The Red Sphinx

by Alexandre Dumas

  He called Cavois and Bois-Robert, who each entered through a different door. “Cavois,” he said, “take my carriage and drive Mademoiselle de Gournay to the home of Monsieur le Duc de Sully. Announce that you’ve come in my name and you’ll be admitted immediately. Then accompany her, again in the carriage, to her home, where she will give you a letter that you will bring directly to me.”

  Then, addressing Bois-Robert, he said, “Le Bois, I hereby double the pensions of Mademoiselle de Gournay, of the bastard of Amadis Jamyn, of darling Piaillon, and of her kittens. Is that correct? Did I forget anyone?”

  “No, Monseigneur,” said Bois-Robert, overcome with joy.

  “Work it out with my treasurer so they will begin on January 1, 1628.”

  “Ah! Monseigneur!” cried Mademoiselle de Gournay, seizing Richelieu’s hand and kissing it.

  “It’s I who should kiss your hand, Mademoiselle,” said the cardinal.

  “Monseigneur! Monseigneur!” said Mademoiselle de Gournay, clasping his hand in hers. “For an old woman of my age . . . !”

  “A noble hand is ever youthful,” said the cardinal. And he kissed her hand as earnestly as if she were a maid of twenty-five.

  Then Mademoiselle de Gournay left with Cavois by one door, while Bois-Robert went out another.

  XXVIII

  Souscarrières’s Report

  Left alone, the cardinal called his secretary, Charpentier, and asked him to bring in the day’s correspondence. It contained three letters of importance.

  One was from Bautru, ambassador to Spain—or rather envoy, as ambassador was never his official title. He was known most as a wit about Court, and we could call him Court Comedian, but such a title is incompatible with high diplomacy, so we’ll just refer to him as ambassador.

  The second was from La Saludie, Envoy Extraordinary to Piedmont, Mantua, Venice, and Rome.

  The third was from Charnassé, a confidential agent sent through Germany on a secret mission to Gustavus Adolphus.

  Bautru was one of Richelieu’s favorites, possibly because he was one of the greatest enemies of Monsieur d’Épernon. Having made some jokes about the duke, the duke had sent his man Simon to visit him with an “accident”—that Simon, we recall, whom Latil described as the duke’s thug-in-residence. Still struggling to recover after his “accident,” bruised, with sore kidneys, and leaning on a cane, Bautru went to visit the queen mother.

  “Do you have the gout, Monsieur de Bautru?” asked the queen mother. “Is that why you resort to a cane?”

  “Madame,” interrupted the Prince de Guéménée, “Bautru doesn’t have gout. He bears a stick for the same reason Saint Lawrence bore a grille, as a symbol of his means of martyrdom.”

  In Bautru’s provincial domain, the judge of a nearby small town came to pester him so often that he ordered his valet not to admit the man. But despite his orders, the next time the judge came, the valet announced him.

  “Didn’t I order you, buffoon, to find some reason to turn him away?” Bautru cried.

  “My faith, yes, that’s what you told me. But I didn’t know what to say!”

  “Pardieu! Tell him I’m still in bed.”

  The valet left, then returned. “Monsieur, he says he’ll wait till you get up.”

  “Tell him I’m sick, then.”

  The valet left, and came back again. “Monsieur, he says he’ll teach you a sure cure.”

  “Tell him I’m dying.”

  The valet withdrew, then returned again. “Monsieur, he says he wants to make his final farewell to you.”

  “Tell him I’m dead.”

  The valet left, and returned yet again. “Monsieur, he says he wants to bless your body with holy water.”

  “All right, let him in,” Bautru said with a sigh. “I never thought I’d meet a man more stubborn than I.”

  One of the things the cardinal valued most in him was his honesty. The cardinal said of him, “Bautru, whom everyone calls a fool, has more integrity than two Cardinal Bérulles.” The cardinal also appreciated his utter contempt for Rome, which Bautru called the Apostolic Fool’s Paradise. One day Richelieu told him about the promotion of ten new cardinals appointed by Pope Urban XII, the last of whom was named Farcetti.

  “I count only nine,” Bautru said.

  “What about Farcetti?” said the cardinal.

