Cardinal de Richelieu

Louis XIII., always weak in health, suffered seriously from the pestilential air of that summer. In August he rejoined the Court at Lyons, where he fell ill of fever and dysentery, and the Cardinal, hurrying back from Savoy, found his royal master almost in extremity. By the end of September, after seven bleedings in one week, the case was given up as hopeless. Louis received the last Sacraments, the whole Court believed him dying, and a swift courier summoned Gaston d’Orléans from Paris. That “blind and frivolous instrument of the enemies of the State” became suddenly a personage of the very highest importance.

Richelieu, as he watched his dying master, was probably the most deeply troubled man in all the distracted Court. “He saw,” writes M. Martin, “his power crumbling, his life threatened, his work, even dearer to him than life—his work, hardly sketched out, on the brink of destruction, his country falling back into the abyss from which he had raised her.”

He was indeed in imminent danger. His enemies, the Queen-mother in chief, flattered themselves that his fate was at last in their hands. The King’s death was to be the signal for his arrest. In the meanwhile, Marie held counsel with her friends as to what should be done with him. All, according to tradition, held different opinions. Some condemned him to death, and among these, to his own undoing, was the Maréchal de Marillac. Some were for lifelong imprisonment; the mildest talked of perpetual exile. The story goes that Richelieu, the omniscient, always well served by spies and himself ready to play the part on occasion, listened to the debate through a chink hidden by tapestry. Further, that there came a day when each of his enemies met the fate he had recommended for the Cardinal.

Louis XIII. was well aware of the danger in which his death would leave his most distinguished servant. He respected Richelieu, even if he had not, in his own queer way, a kind of affection for him. At this crisis he sent for the Duc de Montmorency—with all his faults, one of the most generous and chivalrous of Frenchmen—and commended the Cardinal to his protection. It seems that Montmorency had already offered it, with a safe refuge in his government of Languedoc. These facts added bitterness to the terrible events of two years later.

Montmorency’s kindness was not needed. An internal abscess broke, and the King began to recover. But the Cardinal’s position was far from safe. During days of weary convalescence, the tender nursing of Louis’ mother and his wife gained for them a new and strong influence over his mind. Perhaps Queen Anne’s hatred of the Cardinal was even more thorough-going than that of her mother-in-law; and she had more power to injure him, if the malicious Court gossip of the day is at all based on facts. Had he really made love to her, in his awkward and pedantic fashion? It is only fair to say that M. Avenel, his most thorough and careful student, could find not one line of certain evidence for any of the stories of this kind that were told against him.

However, the voices of the two women prevailed so far that Louis, weak and exhausted, made them a kind of conditional promise. He could not dispense with his Minister while the war in Italy still went on. Let that be successfully ended—and then, possibly, he might see his way towards ending Richelieu’s career.

With this prospect in view, the Queen-mother waited patiently. When the news of peace arrived, the Court had just accomplished its journey, made chiefly by river, from Lyons to Paris, and it was noticed by the way that Her Majesty accepted the Cardinal’s company and respectful attention, treating him, apparently, with all her former confidence. It seemed to ignorant spectators only natural that she should celebrate the relief of Casale, the end of the war, with bonfires and fireworks: the Princesse de Conti hardly needed her frank explanation: “It is not at the Duke of Mantua’s good luck, but at the Cardinal’s ruin, that I rejoice.”

But the feux de joie blazed too soon. Marie found that her son, restored to health and victorious, was not quite ready to dismiss the genius to whom his kingdom owed so much. It was a bitter disappointment. Marie held her more violent feelings in check, listened perforce to the King’s assurances of Richelieu’s loyalty, and consented to meet him on the royal Council as usual. She was even prepared for a formal reconciliation with her “antienne créature,” to be sealed by receiving back Madame de Combalet into the service and favour from which she had been dismissed some months before.

But here Marie’s dissembling ended; and on November 9, 1630, with a burst of feminine fury, began that “grand orage de la Cour” which threatened to break Armand de Richelieu in full upward flight: the man already feared by Catholic Europe and the hope of the northern Protestants, with whose new leader, Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, his diplomacy was even now allying France.

