Richelieu: A Tale of France, v. 1/3James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
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Richelieu: A Tale of France, v. 1/3
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Richelieu, Armand Jean du Plessis, duc de, 1585-1642 -- Fiction
This was uttered in a low tone of voice; for there was indeed another
group in the same avenue with themselves. The party, which was rapidly
approaching, consisted of three persons, of whom one was a step in
advance, and, though in no degree superior to the others in point of
dress, was distinguished from them by that indescribable something which
constitutes the idea of dignity. He was habited in a plain suit of black
silk with buttons of jet, and every part of his dress, even to the
sheath and hilt of his _couteau de chasse_, corresponding. On his right
hand he wore a thick glove, of the particular kind generally used by the
sportsmen of the period, but more particularly by those who employed
themselves in the then fashionable sport of bird-catching; and the nets
and snares of various kinds carried by the other two, seemed to evince
that such had been the morning's amusement of the whole party.
The King, for such was the person who approached, was rather above the
middle height, and of a spare habit. His complexion was very pale; and
his hair, which had one time been of the richest brown, was now mingled
throughout with grey. But still there was much to interest, both in his
figure and countenance. There was a certain air of easy self-possession
in all his movements; and even when occupied with the most trivial
employment, which was often the case, there was still a degree of
dignity in his manner, that seemed to show his innate feeling of their
emptiness, and his own consciousness of how inferior they were, both to
his situation and his talents. His features at all times appeared
handsome, but more especially when any sudden excitement called up the
latent animation of his dark-brown eye, recalling to the minds of those
who remembered the days gone before, that young and fiery Prince who
could not brook the usurped sway even of his own highly talented mother,
but who had now become the slave of her slave. The consciousness of his
fallen situation, and of his inability to call up sufficient energy of
mind to disengage himself, generally cast upon him an appearance of
profound sadness: occasionally, however, flashes of angry irritability
would break across the cloud of melancholy which hung over him, and show
the full expression of his countenance, which at other times displayed
nothing but the traces of deep and bitter thought, or a momentary
sparkle of weak, unthinking merriment. So frequent, however, were the
changes to be observed in the depressed Monarch, that some persons even
doubted whether they were not assumed to cover deeper intentions. It
might be so, or it might not; but at all events, between the intervals
of these natural or acquired appearances, would often shine out strong
gleams of his mother's unyielding spirit, or his father's generous
heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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