And Cardinal Bérulle sat in his turn, after acknowledging the supporting nods of those in Queen Marie’s faction, including that of Keeper of the Seals Marillac, brought into the fold thanks to Madame de Fargis.
The king then turned to Cardinal Richelieu. “You hear, Monsieur le Cardinal?” he asked. “If you have a response, respond.”
Richelieu rose. “I think my honorable colleague, Monsieur le Cardinal de Bérulle,” he said, “is misinformed about both the political situation in Germany and the financial condition of Spain. The armies of the Emperor Ferdinand, though formidable, are not yet in command of Germany. And this minister of His Majesty knows that some of these Imperial armies of which Cardinal Bérulle speaks really owe their allegiance to Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria and head of the Catholic League. Rather than siding with the emperor, we should press the lion of the north, the great Gustavus Adolphus, to move against him. A few hundred thousand livres in bright, shining gold are all it will take to persuade him. Between the Protestant forces of Gustavus Adolphus and the Catholic forces of Maximilian, Ferdinand’s armies will have plenty to keep them occupied.
“As to the imaginary treasures of King Philip IV, allow this minister to clarify their true value. The King of Spain takes in just five hundred thousand crowns per year from the West Indies, and two months ago the Council of Madrid was quite dismayed to learn that Admiral Hein of the Netherlands took and sank the Spanish treasure fleet from South America in the Gulf of Mexico, a loss of twelve million crowns. This was such a disaster that His Majesty the King of Spain found himself unable to send the Emperor Ferdinand the million in gold he had promised.
“Now, to address the second part of my colleague’s discourse, this minister will humbly observe that His Majesty cannot submit with honor to the eviction of the rightful Duke of Mantua, whom we have not only recognized, but who was named heir thanks to the persuasive influence of our ambassador, Monsieur de Saint-Chamont, upon the late and former duke.
“His Majesty must not only come to the aid of his allies in Italy, but also protect that lovely European country from the schemes of Spain, who intends to subdue it forever, increasing its power where it is already too powerful. If we do not strongly support the Duke of Mantua, he will be unable to resist the power of Spain, and will be forced to become just one more tributary to the Court of Spain. Furthermore, don’t forget that the late Duke Vincent was about to commit Montferrat to us as well, in order to spite Charles-Emmanuel and confound the plots of Savoy.
“Finally, it is the opinion of this minister of the crown that it is our duty to punish the temerity of the Duke of Savoy, who has opposed our interests for the past thirty years. If he is not called to account for his numberless intrigues against us, including his involvement in the conspiracies of Chalais and Biron, and his alliance with the English in their trespasses at the Island of Ré and at La Rochelle, it will be to France’s eternal shame.”
Then, turning to the king and addressing him directly, the cardinal said, “By taking the rebellious city of La Rochelle, Sire, you not only won glory, you put the State in a most advantageous position for Your Majesty’s next move. Italy, oppressed for years by the troops of the King of Spain and the Duke of Savoy, cries out for the aid of your victorious arms. Will you refuse to take up the cause of your neighbors and allies, who are about to be unjustly stripped of their rightful heritage? As for me, Sire, I, your minister, dare promise you today that if you take up this noble resolution, your success will be no less than at the siege of La Rochelle. I am no prophet”—and Richelieu looked with a smile toward his colleague, Cardinal Bérulle—“nor the son of a prophet, but I can assure Your Majesty that, if we lose no time in carrying out this plan, you will deliver Casale and bring peace to northern Italy before the end of May. And then, returning with your army through Languedoc, you will finish by completely reducing the Huguenots in July. Then Your Majesty, victorious everywhere, can take his rest in Fontainebleau, or wherever he desires, during the beautiful days of autumn.”
(Our readers may find this chapter a bit long and dry, but our respect for the facts of history leads us to reproduce every detail of this great meeting in the Luxembourg that decided on the war in Italy, including all the speeches of the two cardinals. Our claim is that a historical novel should entertain both those readers who know the history it’s based upon, and those who are learning about it from what we write.)
At this, gestures of approval were seen among the auxiliary gentlemen invited to the meeting, especially from the Duc d’Angoulême and the Duc de Guise.
The king spoke. “His Eminence,” he said, “when he speaks of himself and our policy, refers to himself as ‘the minister of the king,’ because that policy is based upon my direct orders. Indeed, we believe that this war in Italy is necessary, that we must support our allies, and that we must maintain our position by opposing both the power and the influence of Spain. Our honor is at stake.”
Despite the respect owed to the king, the only applause to this came from the friends of the cardinal, while those of the queen mother’s faction could barely restrain their mutterings of disapproval. Marie de Médicis and Cardinal Bérulle exchanged a few words in a lively undertone.
The king’s expression was stern. He cast a sidelong, almost threatening glance toward the mutterers, and continued: “The issue we must now deal with is not peace or war, as war has been decided upon, but rather when we shall take the field. Opinions will be solicited, on the understanding that we reserve the ultimate decision to ourselves. Please speak to this, Monsieur de Bérulle, recognizing the respect we have for your advice, even when we do not follow it.”