  “Your pardon, Monseigneur—I thought that was his title.”

  Bautru wrote in his letter that Spain did not seem to take his mission seriously. The Count-Duke of Olivares had taken him to the royal henhouse, which he said was appropriate because, once His Majesty Philip IV arrived, he would send him back to the cocks—that is, to los gallos, which in Spanish is a sorry pun for France. He added that Olivares’s invitation to the cardinal to review Spain’s many proposals was just a means of playing for time, as Madrid was bound by treaty to help Charles-Emmanuel take Montferrat and partition it with Savoy once it was taken. He particularly warned His Eminence not to trust Ambassador Fargis, who belonged body and soul—well, body at least; Bautru had doubts about his soul—to the queen mother. Fargis did nothing without instructions from his wife, which were just orders passed on from Marie de Médicis and Anne of Austria.

  Richelieu, having read Bautru’s dispatch, shrugged slightly and muttered, “I would prefer peace, but I’m prepared for war.”

  La Saludie’s dispatch was even more explicit. In exchange for renouncing his claims on Montferrat and Mantua, Richelieu had offered Duke Charles-Emmanuel the city of Trino, with its annual income of twelve thousand crowns. The duke had refused, replying that he preferred Casale to Trino, and Casale would be his before King Louis’s troops had gotten as far as Lyon.

  Nevers, the new French duke in Mantua, was becoming desperate, though he’d taken heart a bit at the arrival of La Saludie. But the envoy feared they would have to give up their first plan to help him, which was to land the Duc de Guise in Genoa with seven thousand men, as the Spanish were guarding all routes from Genoa to Montferrat. The king would have to settle for forcing the Pass of Susa in the Alps, which was fortified but not impregnable.

  Having seen both the Duke of Savoy and the Duke of Mantua, La Saludie announced that he was departing next for Venice.

  Richelieu took up his notebook and wrote: Write to Chevalier Marini, our Ambassador in Turin, and order him to declare to Charles-Emmanuel that the king regards him as an enemy.

  Charnassé, in whose intelligence the cardinal had great confidence, had been gone longer than the other two, having visited, before arriving in Sweden, both Constantinople and Russia. Baron de Charnassé, in the grip of sorrow for the loss of a woman he loved, had asked the cardinal for a long mission away from Paris. From Constantinople he had crossed Russia and had now reached King Gustavus.

  The letter from the baron was full of acclaim for the King of Sweden, described to Richelieu as the only man capable of stopping the progress of the Imperial Army in Germany, if the Protestants were willing to ally with him.

  Richelieu thought for a moment; then, as if breaking a final scruple, he said to himself, “Well, the Pope can say whatever he wants. I may be a cardinal; but though I risk losing that title, I must still place the glory and grandeur of France first.”

  And taking a sheet of paper, he wrote:

  Urge King Gustavus, when he’s finished with the Russians, to enter Germany to rescue his co-religionists, whom the Emperor Ferdinand plans to destroy.

  Promise King Gustavus that Richelieu will provide the funds to support this policy, and intimate that the King of France may at the same time attack Lorraine as a diversion.

  The cardinal, as we see, remembered the coded letter that Rossignol had deciphered the week before.

  Finally, the cardinal added:

  If the enterprise with the King of Sweden ends as well as it has begun, the King of France may cease to worry about the House of Austria.

  The letter to Chevalier Marini and the dispatch to Charnassé went out that same da
y.

  The cardinal was still at his diplomatic work when Cavois returned bearing the letter from the Dame de Coëtman, for which Mademoiselle de Gournay had received permission from Monsieur de Sully.

  It read as follows:

  To King Henri IV, Beloved Majesty

  I pray that you will instantly, in the name of France and in defense of your life, have arrested a man named François Ravaillac, known everywhere as the king-killer. He has confessed to me his horrible scheme, and has been, I dare to say it, driven to regicide by Queen Marie, by the Maréchal d’Ancre, and by the Duc d’Épernon. I, a humble servant of Her Majesty, have written three letters to the queen, but as they remain unanswered I must address the king directly. I beg and implore Monsieur le Duc de Sully, whom I believe to be His Majesty’s loyal friend, to place this letter before the king.

