Old Court Life in France, Volume II (of 2)

Richelieu piqued himself on being a great physiognomist. He had made a special study of the human countenance. He saw that the face of Mademoiselle de Lafayette was totally untroubled. Her perfect self-possession astonished him. The phrase he had uttered – "I wish to be your friend," solemn words, indeed, from the mouth of Richelieu – had caused in her no change of expression! Her composed demeanour was, in the eyes of the Cardinal, an additional reason for securing her as a partisan. He had before much desired to gain her to himself, but he now came to attach an immense importance to success.

"I am very grateful for your Eminence's kind expressions," said Louise at last, with great modesty, but with equal firmness; "but I do not wish to marry. If the offer of your friendship involves any sacrifice of my freedom, I must, with sorrow, decline it. I seek nothing, your Eminence. I need no protection." There was a quiet dignity in her words and manner that took the Cardinal aback. He said nothing; but his eyes, now fully open and glistening, rested on the maid of honour with surprise and displeasure.

Yet the real loftiness of soul she displayed, the indifference with which she ignored his offers, appeared to him so unaccountable that he could only imagine she wished to extract from him some terms more definite and decided. This idea gave him courage to recommence the attack.

"Let us be frank," said he, smiling. "I know all."

"What do you mean, monseigneur?"

"The King loves you. The purity of his heart and his high principles may allow you to confess it. He loves you. And his interest, as well as your own, requires that we should be friends."

Mademoiselle de Lafayette grew very pale; she trembled, but did not for a moment lose her presence of mind. "To what sort of friendship does your Eminence allude?"

"An entire confidence on your part, and an active acknowledgment on mine."

The Cardinal was on the point of promising her titles, estates, and pensions; but Mademoiselle de Lafayette, who, with downcast eyes, listened to him in silence, all at once looked up fixedly into his face. This look stopped him short.

"Your Eminence," said she, "can only wish me to give my personal confidence. In honour I could promise no other. But I have no secrets, no concealments. I am without ambition, I desire no favour. Besides, I am sure that your Eminence will at once understand me when I say – that, if ever it were the pleasure of his Majesty to repose confidence in me —there is no temptation, no power on earth, that would induce me to betray it." As she spoke, she looked straight at the Cardinal. The colour returned to her cheeks, and she sat erect – gentle, yet infinitely bold.

Richelieu reddened, but he suppressed his rising indignation. "The confidence of a great King," replied he solemnly, a dark fire darting from his eyes, "can only be properly accepted when the person to whom it is addressed is capable of offering real assistance to the sovereign. I propose, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, to render you capable of imparting such assistance. Whatever may be your natural sense and penetration, this is an occasion in which experience alone is valuable."

"But does not your Eminence think that rectitude of purpose – "

"It is evident that you are little versed in the intrigues of courts, mademoiselle," answered he loftily, eying her with haughty disdain. "Perhaps some day you will discover that the offer I have made you of my esteem and assistance is not to be despised."

"No one can attach a higher value than I do to the good opinion of your Eminence," interposed Mademoiselle de Lafayette with warmth; "but I do not think you have at all proved it in what you have just said. Although I think I deserve it," she added timidly.

The Cardinal contemplated her attentively for some moments. His face was set, his eyes flashed, and his hands which were clenched rested on his knees. "I have only one word more to add," said he in an angry voice. "Any idea of favour with the King without my support is a delusion." He was rapidly losing self-restraint. This girl had lashed him into a fury. She saw it, but felt no fear.

"Your Eminence, I think only of my duty," she replied with firmness. "I fear no threats. I can make no promise."

At these words the Cardinal rose. His face was swollen with passion; a wicked fire gleamed in his eyes; her coolness transported him beyond endurance. "Once more, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, remember what I say. My resolutions are unalterable; I trample down everything. Without my assistance, beware! Think of the future. Recall the past. My enemies are rotting in their graves – my friends rule France." Then, speaking more calmly, he added, "You are too great a fool to understand what you are doing. I can pardon your presumption, however, because I know how to cure it. Mademoiselle de Lafayette, you may withdraw."

CHAPTER II.

THE KEEPER OF THE ROYAL CONSCIENCE

RICHELIEU, thoroughly exasperated, determined to crush the girl who had dared to brave him. He called to his aid his creature Chavigny. Chavigny was intriguing, acute, and superficial; an admirable tool – for he originated nothing. Years ago he had sold himself to Richelieu, but as he always went out of his way to abuse him, the connection was not suspected. Under the direction of the Cardinal, he had entirely gained the King's confidence. His easy good-nature encouraged the shy Louis to tell him all his secrets, and to consult him in all his difficulties.

