Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,10

had joined them with a brisk step and, upon sitting down and without greeting anyone present, curtly demanded that the order of the day be read.

The king held his Council every morning after breakfast and did not hesitate to summon its members again later in the day if the affairs of the realm warranted further attention. In this he followed the example of his father. But in contrast to Henri IV, who conducted his meetings so freely that they sometimes took place during strolls outside, Louis XIII —

more reserved, more cautious, and more attached to proper etiquette — required formal deliberations, around a table and behind closed doors. At the Louvre, the Council met either in the chamber on the ground floor traditionally reserved for its use, or — as today — in the Book Room.

This was no less formal a setting than the Council chamber but, as Richelieu had noticed, the king preferred its use whenever he was anxious to ensure the complete confidentiality of debates or foresaw the need for a discreet one-to-one conversation at the conclusion of the Council's session.

Then he only needed to detain the person with whom he desired to speak for a few moments, and everything could be said in the time it took the other Council members to reappear in public.

The cardinal had therefore guessed that something was in the air when he arrived at the Louvre and was directed to the Book Room. The slight delay in His Majesty's arrival, and his manifest dissatisfaction during the meeting, had confirmed his suspicions and forced him to ponder. He was obliged to pay careful heed to the moods of the man who had raised him to the heights of power and glory, as the same man could just as easily precipitate his fall. No doubt Armand-Jean du Plessis, Cardinal Richelieu, deserved to exercise the immense responsibilities that Louis XIII conferred upon him. And no doubt he had demonstrated his exceptional abilities as a statesman over the past ten years since his recall to the Council and appointment as chief minister. But personal merits and services rendered counted for little without royal favour, and the cardinal could not afford to let the favour he enjoyed run cold. He had far too many enemies for that — ambitious rivals who were jealous of his influence and adversaries hostile to his policies alike — and all of them, in France and elsewhere, were eager to see his star wane.

To be sure, the king's esteem and affection for his chief minister were not likely to disappear overnight. As close as the Capitol might be to the Tarpeian Rock, Richelieu did not believe himself likely to fall victim to a royal whim. Nevertheless, Louis XIII was a grim, temperamental, and secretive monarch, who suffered from an inability to express his emotions and was often difficult to understand. The cardinal himself was often forced to make concessions to appease his authoritarian master whose reactions could still surprise him on occasion. Taciturn by nature, the king would spend much time ruminating over his decisions which he would then divulge suddenly and without explanation, or else explain badly. He was also rancorous in more private matters. Sensitive, he never forgave a slight completely and would nurse grudges that ripened, quietly and patiently, without the knowledge of those close to him. Then came the clumsy word, the indelicate gesture, the ingratitude, or some other small fault that finally proved too much for him to bear. When this occurred, Louis XIII gave way to cold angers which he expressed by way of stern reproaches, cruel humiliations, or even brutal punishments and disgraces.

It was one of these angers that the members of the Council sensed was imminent, and which —

despite being great lords and high officials of the Crown for the most part — they had each dreaded they would bear the brunt of, right up until the moment when, to their immense relief, His Majesty had finally released them.

All in all, notwithstanding the king's awful mood, the Council meeting had proceeded almost as usual. Louis XIII had sat alone at the head of the long rectangular table around which the others had taken their places, ready to explain official business or read dispatches. Then the moment had arrived for debate and deliberations, during which each member had to defend or justify his advice.

These deliberations were often fairly free discussions, which would become lively when views diverged, with the king insisting that everyone should express