“Yes, Sire, from Monsieur de Bullion.”
“Did it take much effort to persuade him to make the loan?”
“On the contrary, Sire, it was he who offered the money.”
“How’s that?”
“Monsieur le Cardinal complained that the army raised by the Marquis d’Uxelles had dispersed, due to their pay having been appropriated by the queen mother, and their food having not been delivered by Marshal Créqui. ‘That army is lost,’ said His Eminence. ‘Well, then!’ said Monsieur de Bullion, ‘we must raise another, that’s all.’ ‘And with what?’ ‘With what? I’ll give you enough for an army of fifty thousand men, with a million in gold in reserve.’ ‘In that case, I’ll need six million.’ ‘When?’ ‘As soon as possible.’ ‘Will tonight be too late?’ Then the cardinal laughed. ‘What, do you have that much in your pocket?’ ‘No, but there’s that much in the Treasury. I’ll give you a draft to present to Fieubet, the Exchequer.’ ‘And what guarantees do you require in return, Monsieur de Bullion?’ He rose, bowed to His Eminence, and said, ‘Merely your word, Monseigneur.’ The cardinal embraced him. Monsieur de Bullion wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, the cardinal accepted it, and that was that.”
“Very well! Do you know where I’d find Monsieur de Bullion?”
“At the Treasury, I suppose.”
“Wait a moment.” The king went to the cardinal’s desk and wrote:
Monsieur de Bullion,
I have a particular need for a sum of fifty thousand livres so I won’t have to touch the money that you were kind enough to lend to the cardinal. Please let me know if such a loan would be possible; I give my word to repay it within a month.
Your affectionate,
Louis
Then, turning to Charpentier, he asked, “Is Beringhen at hand?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Give him this note, and tell him to take a sedan chair to go see Monsieur de Bullion. He is to wait for a reply.”
Charpentier took the note and left, but then returned almost immediately.
“Well?” said the king.
“Monsieur Beringhen is on his way, but I wanted to inform Your Majesty that Monsieur de Charnassé has arrived from West Prussia, with a letter for the cardinal from King Gustavus Adolphus.”
Louis nodded. “Monsieur de La Saludie,” he said, “do you have anything else to say?”
“Only, Sire, to assure you of my respect, and that I would like to add my voice to those who regret the departure of Monsieur de Richelieu; it is my duty as a faithful subject to tell Your Majesty that, as far as Italy is concerned, he was the man we needed. I would be happy if I could be allowed to send the cardinal my regards, even if he is in disgrace.”
“I’ll do better than that, Monsieur de La Saludie,” said the king. “I’ll give you the opportunity to see him personally.”
La Saludie bowed.
“Here are the drafts from Mantua, Venice, and Rome. Go to Chaillot and present your regards to the cardinal, along with these notes. Ask him to endorse the drafts, then take them to Monsieur de Bullion and collect the money in the name of His Eminence. To speed you on your way, you may take my carriage, which is waiting at the door. The sooner you return, the better I’ll recognize your zeal and devotion.”
La Saludie bowed again and, without wasting another second on compliments and courtesies, left to execute the king’s orders.
Charpentier was still at the door. “I will see Monsieur de Charnassé now,” the king said.
Never had the king been obeyed at the Louvre as he was at the house of the cardinal; he had no sooner expressed his desire to see Monsieur de Charnassé than the man appeared before him.
“Well, Baron,” said the king, “it seems you had a successful trip.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Please make your report without losing a second. Only yesterday did I finally learn the value of time.”
“Your Majesty is aware of why I was sent to Germany?”
“His Eminence, whom I trusted to act on his own initiative, thought it sufficient to announce your departure and notify me of your return. Otherwise, I know nothing.”
“Would His Majesty like me to give him a detailed account of my instructions?”
“Speak.”