Chavigny, who up to this time had attached little importance to the King's inclination for the new maid of honour, looking upon it simply as a passing admiration for an attractive girl, too inexperienced to take advantage of his favour, upon being questioned, informed Richelieu that the King wrote to her daily, and that she replied as often. Richelieu at once resolved on his course of action. He would in future see the correspondence himself. Each letter was to be skilfully unsealed by his secretary, Desmaret, and read, before it was delivered.

It was not possible for even the hard, stern Richelieu to peruse these letters unmoved. He had been once young and passionate himself. He could not but appreciate the delicacy and eloquence with which the King veiled his passion, and softened intense love into the semblance of friendship. Nor could he avoid feeling some admiration for the sweet and simple nature that breathed in every line written by the maid of honour. Both were evidently ignorant of the ardour of their mutual attachment. What was to be done? He must consult the King's confessor.

Father Caussin, a Jesuit, had been only nine months confessor to the King. He was learned, conscientious, and guileless. Richelieu had selected him for this important post in the belief that he would assume no political influence over his royal penitent. The General of the order had objected to his appointment on the same grounds. In person Caussin was tall and spare. His long black cassock hung about his thin figure in heavy folds. His face was pale and emaciated. Yet a kindly smile played about his mouth, and his black eyes beamed with benevolence. Such was the ecclesiastic who seated himself opposite to Richelieu.

"My father," said the Cardinal, saluting him stiffly, and leaning forward and laying his hands on some papers placed beside him on a table, as though they related to what he was about to say. – "I have summoned you on a very grave matter." Nothing could be more solemn than the Cardinal's voice and manner. The pleasant smile faded at once out of the confessor's face. He became as grave, if not as stern as the Cardinal, leant his head upon his bony hand, and turned his eyes intently upon him. "Circumstances have come to my knowledge," continued Richelieu, "which, in my opinion, justify me in asking you a very searching question." Caussin moved uneasily, and in a somewhat troubled manner interrupted him.

"Your Eminence will not, I trust, desire to trench upon the privacy of my office, – for in that case I could not satisfy you."

Richelieu waved his hand impatiently, placed one knee over the other with great deliberation, and leant back in his chair. "My father, I am surprised at your insinuation. We are both Churchmen, and, I presume, understand our respective duties. The question that I would ask is one to which you may freely reply. Does it appear to you that his Majesty has of late shown indifference in his spiritual duties?" Caussin drew a long breath, and, though relieved, was evidently unwilling to answer.

"Pardon me, my father," again spoke the Cardinal, a slight tone of asperity perceptible in his mellow voice, "I ask you this question entirely in the interest of the holy order to which you belong. Many benefices have fallen vacant lately, and it is possible, – it is possible, I repeat, that I may advise his Majesty to fill up some of them from the ranks of the Company of Jesus." His half-closed eyes rested significantly on Father Caussin as he said these words.

Caussin listened unmoved. "There are, doubtless," said he, "many members of our order who would do honor to your selection, Cardinal. For myself, I should want no preferment; – indeed, I should decline it." He spoke with the frankness of perfect sincerity.

Richelieu looked down, and worked the points of his fingers impatiently on the table. His hands were singularly white and shapely, with taper fingers. As a young man he had loved to display them; the habit had remained with him when he was thoughtful or annoyed. "Well, my father," said he, "your answer?"

Caussin eyed the Cardinal suspiciously, – "I am happy to reassure your Eminence; his Majesty is, as usual, in the most pious sentiments."

"Hum! – that is strange, very strange; I fear that the benevolence of your nature, my father – " Caussin drew himself up, and a look as much approaching defiance as it was possible for him to assume passed into his pleasant face. Richelieu did not finish the offensive sentence. "It is strange," he went on to say, "for I have reason to know– I ask you for no information, reverend father – that his Majesty's feelings are engaged in a mundane passion which, if encouraged, may lead him from those precepts and exercises in which he has hitherto lived in obedience to the Church."

"To what passion do you allude?" asked Caussin cautiously.

"To the infatuation his Majesty evinces for the new maid of honour, Louise de Lafayette. The lady is self-willed and romantic. She may lead him into deadly sin."

Caussin started. "I apprehend nothing of the kind," replied he drily.

"True, my father, but that is a matter of opinion. I think differently. Absolution, after repentance," continued the Cardinal pompously, "may wash out even crime, but it is for us, – you, his Majesty's confessor, and I, his minister, both faithful servants of the Holy Father," – Caussin looked hard at the Cardinal, who was by no means considered orthodox at Rome, – "it is for us to guard him from even the semblance of evil. I have sent for you, my father, to assist me in placing Louise de Lafayette in a convent. It will be at least a measure of precaution. I shall require all your help, my father; will you give it me?" Richelieu, as he asked this important question, narrowly observed Caussin from under his drooping eyelids. The confessor was evidently embarrassed. His kindly countenance was troubled; and he was some time in answering.