Madame de Combalet appeared that morning at the Luxembourg, and was received by the Queen-mother and the King in all the splendour of the new palace, with its silver-framed windows, its walls and ceilings decorated by great artists, already the admiration of Europe. Madame de Combalet herself was made for Courts, though she disliked and despised them. Still young and very handsome, her quiet dignity was at home anywhere: in the Carmelite convent from which all her uncle’s persuasion and authority had hardly withdrawn her; at the head of his house; or, as now, at the feet of frowning Royalty. On her knees she made the Queen a polite and respectful speech, begging to be restored to favour. At first Marie was stiff and cold; then she became angry; then, as rage got the better of her ponderous temperament, she forgot all her promises and poured out on the unlucky lady such a torrent of abuse and insult that Louis himself stepped forward, gave his hand to Madame de Combalet, and asked her to retire. A nervous, sensitive woman, it was no wonder that she left the presence in floods of tears.

The Cardinal, arriving by appointment for his own audience of reconciliation, met his niece at the door. The sight of her face was so sharp a warning that he hesitated, we are told, before passing on. In the meanwhile the Queen-mother was assuring her son that she had not changed her mind: her reception of the Cardinal would be all he could desire. This was an affair of State; the disgrace of a useless creature like la Combalet could signify to no one.

If Marie believed in her own intention, she reckoned without her passionate temper. It is true that she received the Cardinal with tolerable graciousness, but many minutes had not passed before her tone changed for the worse. “Peu à peu, la marée monte”: the rising tide of anger. Richelieu heard himself called an ungrateful, perfidious knave, a traitor to his King and country. The Queen-mother refused to sit with him any more on the Council. Along with Madame de Combalet, La Meilleraye, and Denys Bouthillier, he was roughly dismissed from her service—he still held his old charge of superintendent of her household. He might go, she said at last, and never willingly would she look upon his face again.

Richelieu listened quietly. He attempted no useless prayer or argument, but bowed, and went.

There was something of a scene between Louis XIII. and his mother. Marie justified herself with success, as it seemed to her, solemnly assuring the King that Richelieu was in every way false to him; that his secret ambition was “to marry his niece to the Comte de Soissons and to make the Comte King.” These and many more accusations she poured into the sullen ears of her son. Let him be rid of this evil man, this terrible Minister, the ruin of France! Let him put his trust in faithful servants such as the brothers Marillac. With Michel as First Minister and Louis as Commander-in-chief, the safety and honour of France would be assured. But before all things let him keep his promise and be rid of Richelieu.

A stronger man than Louis XIII. would have found the position a difficult one. He had to choose between his mother—on whose side were his wife, his brother, nearly all the Court and half the kingdom—and the Minister whose personal influence over him was considerable, and on whom, as reason told him, the greatness of France, both within and without, now very largely depended. Duty to his mother, duty to his country—Louis XIII. had a conscience, and it was torn in two.

He was lodging at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, in the Rue de Tournon—once Concini’s house, sacked by the mob in 1616—for he had come up from Versailles to visit the Queen-mother, and the Louvre was under repair. He walked back from the Luxembourg, shut himself into his room with his gentleman-in-waiting, Saint-Simon—a wise young man whom Richelieu, luckily for himself, had appointed to the post—tore the buttons off his coat in a violent fit of nerves, and flung himself on the bed.

Presently he poured out his worried soul to Saint-Simon. What did he think of the Queen-mother’s conduct, and of the whole affair? The young man was very discreet; but he reminded the King that he was a king, as well as a son, and ventured to give his opinion that “the Cardinal was necessary to France.” “Enfin, sire, vous êtes le maître.” “Yes, I am,” said Louis, “and they shall feel it.”