“These were my orders, which I learned by heart in case the written instructions went astray: ‘The frequent efforts of the House of Austria to undermine the allies of the king have forced him to take measures on their behalf; with the fall of La Rochelle, His Majesty has decided to muster his finest troops and personally lead them to the aid of his allies in Italy. Accordingly, the king has dispatched Monsieur de Charnassé to Germany to assure all his allies there of His Majesty’s full support, if they will act in concert with the king in the interest of their mutual defense. The Baron de Charnassé is authorized to discuss the most suitable and appropriate means by which His Majesty might aid his allies.’”
“Those were your general instructions,” said the king, “but no doubt you had others that were more specific?”
“Yes, Sire. For Duke Maximilian of Bavaria, whom His Eminence knew was very angry with the Emperor, I was to advise the creation of a Catholic League to oppose Ferdinand in both Germany and Italy, while Gustavus Adolphus was attacking the Emperor at the head of his Protestant troops.”
“And what were your instructions regarding King Gustavus Adolphus?”
“I was instructed to promise King Gustave that if he would lead a Protestant League, as the Duke of Bavaria would with the Catholics, he would receive an annual subsidy of 500,000 livres, as well as the promise that Your Majesty would support him by attacking Lorraine, the neighboring province of Germany that has played host to so many conspiracies against France.”
“Yes,” the king said, smiling, “I see it: Crete and King Minos. But what would the cardinal, or rather I myself, gain by attacking Lorraine?”
“It would force the princes of the House of Austria to divert troops to the defense of Alsace, which would take their eyes off Italy and give France the freedom to finish her business in Mantua.”
Louis took his forehead between his hands. The intricate plans of his minister staggered him with their size and complexity, until his brain seemed ready to burst.
“And,” he said, after a moment, “did King Gustavus Adolphus accept?”
“Yes, Sire, but with certain conditions.”
“What?”
“They are contained in this letter, Sire,” said Charnassé, drawing from his pouch an envelope embossed with the arms of Sweden. “Would His Majesty prefer to read this letter himself, or shall I, as may be more appropriate, explain its meaning?”
“I want to read everything, Monsieur,” said the king, taking the letter from his hands.
“Remember, Sire, that King Gustavus Adolphus is rather jolly and informal, indifferent to the forms of diplomacy, and speaks his mind as if from one soldier to another.”
“If I’d forgotten that, I’ll remember it, and if I’d never known it, I’ll learn.” And, unsealing the letter, he read it in a low voice:
[At Stuhm, after the final Swedish conquest of the forts of Livonia and Polish Prussia.]
The 19th of December, 1628
My dear Cardinal,
As you know, I’m a bit of a pagan, so don’t be surprised by the informality with which I write to a Prince of the Church.
You are a great man—more than that, a man of genius—and more than that, an honest man, one with whom one can talk and do business. Let us talk, then, of the affairs of France and of Sweden, and of how they can march together. I am ready to negotiate, but only with you.
Are you sure of your king? Are you sure he won’t turn, at the first cry, to his mother, his wife, his brother, his confessor, or his favorite—Luynes, is it, or Chalais? I can’t keep them straight. Meanwhile you, who have more talent in your little finger than all these people, king, queens, princes, favorites, churchmen—don’t you fear that some
day you’ll be brought down by some low intrigue hatched in the harem, as if you were no more than a pasha or vizier?
If you are sure of your position, do me the honor to say to me: Friend Gustave, I have at least three years more during which I can dominate these witless lords and ladies who give me so much work and yet make so much trouble. If you can give me your personal assurance that the king will support you, then I will begin my campaign without delay—but not if you tell me it’s up to the king. On your word, I’ll muster my army and mount my horse, and we will plunder Prague, burn Vienna, and sack Buda and Pest. But solely on the word of the King of France, I will not beat a single drum, load a single musket, or saddle a single horse.
If that’s the way the wind blows, My Eminenceness, send your reply by way of Monsieur de Charnassé, and I will sheathe my sword, though it saddens me to do so. But if the Devil allows, we shall campaign together, and drink to each other in the spoils of Hungarian wine!
As a man of spirit, I commend you not to the mercy of God, but to the care of your own genius. I address you, with joy and pride, as,
Your affectionate,
Gustavus Adolphus
The king read this letter with increasing irritation, and when he was finished, he crumpled it in his hand. Then, turning to the Baron de Charnassé, he asked, “Are you aware of the contents of this letter?”