Marie de Médicis made a nod of thanks toward Louis XIII, then said to Bérulle, “An invitation from the king is an order. Speak, Your Eminence.”
Bérulle rose. “The minister of the king,” he said, emphasizing the title, “proposes an immediate commencement to this war, but I am sorry to say that I am diametrically opposed to such haste. If I am not mistaken, His Majesty has expressed a desire to lead this war in person. However, there are at least two reasons to delay. The first is this: the king’s army, fatigued from the long siege of La Rochelle, needs to recuperate in winter quarters. Marching the troops from the shores of the ocean to the foothills of the Alps, without giving them time to rest, risks seeing them desert in droves. It would be cruel to subject these good soldiers to the rigors of winter in the snow-covered mountains, even if led there by the king.
“Even if we had the necessary funds for this, which we do not, as shown by the fact that it’s been barely a week since Your Majesty’s august mother requested a hundred thousand livres and was told by his minister that she could have no more than fifty thousand—to summarize, even if we had the funds, all the mules in the kingdom would not suffice to carry the food the army would need. Not to mention the fact that it’s impossible to move our artillery in the winter, especially along unknown routes our engineers have never studied. Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until the spring? In the meantime, we can make all the necessary preparations for moving our men and materiel by sea.
“The Venetians, who have a far greater stake in the affairs of Mantua than we do, have made no move to oppose the invasion of Montferrat by Charles-Emmanuel, and will do nothing to support this enterprise of the king. If the oppression of the Duke of Mantua is such an important issue, why does Venice, which is so much closer than France, do nothing?
“Finally, the matter that should concern His Majesty above all others should be to avoid an open break with that most powerful of all Catholic monarchs, the King of Spain. That would be a far greater injury to the State than the fall of Casale and Mantua. I have spoken!”
Cardinal Bérulle’s speech made a definite impression upon the King’s Council. Rather than opposing a war which the king supported, he had outlined the probable costs and liabilities of that war. The officers invited to the council—Bellegarde, the Duc d’Angoulême, the Duc de Guise, General Marillac?
??were no longer as young as they had been, and perhaps were less eager for the opportunities of war than to avoid its fatigues and dangers.
Cardinal Richelieu rose once more. “I will respond to all the points made by my honorable colleague,” he said. “First, though I don’t think His Majesty has made a final decision on the matter, I do believe he plans to conduct this war in person. His Majesty, in his wisdom, must make that decision, though I fear he may sacrifice his own interests to those of the State, as a king, in his duty, must do.
“As to the question of the army’s fatigue, which Cardinal Bérulle is so anxious about, if the troops are transported by sea and landed at Marseilles, they will still have to march to our headquarters at Lyon. Better for them to march at a measured pace through France, well fed, well housed, and well paid. That addresses the issue of desertion. As to the difficulties of taking the army across the Alps, it is better to fight nature now than to fight through our enemies’ defenses later, if we give them time to fortify the route we must take.
“It’s true that last week I had to grant the king’s august mother only fifty thousand livres when she asked for a hundred thousand, but that reduction had been specifically approved by the king due to the imminent expense of the coming war. The proposed campaign is well within our means, especially since, by engaging my honor and my property, I have managed to borrow six million crowns to support it.
“As to the route we must take, it has in fact been surveyed and mapped. His Majesty has long had this campaign under consideration, and ordered me to send people into Dauphiné, Savoy, and Piedmont on reconnaissance. Monsieur de Pontis and Monsieur d’Escures have already made detailed maps of the terrain.
“Thus all the preparations for war have been made: the money for the campaign is in the coffers, the troops are ready, the maps are made—and a foreign war, as His Majesty points out, adds much more glory to the throne than a civil war such as that of La Rochelle. Spain’s efforts to occupy Italy are vulnerable if we act quickly, so I implore His Majesty to undertake this campaign as soon as we can. And so I, in my turn, have spoken.”
The cardinal resumed his seat, while looking toward Louis XIII with a gaze that seemed to plead with the king to support the proposal he had made.
The king seemed to pay no attention to the cardinal, raising his hand as soon as the latter had finished speaking. “Messieurs,” he said, “it is my will that you pay heed to my minister, Cardinal Richelieu. We have decided upon war against the Duke of Savoy, and it is our desire that we waste no time in taking the field. Those of you who have requests for your preparations should make them to Monsieur le Cardinal. In good time, I will decide if I will lead this war in person, and if so, who shall be my lieutenant general. Having so decided, this council is at an end.” The king rose. “Messieurs, I pray God shall keep you. Good night.”
And with a bow to the queen mother, Louis XIII took his leave.
The cardinal had won both points he’d pressed: the war against the Duke of Savoy and the immediate commencement of the campaign. So he had no doubt that he would win the third—that is, he would be given charge of the war in Italy, as he had for the siege of La Rochelle.
Marie de Médicis marched out, gritting her teeth in anger, accompanied only by Bérulle and Vautier.
“I fear we must say,” said Bérulle, “like François I after Pavia, ‘All is lost save honor!’”
“Not so!” said Vautier. “All is not lost, as the king has not yet named Richelieu as his lieutenant general.”