The next day—Sunday, November 10, St. Martin’s Eve—Louis went again to the Luxembourg. He was resolved, it seems, to have his way, and to persuade or command his mother to change her mind. Bassompierre attended him to the palace, and gives some vivid details of the interview in the Queen’s cabinet, although neither he nor any other courtier was present. He says that while the King and his mother were talking, all the doors being carefully shut, “Monsieur le Cardinal arrived; who, finding the door of the ante-chamber fastened, entered the gallery and knocked at the door of the cabinet, but no one replied. At length, impatient of waiting, knowing the ways of the house, he passed through the little chapel, the door of which had not been closed: thus M. le Cardinal entered the cabinet. The King was somewhat astonished, and said to the Queen with dismay: ‘Here he is.’ M. le Cardinal, who perceived their astonishment, said to them: ‘I am sure you were talking of me.’ The Queen answered him: ‘We were not.’ On which he having replied to her, ‘Confess it, madame,’ she said it was so, and upon that spoke against him with great sharpness, declaring that she would have no more to do with him, and many other things.”

Richelieu preserved his sphinx-like patience. To Marie’s insults and reproaches he answered not a word; but he realized that he was in danger, and he did his best to soften the angry woman by pleading for himself, even with tears—which, says an enemy, he had at command—declaring his innocence and his entire devotion to Her Majesty.

The Queen, on her side, wept passionately, crying out that all he said and did was knavery and mummery. Then, turning to her son, she asked him if he preferred “un valet” to his mother; for he must choose between them two.

“Then it is only natural that I should be sacrificed,” said the Cardinal; and immediately, once more, he offered his resignation to the troubled King, begging to be allowed to retire to some place where he might end his days in repose.

To all appearance Louis accepted his resignation and granted his request, even advising him to retire to Pontoise. Cardinal de Richelieu left the palace and went back to his hôtel, the Petit-Luxembourg—the Palais-Cardinal, though in progress, was not yet finished—with every reason to believe himself a disgraced and ruined man.

It is not likely that Louis really intended to part with his Minister. But it was touch-and-go. He had gained time by pacifying his mother for the moment, and had thought to do wisely by removing the hated object from her sight. His next step was to send envoys to reason and negotiate at the Luxembourg. Père Suffren, the royal confessor, and Cardinal Bagni, the Pope’s Nuncio, both did their best, but absolutely in vain. At the moment of her suddenly snatched triumph, Marie de Médicis was not likely to listen to them. Early the next morning the King hurried back to his hunting-lodge at Versailles. It looked as though his promises of four years ago had been mere waste of breath and of paper, for he had not seen Richelieu again. With regard to the two Marillacs, he had seemingly obeyed his mother. Michel, as Minister, was summoned to follow His Majesty to Versailles, and a courier rode off post-haste for Italy, carrying despatches which appointed Louis to the chief command of the army.

This was St. Martin’s Day, Monday, November 11, the “Journée des Dupes.”

News of the Cardinal’s fall spread swiftly through Paris. The Parisians did not love him: his good work in improving the city, carrying on the additions to the Louvre, building a new bridge, rebuilding the Sorbonne at his own cost, was counterbalanced by acts of tyranny. Citizens had been more or less forced to sell their houses, vegetable gardens had been seized, a part of the old wall of Charles V. had been destroyed, all to make room for the Palais-Cardinal. On that Monday morning all Paris, high and low, courtiers and canaille, ran in crowds to the Luxembourg to congratulate the Queen-mother on her victory. In and round the palace the crush of the dupes was so great that there was no room to move. Marie, the centre of it, saw herself once more a ruler in France, her son submissive, her faithful friends rewarded, her enemy ruined and exiled. Some wise man advised her to make assurance sure by following the King to Versailles; she laughed the counsellor away. Why hide in the woods when there was so much to be done in the city?—ambassadors sending couriers half over Europe; joyful meetings with Queen Anne, with Monsieur; audiences of great lords and ladies, one by one; all the happy, noisy, popular confusion of a sudden return to power.