“I know the gist of it, Sire, but not the details.”
“Barbarian! Uncouth northern bear!” the king whispered.
“Sire,” Charnassé remarked, “this barbarian just defeated both the Russians and the Poles. He learned the arts of war from a Frenchman named La Gardie, but has exceeded him: he is the inventor of modern warfare and, in short, the only man who can thwart the ambition of Emperor Ferdinand and beat Tilly and Wallenstein.”
“Yes, I know that’s what they say,” replied the king. “I know that in the opinion of the cardinal, the first man of war in Europe is King Gustavus Adolphus, but,” he added with a laugh intended to be mocking but in the event only nervous, “I may not share that opinion.”
“I sincerely regret that, Sire,” said Charnassé, bowing.
“Ah!” said Louis XIII. “So, Baron, you wish to return to the King of Sweden on our behalf?”
“That would be a great honor for me and, I believe, of great benefit to France.”
“Unfortunately, that is impossible,” said Louis XIII, “as His Swedish Majesty wishes to deal only with Monsieur le Cardinal, and the cardinal is no longer involved in such affairs.”
There was a scratching at the door. The king turned and said, “Well, what is it?” Then, recognizing the scratching as that of Monsieur le Premier, he said, “Is that you, Beringhen? Come in.”
Beringhen entered. “Sire,” he said, presenting a large letter with a broad seal, “Monsieur de Bullion’s reply.”
The king opened it and read:
Sire,
I am in despair, but, in service to Monsieur de Richelieu, I have emptied my coffers down to the last crown, and though I wish to please His Majesty, I cannot say when I could give him the fifty thousand livres he asks for.
It is with sincere regret and the most profound respect, Sire, that I have the honor to tell Your Majesty that I am his most humble, faithful, and obedient servant.
—De Bullion
Louis gnawed at his mustache. Gustave’s letter told him how much political credit he had, and Bullion’s told him how much financial credit.
At that moment, La Saludie returned, followed by four men, each bending under the weight of the bag he carried.
“What’s this?” asked the king.
“Sire,” said La Saludie, “it’s the one-and-a-half million livres that Monsieur de Bullion sends to Monsieur le Cardinal.”
“Monsieur de Bullion?” said the king. “He had this much money?”
“By our lady, Sire!” said La Saludie. “So it seems.”
“And who did he send you to for the money this time? Fieubet?”
“No, Sire. He was going to at first, but then decided that for such a small amount it wasn’t worth it, so he just wrote a note to his first clerk, Monsieur Lambert.”
“Insolent dog!” murmured the king. “He has too little cash to give me fifty thousand livres, but he has a million and a half to pay Monsieur de Richelieu for the drafts from Mantua, Venice, and Rome.”
He dropped onto a chair, crushed under the weight of the moral whiplash of the last two days. Beginning to glimpse the inevitable truth, he said to Charnassé and La Saludie, “Messieurs, my thanks. You are good and faithful servants. I’ll call you within a few days to tell you my wishes.” He gestured for them to withdraw; they bowed and went out.
The four porters had deposited their bags on the floor and were waiting. Louis stretched out his hand to the panel and knocked twice. Charpentier appeared. “Monsieur,” said the king, “put away these one-and-a-half million livres—but first pay these men.”
Charpentier gave each porter a silver crown, and they went out.
“Monsieur Charpentier,” said the king, “I’m not sure if I will come tomorrow. I’m terribly tired.”
“It would be unfortunate if Your Majesty couldn’t come tomorrow,” said Charpentier. “It is the day for reports.”
“What reports?”
“Reports from the cardinal’s chief agents.”
“Who are these chief agents?”
“Father Joseph, though you have given him permission to return to his monastery, so of course he won’t be reporting tomorrow; Monsieur Lopez the Spaniard; Monsieur de Souscarrières.”
“Are these reports made in writing, or in person?”
“Since the cardinal’s agents know that tomorrow they will be reporting to the king, it’s likely they will report in person.”