  I am your very humble subject and servant,

  Jacqueline Le Voyer,

  Dame de Coëtman

  Richelieu nodded in satisfaction, as the letter was all he’d hoped. He opened the secret drawer that contained the end of the wire that led to his niece’s apartments, and then, after a moment’s hesitation as to whether she should be summoned, closed it again.

  Then he noticed that Cavois still stood before him and seemed to have something else to say. “Well, Cavois, what do you want now, you pest?” he said, in a tone his associates recognized as showing he was in a good mood.

  “Eminence, it is Monsieur de Souscarrières, who wishes to deliver his first report.”

  “Ah, right! Go collect this first report of Monsieur de Souscar-rières and bring it to me.”

  Cavois left.

  As if Cavois’s announcement had reminded him of something, the cardinal got up, went to the door of the private mailbox that communicated with Marion Delorme, opened it, and picked up a note lying within. It contained the following information:

  He has visited Madame de la Montagne only once in the last week. He is believed to be in love with one of the queen’s ladies, a young woman named Isabelle de Lautrec.

  “Oh, ho,” said the cardinal, “the daughter of Baron François de Lautrec, who is with the Duc de Rethel in Mantua.”

  And he wrote the following memo: Instruct Baron de Lautrec to summon his daughter to him.

  Then, to himself: “I intend to send the Comte de Moret to war in Italy, and he will go all the more readily if it takes him closer to his beloved.”

  As he finished this memo, Cavois returned and handed him an envelope sporting the arms of the Duc de Bellegarde.

  The cardinal tore open the envelope, removed a letter, and read:

  Report of Sieur Michel, called Souscarrières

  To His Eminence Monseigneur le Cardinal de Richelieu

  Yesterday, December 13, first day of the service of Sieur Michel, called Souscarrières:

  Monsieur Mirabel, the Spanish Ambassador, took a sedan chair in Rue Saint-Sulpice and was carried, at eleven o’clock in the morning, to the shop of the jeweler Lopez.

  At the same time, Madame de Fargis hired a chair in the Rue des Poulies and was also taken to Lopez’s shop.

  One of the porters saw the Spanish Ambassador chat with the queen’s lady and pass her a note.

  At noon, Monsieur le Cardinal de Bérulle hired a chair at the Galleries of the Louvre and was taken first to the home of the Duc de Bellegarde, then the home of Maréchal de Bassompierre. Through my contacts in the household of Monsieur de Bellegarde, who continues to believe me his son, I learned they discussed a secret conclave to be held in the Tuileries regarding the war in Piedmont. At this conclave will be Messieurs de Bellegarde, Bassompierre, de Guise, and de Marillac. Monseigneur le Cardinal will be notified of the day.

  “Ah!” said the cardinal. “I suspected this fellow Souscarrières would be useful.”

  Madame de Bellier, the queen’s confidential maid, took a chair at about two o’clock to see Michel Dause, the queen’s apothecary, who that evening hired a sedan chair on his own account to take him to the Louvre.

  “Good!” whispered Richelieu. “So the reigning queen wants to have her own Vautier, like the queen mother? We will keep an eye on him.” He wrote in his notebook: Buy the loyalty of Madame de Bellier, the queen’s confidential maid, and her lover Patrocle, the esquire in the royal stable.

  Then he continued his reading.

  Last night at about eight o’clock, Her Majesty the Queen Mother took a chair to the home of the President of Verdun, which connects to the house of a famous astrologer known as “The Forbidden.” Their interview lasted an hour. The Forbidden came out afterward, and was seen by the light of the chair lantern to be wearing a beautiful diamond ring, a gift in all probability from Her Majesty the Queen Mother. The subject of their conversation is unknown.

  Last night, the Comte de Moret hired a chair in Rue Saint-Avoye and was taken to the Hotel de Longueville, where there was a large gathering that included Monsieur Gaston d’Orléans, the Duc de Montmorency, and Madame de Fargis, all of whom also arrived by chair.

  Upon leaving, Madame de Fargis exchanged a few words with the Comte de Moret in the vestibule. Whatever was said seemed to please them both, as Madame de Fargis went away laughing, while the Comte de Moret left singing to himself.

