The Cat and the King by Louis Auchincloss

The king is a fact. Oh, you can get around him, of course. Madame de Maintenon could teach you plenty of valuable lessons in that game. But you cannot blast your way through him, and you’re an idiot to try. Your father was the same way.”
    â€œMy father?” I asked in amazement. “But he was always in favor. He didn’t want to get around Louis XIII!”
    â€œHe was out of favor for two whole years. It was long before I knew him, before I was born, actually, but I heard it from your half-sister. It was over the fortified towns. Richelieu was intent on dismantling them. Your father thought he was going too far. He thought some of the towns in the Gironde were among the glories of France. He refused to dismantle the walls of Blaye and depended on the king’s supporting him.”
    â€œAnd he didn’t?”
    â€œThe king never went against Richelieu when Richelieu really put his foot down. That was what people never could fathom, even your father, who knew him so intimately. Louis XIII believed that Richelieu was the only man in France who could carry on the government. So, no matter how much he criticized him behind his back, when it came to a crisis, and the cardinal threatened to walk out, leaving all those mountains of paper behind, the king would simply collapse.”
    â€œAnd that’s what happened over Blaye?”
    â€œYes. The towns were a vital part of Richelieu’s policy. He wouldn’t give in on one of them. So your father was disgraced and sent away from court. Two years later, Richelieu allowed him to come back. Your father had learned his lesson, and he remained on the best terms with the cardinal thereafter. Now our king is much more like Richelieu than like his own father. And you’d better not forget it!”
    â€œYou make me wonder if I shouldn’t go with Conti to Poland!” I cried bitterly.
    â€œThat’s just the kind of idiotic idea that would occur to a man. But I guess we needn’t worry about it. Conti will never go.”
    â€œWhat makes you so sure?”
    â€œBecause, from all I hear, Madame la Duchesse will never let him!”
    I had to admit that my mother was up to date. But what else did she have to do all day but give and receive gossip? I sighed and wondered what widows had talked about in the day of the Chevalier Bayard. They probably whispered that he was not really without fear or above reproach. God help us all!

2
    G ABRIELLE’S prediction that we should again be in favor after Chartres’ marriage came true, and she proposed that I take advantage of it by suggesting our names for a visit at Marly. Marly was the small but exquisite palace that the king had constructed for his weekends, and invitations there, needless to say, were passionately coveted. One proposed oneself by asking, “Sire, Marly?” as the monarch passed from his cabinet to mass. If he nodded an affirmative, one’s name was placed on the list. I confess that I was very nervous, anticipating the blank stare that conveyed the royal refusal, but Gabrielle’s conjecture again proved correct. Not only did I receive a nod, but it was almost a gracious one!
    Marly had charm and intimacy, two qualities rarely associated with the Sun King. Indeed, the court had been generally astonished when his visits there, at first infrequent, had hardened into habit. None of us had believed that a man of his iron constitution and unslakable thirst for splendor could ever need to relax in simple surroundings. But we were wrong. The king loved Marly, which was built like a small town of marble porticos with a garden for its main square, the royal residence flanked by pavilions, one for each guest couple, connected by a colonnade. The atmosphere was informal, at least in contrast to Versailles; the king would sit of an evening with Madame de Maintenon and watch people dancing or chatting or playing cards. He would even sometimes play a hand himself,