“Don’t you see,” said the queen mother, “that in the king’s mind Richelieu’s already been appointed to that post?”
“Maybe,” said Vautier, “but it’s not yet final.”
“Do you see any way to prevent this appointment?”
“Perhaps,” said Vautier, “but I need to speak to Monsieur, the Duc d’Orléans, right away.”
“I’ll get him,” said Bérulle, “and bring him to you.”
“Go,” said the queen mother, “and don’t waste a moment.” Then, turning to Vautier, she said, “What do you have in mind?”
“When we are in a place where we can be sure of not being overheard, I’ll tell Your Majesty.”
“Come, then.” The queen and her adviser hurried down a corridor leading to the private apartments of Marie de Médicis.
XXXVI
Vautier’s Plan
Though he had rooms in the queen mother’s Luxembourg Palace, the king returned to the Louvre to avoid what he felt were the inevitable objections that would come from the two queens.
And indeed, after Marie de Médicis returned to her chambers, where she heard and approved Vautier’s latest plan, before resorting to it she decided to make one last attempt to change her son’s mind.
As for Louis XIII, as soon as he returned home, he called for l’Angely. But only after he’d inquired if there had been any word from Baradas.
Baradas had said nothing, and sent no word.
It was the stubborn silence of his sulky page that had been the cause of his bad mood at the King’s Council. Vautier had guessed that was the reason, and based his new plan upon it.
Indeed, Louis XIII, though he’d made a few advances toward Mademoiselle de Lautrec, following through on his promise to l’Angely, was still dreaming about Baradas. This was exactly what l’Angely feared, so when he was called, he made haste to come and throw himself at the king’s feet.
For an unexpected obstacle had arisen in l’Angely’s project, a mystery that no one had been able to explain, even to the king. The previous evening, though she was supposed to be attending the queen, Mademoiselle de Lautrec had been absent from her circle, and Louis XIII, asking about it, had gotten no answer from the queen’s ladies beyond astonishment. Mademoiselle de Lautrec had not been seen at the Louvre all day. The queen had inquired at her rooms and around the palace, but no one had been able to give her any news.
The king, piqued by this absence, had asked l’Angely to make his own inquiries, and that was why he’d called for his fool as soon as he’d returned.
But l’Angely, who’d had no more luck than the others, had nothing to report.
In fact, Louis XIII was less concerned about the absence of Mademoiselle de Lautrec than he was about that of Baradas, but he’d come to believe that l’Angely was nearly infallible, and was astounded by his failure.
So he was sinking into melancholy, bemoaning the way fate seemed to oppose him at every turn, when Beringhen gently scratched at the door. The king, recognizing Beringhen’s particular signal, and thinking that here was one more devoted person to share his misery, called out softly, “Enter.”
Monsieur le Premier came in. “What do you wish of me, Ber-inghen?” the king asked. “Don’t you know that I hate to be disturbed when l’Angely and I are sunk in ennui?”
“You didn’t hear that from me,” said l’Angely. “Welcome in, Monsieur Beringhen.”
“Sire,” said the Valet de Chambre, “I never permit myself to disturb Your Majesty when I know you wish to be bored in peace, but I couldn’t disobey orders from Their Majesties Queen Marie de Médicis and Queen Anne of Austria.”
“What!” cried Louis XIII. “The queens, here?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And they want to talk to me?”
“Yes, Sire. Together.”
The king looked around, as if he might find some way to escape, but at his first move the door opened and in came Marie de Médicis, followed by Queen Anne of Austria.
The king turned pale and exhibited the slight tremor he suffered when agitated, but he drew himself together, resolving to be impervious to whatever plea was coming. He faced the danger like a sulky and stubborn bull lowering its horns.
He turned first toward his mother, his most dangerous antagonist. “Upon my honor as a gentleman, Madame,” he said, “I thought that once the King’s Council was over, I would be free fr
om further persecutions. What do you want of me? Tell me quickly!”
“My son, I want nothing but you yourself,” said Marie de Médicis, while Queen Anne, hands clasped, nodded in support and agreement. “Was it not enough that, weak and suffering though you are, that man forced you to endure six months in the swamps of Aunis? Now he wants to subject you to the cold and snow of the Alps in the dangerous depths of winter!”
“Bah, Madame,” said the king. “When God spared me from the fevers of the swamp, was not the Cardinal taking the same risks? And now you say he will expose me and my household further. Well, I won’t be braving the snow and ice of the Alps alone. I shall give the soldiers an example of courage and perseverance, and he will be there beside me.”
“I don’t doubt that, my son—the Cardinal himself made the same point. But how can you compare the importance of his life to that of risking yours? The monarchy can lose ten ministers like Monsieur le Cardinal without suffering, but you . . . ! At your least illness, France trembles with fear, and your mother and your wife pray to God to preserve you.”
At this, Queen Anne fell to her knees. “Sire,” she said, “we are on our knees not only before the Lord but before you, to beg you as we plead with God not to abandon us. Please consider that what Your Majesty may regard as your duty is to the rest of us a source of profound terror. If Your Majesty suffered a misfortune, what would happen to us, and to France?”