  “This is all excellent,” murmured the cardinal, and continued.

  Last night, between eleven o’clock and midnight, Cardinal Richelieu, disguised as a Capuchin . . .

  “What’s this?” said the cardinal, then continued with mounting curiosity.

  . . . as a Capuchin, took a chair in the Rue Royale and was carried to the Rue de l’Homme-Armé, to the Inn of the Painted Beard. . .

  “H’mm,” said the cardinal.

  . . . to the Inn of the Painted Beard, where he visited the room of Étienne Latil. At half past one, His Eminence came down and ordered the porter to take him to the Convent of the Repentant Daughters in the Rue des Postes.

  “The devil!” the cardinal muttered. Then, driven on by curiosity:

  Upon arriving, he persuaded the sister at the door to summon the superior, who opened it. He was then taken to the cell of the Dame de Coëtman. After a quarter of an hour’s conversation at the cell’s barred window, he called in his two porters and ordered them to break a hole in the wall large enough to allow the Dame de Coëtman to get out. Half an hour after His Eminence’s order, this was completed.

  The cardinal stopped to think a moment, and then continued.

  Upon her release from the cell, the Dame de Coëtman being unclothed, the cardinal wrapped her in his robe, and then, attired only in black, escorted her to the superior’s room, where the lady was warmed by a large fire and regained her strength. At three o’clock Monseigneur sent for a second chair for the Dame de Coëtman. He accompanied her in his own chair to the hostel and beauty salon of Madame Nollet, opposite the Pont Notre-Dame. There he left her, with some instructions, and went on his way.

  “Not bad, not bad,” muttered the cardinal. “One must admit, at least, that he is amusing. Onward.”

  At a quarter past five, His Eminence returned home to the Place Royale. Five minutes later, dressed in his usual attire, he was taken to the Hotel de Sully, where he remained for about half an hour. Around a quarter past six, he returned to the Place Royale.

  Ten minutes after his return, Madame de Combalet left in another chair and was taken to the house of Madame Nollet. After remaining about an hour she brought back, at around eight in the morning, the Dame de Coëtman attired as a Carmelite nun.

  This is the report which Sieur Michel, called Souscarrières, has the honor to submit to His Eminence, with the assurance that the facts are exactly as stated.

  Signed,

  Michel, called Souscarrières

  “By God,” said the cardinal, “he is a cunning rascal. Cavois! Cavois!”

  His guard captain entered. “Monseigneur?”

  “The man who brought this report, is he still here?”

  “Monseigneur,” Cavoi
s replied, “unless I’m mistaken, it is Monsieur de Souscarrières himself.”

  “Bring him in, my dear Cavois, bring him in.”

  As if the Seigneur de Souscarrières had anticipated this very invitation, he appeared at the office door, wearing an outfit simple yet elegant, and bowed deeply to the cardinal.

  “Come in, Monsieur Michel,” said His Eminence.

  “Here I am, Monseigneur,” said Souscarrières.

  “It was no mistake to place my trust in you. You’re a clever man.”

  “If Monseigneur is pleased with me, I’m also a happy man.”

  “Quite pleased. But I don’t like riddles, as I don’t have time to solve them. How can you recount all my personal details so accurately?”

  “Monseigneur,” Souscarrières replied with a self-satisfied smile, “I had no doubt Your Eminence would personally avail himself of this new form of transport which you have authorized.”

  “So?”

  “So I tarried in the Rue Royale until I saw His Eminence come out.”

  “And thereafter?”

  “Thereafter, Monseigneur, the largest porter, who knocked on the convent door, who carried the Dame de Coëtman to the hearth, and so forth—that was me.”

  “My faith!” said the cardinal. “Is that so?”

  XXIX

  The King Goes Larding

  And now, for the purposes of our story, our readers must allow us to better acquaint them with King Louis XIII, whom we’ve only glimpsed at night in the queen’s bedchamber, where he was driven by Cardinal Richelieu’s suspicions that she might be plotting against him. We recall him announcing that, by order of Doctor Bouvard, he would be purged the next day and bled the day after that.