

'Would not your Majesty rather send an envoy to the Duke, and seek to arbitrate this matter?'

'Countess, Richelieu means to send two envoys.'

'He does, sire!'

'Yes--the Cardinal Duke de Lavalette, and your friend the Camp-Marechal Hepburn.'

'How--'

'With fifty thousand men.'

'Alas! my poor native province!'

'Such is our resolve.'

'And which way do they march?'

'By the road direct for the frontier, and Elsace Zaberne.'

Another glance, and most palpable nod of intelligence were exchanged between the Countess and the eavesdropper, whom I suspected to be her attendant.

'If this Duke of Lorraine had four heads, by the bones of St. Louis, I would spike them all on the gate of St. Marcel, beside that of the traitor Guy de Beaumanoir!'

'Before that happens, I fear me, that the little Dauphin will have been hailed as Louis XIV.'

'Indeed, Countess!' said the King, with a sardonic grimace.

'Yes, sire, and you will be on your way to St. Denis, borne by the twenty-four Scots of the Garde du Corps.'

'Perhaps so,' said the easy King; 'but mort de tout les diables! let us have no more of politics, for I love to avoid them, and to come here when I am weary of display. The parade and routine of royalty are veritable slavery. Do you remember that fool the Prince of Condé entering Paris in 1616 with no less than fifteen hundred nobles and chevaliers and a thousand partizans in his train, and how he alarmed our royal mother, Mary de Medicis, who thought he had come to sack the city? By-the-by, in that year she had just finished the Hotel de Gondi to the tune of forty thousand crowns.'

'Sire, you forget that in 1616 I was but a girl,' said the Countess, pouting again.

'Four o'clock,' said the King, rising, as the hall-clock of the château struck in the turret of the quadrangle; 'and I promised to meet the grand huntsman and grand falconer at Versailles this evening about some little improvements I am making in the kennels and falconry. Fortunately, M. Richelieu does not interfere with _them_. I must go.'

'So soon, sire!'

'But you will accompany me, Countess, I hope.'

'If your Majesty would excuse me--'

She paused, for the pettish Louis knit his brow.

'Countess!'--he began impressively.

'This morning I was so unwell, and slept so little--'

''Tis the mice in this old château, Countess,' said the King, glancing round him suspiciously; 'and this old cabinet--some of M. le Duc de Sully's furniture,' he added, giving it a knock that made my heart to leap, 'seems a very receptacle for them. We must have it broken and burned!'

The Countess was terrified.

'I will go, sire,' she faltered.

'Thanks, dear Clara; your hand.'

He led her out with his jaunty step again, and they retired.

I heard the wheels of the royal carriage in the avenue a moment after, and then the hoofs of the musketeer escort. As these sounds died away, my heart sank within me, for I was locked in the cabinet, and its key was in the bosom of the Countess, who might return to release me heaven alone knew when!