"To dedicate a young and pure soul to God," he replied, at length, with evident hesitation, "is truly an acceptable work; but has your Eminence considered that the lady in question is of the most blameless life, and that by her example and influence his Majesty may be kept in that path of obedience and faith which some other attachment might not insure?" As he asked this question Caussin leaned forwards towards Richelieu, speaking earnestly.

"Father Caussin," said the Cardinal, in his hardest manner, and motioning with his hand as though commanding special attention, "we must look in this matter beyond his Majesty's feelings. I have good reason for alarm. A crisis is impending," and he turned again to the papers lying on the table with a significant air. "If Louise de Lafayette has any vocation, let her be advised to encourage it. Consider in what manner you can best bend the King's will to comply. You tell me the lady is a good Catholic; I rejoice to hear it. She comes of a family of heretics. She may be sincere, though I much doubt it. At all events, she must be removed; simply as a matter of precaution, my father, I repeat, she must be removed. Let me beg you to consult the General of your order upon this matter immediately. Understand me, I am advising this simply as a matter of precaution, nothing more." All this time Caussin had listened intently to the Cardinal. The troubled look on his face had deepened into one of infinite sadness. His brow was knit, but there were doubt and hesitation in his manner.

"I can only consent to assist your Eminence," he replied, in a low voice, after some moments of deep thought, "on the condition that the lady herself freely consents. I can permit no violence to be done to her inclinations, nor to the will of his Majesty. If the lady is ready to offer up herself to the Church through my means, it will doubtless redound to the credit of our order; but she shall not be forced."

"Certainly not, certainly not," interposed Richelieu, in a much more affable tone. "I do not know why your reverence should start such a supposition."

"I will consult our General, Cardinal," continued Caussin; "but I am bound to say that the influence the lady has hitherto exercised has been most legitimate, most orthodox, altogether in favour of our order, to which she is devoted, and of the Church. She is a most pious lady."

"All the more fit for the privilege I propose to bestow upon her," answered Richelieu, with unction; "she will be safe from temptation within the bosom of the Church, a blessing we, my father," and Richelieu affected to heave a deep sigh, and cast up his eyes to heaven, "we, who live in the world, cannot attain. We act then in concert, my father," he added quickly, in his usual manner, "we act for the good of his Majesty's soul?"

Caussin bowed acquiescence, but mistrust and perplexity were written upon every line of his honest face, as he observed the evident satisfaction evinced by the Cardinal at his compliance.

Richelieu rose: "We will force no one's inclination, my father," he said blandly, "but all possibility of scandal must be removed. You must at once prepare his Majesty. It will be a good work, and will greatly recommend you to your order." Caussin, with a look of the deepest concern, bowed profoundly and withdrew. When he was alone, the Cardinal re-seated himself and fell into a deep muse. "Now," said he, at length, speaking to himself, "her fate is sealed. I will take care that her vocation shall be perfect. This presumptuous girl shall soon come to rejoice, ay, rejoice, that she is permitted to take refuge in a convent. As for Caussin, he is a fool. I must remove him immediately."

Richelieu, as he said of himself, never halted in his resolves. Caussin was shortly sent off by a lettre de cachet to Rennes, narrowly escaping an intimation from the Cardinal to his Superior that it would be well to exercise his devotion to the order as a missionary in Canada.

CHAPTER III.

A NOBLE RESOLVE

THE Court had removed from the Louvre to Saint-Germain, always the favourite abode of the melancholy monarch.

Louis suffered tortures from the galling restraints his position entailed upon him in his intercourse with Mademoiselle de Lafayette. He rarely saw her alone. When he addressed her, he was conscious that every eye was fixed upon them. Their correspondence, carried on by means of Chavigny, was, he felt, full of danger. His only comforter in his manifold troubles was this same treacherous Chavigny. Prompted by the Cardinal, Chavigny urged the King, on every possible occasion, to make some arrangement with Mademoiselle de Lafayette to meet in private. "If she loves you," said this unworthy tool, "if you really possess her heart, she will long to meet your Majesty with greater freedom as much as you can do. It is for you to make some such proposal to her. Do it, Sire; do it without delay, or I assure you the lady will think you careless and indifferent." Thus spoke Chavigny. Louis listened, meditated on what he said, and was convinced. He gave himself up to the most entrancing day-dreams.

The season was summer. The weather was hot, and the tall windows of the great saloon were thrown open. The Court had gathered round the Queen, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the young daughter of the Duc d'Orléans. Seeing that her services were not required, Louise de Lafayette, pensive and silent, stole away to the balcony outside the windows. She stood alone, lost in her own thoughts. With noiseless steps Louis approached her. He lent by her side over the balustrade, bending his eyes on the broad plains towards Paris.

"You are thoughtful, Sire," said Louise timidly. "Will you tell me your thoughts?"