Close by, at the Petit-Luxembourg, Richelieu had his moment of despair. To fall from so great a height meant death, at least to all his ambitions; perhaps literally, for his enemies, so many and so strong, would hardly be satisfied with exile. And he knew the nature of the King. Held by his own strong influence, all was well, but Louis was too nervous to endure such scenes as those of the last few days, if by any possible sacrifice he could end them. Richelieu might be the victim of the King’s hatred of worry as much as of the Queen-mother’s hatred of himself.

Several far-seeing men had the courage to separate themselves from the crowd pressing to the greater Luxembourg. One of these was the Cardinal de la Valette, the ugly, generous, soldierly second son of the Duc d’Épernon; another, the Marquis de Châteauneuf, a distinguished Councillor of State, afterwards ruined by his passion for Madame de Chevreuse; another, that worthy man the Marquis de Rambouillet, whose wife had for some years reigned over half society from her hôtel near the Louvre. These good friends, with a few others, would not allow Richelieu to despair. Though his papers were packed and his coach was ordered for the journey to Pontoise, they entreated him not to go. Cardinal de la Valette reminded him of the old proverb, “Qui quitte la partie la perd,” and gave the advice—to wiser ears than the Queen’s—that he should follow his royal master to Versailles, on the pretext of bidding him farewell. In the midst of their discussion some one arrived from Versailles with a verbal message from Saint-Simon, advising the same course. This strong and direct encouragement had a marvellous effect on Richelieu’s depressed spirits. “Transported with joy, he kissed the messenger on both cheeks.”

No time was lost, we may well believe. The Cardinal’s coach rumbled out of Paris, but his horses’ heads were turned to the south-west, not to the north. In a long private interview with the King he regained all he had seemed to lose, and took a final and solid hold on power. The courtiers, being admitted, heard from the King’s own lips that he ordered the Cardinal to remain with him, serving him well as before; “that he would find means to appease his mother and to gain her consent to what he did, while removing from her those persons who gave her pernicious counsel.”

The Cardinal was treated in a princely manner and lodged in the château, a special mark of favour in days when Versailles was only a small country-house in the midst of immense forests. From his lodging, the next day, he wrote several letters. One was to the King, expressing his extreme satisfaction and extraordinary gratitude, assuring him that never was servant so devoted to his master’s glory, declaring to His Majesty “que je suis la plus fidèle créature, le plus passionné sujet, et le plus zélé serviteur que jamais roy et maître ait eu au monde. Je vivray et finiray en cet estat, comme estant cent fois plus à Vostre Majesté qu’à moy-mesme....”

He also wrote to his sister, the Marquise de Brézé, and to his uncle, Amador de la Porte. Knowing that “common report often represents things as other than they are,” he first tells the news of his disgrace with the Queen-mother, who finds his own services, those of his niece de Combalet and of his cousin La Meilleraye, no longer agreeable to her. But he begs his sister and his uncle not to be amazed or afflicted by this misfortune, since it arose from no fault; and also because he has the consolation of the King’s presence and favour. To the old Commander, irritable and garrulous, he adds a word of discreet counsel. “As I am not capable of any other desire than to live and die the Queen’s servant, I pray you always to speak conformably to this. I warn you, knowing your freedom of speech, and that you might be carried away by the affection you bear me. It would not be reasonable that all my obligations to so good a princess should be forgotten because personally I now disgust her.”

He could afford to appear magnanimous. Even as he wrote the news was flying to Paris, not only of his triumph, but of the utter discomfiture of the Queen-mother’s party and the ruin of her friends. Michel de Marillac, the Chancellor, had been arrested and deprived of the seals, which were given to the Marquis de Châteauneuf. The courier who conveyed the news of his high appointment to the Maréchal de Marillac was followed at once by another, bearing the King’s command that the Maréchal de Schomberg should arrest him. On the very evening of St. Martin’s Day, well named “Day of Dupes,” Richelieu’s swift vengeance was already overtaking his enemies. A few hours later Marie de Médicis was alone in her deserted Luxembourg. Courtiers and canaille were rushing to meet the King’s coach as he drove into Paris, with Cardinal de Richelieu at his portière.