“I’ll be here, then,” said the king, rising with an effort.
“So if the agents come in person . . .?”
“I’ll receive them.”
“I must warn Your Majesty about the nature of one of these agents, of whom I’ve not yet spoken.”
“Is there a fourth agent, then?”
“An agent even more secret than the others.”
“And who is this agent?”
“A woman, Sire.”
“Madame de Combalet?”
“Your pardon, Sire, but Madame de Combalet is not an agent of the cardinal—she is his niece.”
“Then who is this woman? Is she well known?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Her name?”
“Marion Delorme.”
“His Eminence received that notorious courtesan?”
“She was one of his most effective agents. Indeed, it was through her that he was warned in advance that he was about to be disgraced.”
“Through her?” said the king, astonished.
“When the cardinal wanted to learn secret news of Court intrigues, he turned to her. Perhaps knowing that Your Majesty is in this office in place of the cardinal, she will have something of particular importance to say to Your Majesty.”
“I assume she doesn’t come here publicly.”
“No, Sire. Her house is adjacent to this one, and the cardinal had a door made in the adjoining wall so that one can pass between the houses.”
“Are you sure, Monsieur Charpentier, that His Eminence wouldn’t consider it a betrayal to reveal all these secrets to me?”
“On the contrary, I tell Your Majesty all this at his direct order.”
“Where is this secret door?”
“Behind this panel, Sire. During work tomorrow, if the king is alone, hears a gentle knock at this panel, and wishes to honor Mademoiselle Delorme by receiving her, he can press this button and the door will open. If he does not wish to see her, he can respond with three equal taps on the button. Ten minutes later he will hear a bell, and between the doors he will find a written report.”
Louis XIII thought for a moment. It was obvious that his curiosity was fighting a fi
erce battle with his repugnance for women—especially those in Marion Delorme’s trade.
Finally his curiosity got the better of him. “If His Eminence, a holy Prince of the Church, was willing to receive Mademoiselle Delorme, it seems to me that I may receive her as well. And if that turns out to be a sin, I’ll just confess it. Until tomorrow, Monsieur Charpentier.”
And the king took his leave, even more pale, tired, and dazed than the day before, but with a better idea of how hard it is to be a great minister, and how easy to be a mediocre king.
XLII
A Royal Intermission
Anxiety permeated the Louvre: during the days the king went to the Place Royale, he didn’t see any members of his family—not the queen mother, the queen, nor the Duc d’Orléans—and none of them had received the gifts he’d promised, which were to come from a treasure he alone could touch.
Furthermore, the new King’s Council, reorganized with such enthusiasm by Bérulle and General Marillac after the cardinal’s resignation, had received no orders to meet and, therefore, had not deliberated about anything.
Each day, according to the rumors spread by Beringhen, who dressed the king in the morning and undressed him at night, and saw him leave and return, His Majesty was sad each morning when he left, and even gloomier when he came back in the evening.
Only the king’s fool, l’Angely, and his favorite, Baradas, had access to his inner chamber.
Of all the birds of prey extending their beaks and claws toward the cardinal’s treasure, only Baradas had received his three thousand pistoles from Charpentier. It’s true he had extended neither beak nor claw, the largesse having come without his asking for it. The page had his faults, but he also had the virtues of youth. He was prodigal when he had money, but unable to use his influence with the king to extend his extravagance. When money stopped flowing, he waited quietly—for he had fine clothes, beautiful hair, and a graceful form—and eventually the flow would resume, whereupon he would spend it as quickly as before.
During the king’s absence, Baradas spent his time with his friend Saint-Simon, awaiting the manna that would pour from heaven, and considering with his young comrade what he should do with it. The two youths—for they were barely men: Baradas, the elder, was scarcely twenty—discussed what might best be done with three thousand pistoles. They decided they would spend a whole month living like princes. Only one thing worried them: would the king actually pay up? Many a bill carrying the royal signature had been presented to the royal treasurer without being honored, and they feared that, despite the majesty of Louis’s royal name, they might find themselves as disappointed as any minor merchant from the city.
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